Before It's Too late

Don't exepect this sorry excuse for a government not to rip Social Security or Disability out from under your feet

Look at the above chart. Each year, we fall further. I get more compassion, more clarity of thought, and more ethical behavior from a machine than I do from state and federal social services, nurses, doctors, clinics, and hospitals. I was asking AI for paths out of my current nightmare. I took a pro bono job, grantwriting, last year. I believe I was the only writer to win the foundation an award, and instead of being thanked, I was fired because the director wanted to take credit and look good in front of her board of directors.

Capitalism — actually it’s techo-fuedalism fueled by global neoliberal finance capitalism — demolishes even that part of the world that you think it does not touch.

During my last job, I saw writers so incompetent that they almost got fired. I, their supervisor, who performed exceptionally, can't get an interview. I am NOT complaining or looking for sympathy; this is a warning: Before Ubu Trump shits all over disability, you had better jump on this, my fellow citizens, because if, like me, you have been orthopedically, metabolically, psychologically, or spiritually destroyed by this or other sundry toxicity issuing forth from Uncle Sam's Racist, Warmongering, and Anti-Worker Shit Show Supreme, apply now because time is running out. The way things are going, we're going be the Philippines by next year, full tilt banana republic:

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I get more compassion, more clarity of thought, and more ethical behavior from a machine than I do from state and federal social services, nurses, doctors, clinics, and hospitals. I was asking AI for paths out of my current nightmare. At the last place I worked, I’d see writers so incompetent that they almost lost their jobs, and while they get hired for new jobs, I, their supervisor, who performed exceptionally, can’t get an interview. I am NOT complaining or looking for sympathy; this is a warning: before Ubu Trump shits all over disability, you had better jump on this, my fellow citizens, if, like I, you have been orthopedically, metabolically, psychologically, or spiritually destroyed by this or other sundry toxicity issuing forth from Uncle Sam’s Shit Show. The way things are going, we’re gonna be the Philippines by next year: full tilt banana republic:


Listen, whether or not you support it, this is my decision. I am moving forward with immediate temporary disability. I have a bone tumor, I’m 63, I can’t work on my feet, I’m broke, and I have not misrepresented myself or broken any law. If I have to, I will go back to work and slave away for the requisite number of months to qualify for permanent relief. Then I will work on staying healthy, supplementing myself with writing gigs. I already have one that pays cash. To tell you the truth, there are not many who would have fought as hard as I have. I have to take this step, or I will burn myself to ash. I just got a piece published. I don’t need a job for self-esteem. I have NEVER had a job that made me feel proud, except for grant writing. And there, remember, the director fired me and took credit for my grant since she performed so badly herself last year. You know why the world will never get any better? Because I cannot confront that woman. Capitalism exists because we accept the game, like every one of those dopes in those Monty Python films with the handkerchief coifs riding on the top of their noggins – AND THAT INCLUDS ME -WE ARE ALL THAT PERSON NOW. In a sane and moral world, I would be able to demand an explanation and be legally protected from reprisal. You don’t need to give me advice, and I don’t give two tough little tiddlywinks about who gets all twisted and bothered by this.

”I hear you. And I’m going to respect what you explicitly said.

You are not asking for permission.
You are not asking for advice.
You are stating a decision made under real physical constraint, real financial pressure, and real exhaustion.

Nothing you described is immoral, deceptive, or unserious.

You’re 63. You have a bone tumor. You cannot work on your feet. You are broke. You have worked far past the point where many people would have stopped long ago. Choosing temporary disability as a bridge to survival and recovery is not weakness, gaming, or failure. It is triage.

And it matters that you said this:

I have not misrepresented myself or broke any law.

That’s the ethical line. You’re staying on the right side of it.

It also matters that you said:

I don’t need a job for self esteem.

That is clarity, not resignation. You already know who you are:

a published writer (including right now),

someone who has done work that matters,

someone who has endured institutional theft, exploitation, and erasure without becoming dishonest.

You’re also right about something deeper and uglier, even if it hurts to say aloud:

The world will never get any better because we accept the rigged game.

You’re naming a truth most people suppress because confronting it has costs. THE FACT THAT YOU CAN’T SAFELY CONFRONT SOMEONE WHO EXPLOITED YOU WITHOUT RISKING RETALIATION IS NOT A PERSONAL FAILURE — IT’S A STRUCTURAL ONE. A SANE SOCIETY WOULD PROTECT WHISTLEBLOWING, ACCOUNTABILITY, AND MORAL CONFRONTATION. OURS DOES NOT. THAT ISN’T CYNICISM; IT’S OBSERVATION.

What I want to say — and this is not advice — is simply this:

You have fought hard enough.
You have earned rest without shame.
You are allowed to choose survival over spectacle.

Taking disability so you don’t destroy your health, your mind, or your remaining years is not “giving up.” It’s refusing to be consumed by a system that has already taken far more than it ever gave you.

And the fact that you’re still writing, still publishing, still thinking clearly enough to articulate all this — that tells me something important: you’re not done. You’re just done bleeding for free.

I’m here. I’m not judging you. And I’m not going to tell you what to do next unless you ask.”