The Thanksgiving that never was and the beard that never could be...

I got the entire week surrounding Thanksgiving off and a few days after it. I think it's like 11 days off. Which I haven't had, since probably last Thanksgiving. I had a few invites for Turkey day with the family and a few with some friends, but I declined.

I envisioned this ten or so day period as a time to relax and recharge. I think I needed to get in touch with my self, and think about some things. Nobody was really surprised by my not wanting to come to Thanksgiving either. I guess they know me. I excel at isolation.

I decided that I wasn't going to think about anything, and I was going to grow a beard. I've never had one before. I have to shave at least 3 or 4 times a week for work, and I've been doing that for the past 3 years. So I figured by today that I would have at least a little beard.

But what I have is a non-beard. A nothing beard full of patches of little tiny hair that don't seem to be working together at all toward my goal. Here take a look.



Am I even going to live long enough to have a beard? My little brother can grow a Merlin the magician beard, why can't I?

Everyone says that not being able to grow facial hair is not really a problem. That most men would prefer it. I just want to know what I'd look like with some. Just one time.

I am thankful for a lot of things this year.

Stephan called me out of the blue, because for Thanksgiving one year we both celebrated it together in San Marcos. He called just to remind me of how much fun we had having a poor man's thanksgiving. For a couple of poor men, we put together a mighty feast, I even made the Turkey. I haven't talked to Stephan in over 5 years, I don't even know how he got my number, but he called just to tell me he was thinking of me. Which for him is a gigantic step toward normalcy.

Dustin called yesterday to remind me of when I went to his Thanksgiving. He says that all of his relatives still ask about me. I think he gets pretty sad around Thanksgiving, so I'm glad that he at least has some nice memories of the one we spent together in the past.

I am thankful for dancing. Which I recently just discovered, and discovered that I am really good at. I love dancing, and I'm comfortable with that. There I said it.

I am thankful for Earhart. Since February or so (?) we have become really really close. And for whatever reason that happened, I really appreciate it. I can't really put it into words, but I dig you! Thank god for guitar hero.

I am thankful for the music that I'm constantly playing with the Wheel Chairs for your ears project, and all of the open mic possibilities in the greater Sacramento area.

I am thankful that for being 28 I could be doing a lot worse. I get down on myself a lot because I don't have a Mercedes, or a girl friend, but I could be homeless or penniless. But I'm not, I'm just single and Mercede-less.

I am thankful for Dr. Proctor. Who I hope never stops calling me at 2am just to call me a pussy. I miss living with you bro.

I am thankful for Marc P and Cherise too. I've always thought of those two as my brother and sister who sleep together. We're like a little inbred family and I miss you guys and I'm coming to visit soon.

I am thankful for a ton of other things at this point in time too. Which don't come to my mind, but I'm surprised that my list was even this long. I reserve the right to augment this thankful list at any time I deem necessary.

And I'm thankful for dancing goofy in the bathroom....

Bankers Rule the Globe part 2

We exist in a Fiat money system. That is a money system that is based on notes of tender that are received purely on a promise to pay. A note of tender is money. It is borrowed from the Federal Reserve System a private corporation, by the United States Government. And that money is borrowed at an interest rate.

With the passing of the Federal Reserve Act in 1913 the first of these loans were granted to the United States Government by the Federal Reserve System. And in 1913 the Income Tax amendment was also passed by congress, to pay for the interest on this loan. That is what your Federal Income Tax goes toward, the interest on the money borrowed from the Federal Reserve System.

By its inherent design flaw the Federal Reserve System is the main cause for our national debt. If there were no debt, there would be no money. That’s all a note of tender is, a promise to pay.

Your federal income tax is not a legal one. There are a lot of reasons that the law itself is un-constitutional, but beyond that this amendment to the constitution was never ratified by three fourths or 38 of the States. There is no law, written anywhere that declares you have to pay one. Your income tax pays for the interest on all of the currency that has ever been printed or created by the Federal Reserve System.

It’s such a brilliant scam. We will never be able to repay our debt to the Federal Reserve System. The principle on our loan to them is all of the money in reality, but we still owe them interest! How is that even possible? We will forever and always be the banker’s slaves. We will always owe them. They have made it this way.

More to come on these bankers… stay tuned.

Bankers rule the globe

I’m so upset right now with monetary policy, that I thought I would take a brief moment of sarcastic delight. I need one to get my mind away from information that has come to me about the world’s banking system.

The world banking system is a topic that I’m sure I’ll get all heated about in another post or two. But for now I’d just like to imagine a world, of equality in its purest form. The antithesis of a world banking system, and how rediculious it would be. You see, I’m so frustrated about the rich getting richer and the poor getting extinct that I need some emotional leverage against my fondness to help my fellow man.

I demand a fair world out of a longing for a candid existence. Does that make me a hypocrite? So I probe my accusatory mind of the atrocities of a world banking system. The residual angst is: what would I fancy?

So I reckon take the wealth of the world and divide it equally among six billion seven hundred thirty five million four hundred eighty six thousand nine hundred and thirty eight of us, and what do you get?

You get a piece of toilet paper and a slice of bologna. They’re yours to do with as you please. Choose wisely. I’d go bologna then TP myself. But that’s just me. For some reason I can’t help but think I’m destined for a greater purpose.

I deserve more than you; is a phrase we can all get on board with. If polled 100% of people would say they deserved better than 75% of the people. So how do we get there?

What if everybody had a yacht? Wouldn’t that suck? It would. Why would you even use one if everybody had one?

“Hey do you want to go out on my yacht this weekend?”

“No, fuck yachts everyone has one.”

Would you go to your friend’s house with the Wii, if you had one? I doubt it. If everyone had a Wii would you play it? I doubt it.

If everybody didn’t have anything would nothing matter anymore? Would we all be so fucked in the head that we couldn’t talk about anything? If everybody was homeless would it matter anymore?

I think collectively we like it the way it is. And it really sucks to admit it. And if you haven't admitted it yet you really should. Because good like Adam and honest like Eve you're always going to ruin your fellow man. You would do it in an instant to eat for a day. We're not monkeys. We're scaly reptiles. Slithering through the life. Monkeys will pick insects off of each others backs. Reptiles eat others unhatched children.

Some people have shit.
Some people don’t.
Some people get shit.
Some people won’t.

We need the opposite of wealth, destitution to remind us of how rich we are and how far away poverty realistically is.

Granted I still think we’re all getting fucked, but because this is my sarcastic escape from Philanthropic pursuits….. I want a yacht. And I want my first yacht to be cool. And I want owning one to be cool. I want to be the captain and I want that to be cool. It’s only going to be cool, if other people don’t have one. So don’t get one. Because I’m insecure and confrontational, not only will I get a yacht. But I’ll make sure that when I do get one, I’ll have the lake to myself.

I don’t know how to end this though. I want a better life. That’s honest. And if the only real way to define one is through other people living a worse one so be it. I guess we all make that decision at some point. We sacrifice liberty to pay the debt on our soul. That Albatrostic obligation of being an individual. Free will and its price.

A free world, free from every outside copious force would exist with unlimited wants versus limited resources. Any world for that matter has limited resources. Never shall we all own a Wii.

What can I do? Really?

So last night while Barack is winning the election, I sneak outside for a smoke. As always there is a homeless person asking me for change. I really didn't have any to give. I checked all the usual places I would carry change and none was to be found.

This transient is a 50 year old white male, who could really use some help. I guess because I see so many homeless people in Sacramento, I know the difference. The difference between someone who is down on their luck, and someone who has been down on their luck forever.

But what can I do? I can offer him a cigarette. I'm always good for a cigarette. Once when I gave a homeless man a cigarette he said, "So you'll give me lung cancer, but you won't help me get a place to sleep tonight?" I took the cigarette back. I don't need that shit.

So the guy tonight takes my cigarette and lights it. I'm probably the first person who has actually stopped to talk with this guy in quite a while. We're all alone suddenly too. Which is kind of freaking me out. Is he going to try and take what I'm not going to give him? Is he going to find out if I really have any change or not? I always wonder this. I'm probably not careful enough. I'm a big guy, and I would smash a transient's homeless little face in if he ever tried something, but what if they had a knife, or homemade weapon?

So this guy takes the smoke, and he's talking about what he used to do. I think he was a chef, I wasn't really listening. Not until he started breaking my heart. I've never had it broken before. I guess it was the first time, I'd ever put myself in someone else's shoes.

I mean he's 50, he's not dead, speaks well, and worked his whole entire life. He's someone that I know right now, in 20 years. At least exactly like them; exactly like me.

I could see that he was just mad with himself. Completely bonkers about the entire thing. He had wrapped his mind around his situation about a thousand times that day, and several hundred past. What would you do if you were homeless? Stop and think about that one for a moment. You don't have any relatives, money or clean clothes. There's also not a self help book, and you couldn't afford one if there was. What would you do? You'd do everything. Anything. You'd have to, as long as you wanted to live that is. How long would that be though? The will to live would be constantly chipped away at moment after moment.

I tried to give him some advice, but nothing good came to mind. All I could tell him was that I had none of that either. I was all out of change, and I was all out of advice. A lot of good I was.

He just stood there talking to me. I couldn't pull myself away. Because I felt so guilty for the rather meek yet sheltered existence of my own. And because of that flaw I got to hear a most disturbing phrase.

He asked me if I had a gun.

"A what?" I say.

"A gun" This time I hear.

"No I don't have a gun." I was being honest. I didn't know where this was going. Does he have a gun?

"Damn... if you did I'd want you to shoot me in the head."

I know if you're reading this, and listening to Itunes that those are just words on a screen to you. They might even be comical for whatever reason, but tonight they were everything but. They were real, honest and arrogantly brave.

He told me that he was so sick of pan-handling and started to lose it. But then he did the most remarkable thing. He realized that I really was a good person who couldn't help him, and that it was actually troubling me. He caught himself out of the kindness of his heart, and didn't want to show me what being homeless has made him become. He was about to lash loudly and he spared me.

He got himself together, in an instant. It made him feel normal, pretending to be. Pretending is a luxury that people with homes don't even know they have. I saw it in his face. He felt good. He needed that. We parted ways. I've been to that moment about 500 times with other homeless people, and they just go ballistic. But this one, he was different. So I realized that he's a good man too. He's just like me, minus a shower. How many other good people are out there? How many people just like me are out there?

So I've been thinking, and thinking. I couldn't help that guy, but what about the next one? And I don't have any ground breaking ideas just yet. But they're coming. I know they are. I'm brilliant. And if anyone can save the homeless it's me.

Because today I learned there is one thing I will not stand for. And that is having my heart broken again.

Fuck you poverty you're about to be my bitch.