Conservative today is liberal tomorrow.

Let me try to explain. Do you know this guy, the person who uses duct tape and rubber cement to fix burst pipes, and then leaves it, for months, until it breaks again. Or who saves money on plumbing piping to use as electricity conduit, or paints over grounding wires. Have you met the guy who uses his friends to do a construction job even a contractor would hire a contractor to do. Just to save a buck.

These people voted for Trump. They call themselves conservative. They pretend they’re running businesses, which are just dressed up opportunities to talk down to other people, while bleeding money into the companies that sold them the supplies to get started. See. Those companies are run by liberal-minded individuals.
They’re not panning for gold in California.
They’re selling you the pan and a shovel and inventing denim pants.

Conservative today, burst pipes, rusted wiring, and slow sinking foundation, will be the most insurmountably expensive option moving forward. The word conservative might be applicable for a year, two, maybe even a decade, and then, with shrugged shoulders and skeptical grin, we’ll be right back at the same problem. Again. Checkbook in hand.

It is not conservative to half ass a project today praying you won’t still be around to fix it tomorrow. Liberal-minded people put money on projects preemptively, recording in the long run just how much they saved by their spending. And almost every social program put forward in the past century has done just that. Taken severe chunks out of violent crime rates, filled in some of the recession pits so we don’t hit bottom so hard. I have personally seen this attempt to provide affordable health care bring millions of the youngest, and interestingly enough, oldest members of the workforce, out of the shadows and into the limelight. We were reminded, there is a current of movement in this nation that still slows down for us. The people.

I don’t see that conservative minded individuals could ever look at us as an investment. As an opportunity. Helping in our hard times is at best their charity. They don’t see how I come out of it swinging. Working. Inventing. Changing. I’m not saying conservatives don’t want that, but they’re sure as hell not going to put money on it before it’s a sure thing. Conservatives are giving away their agenda, offended that we’re offended by phrases like minimum wage. They’re stocking up on duct tape. Come on. The tires are bald. The wiring is exposed. We can damn near see sparks.

I am no Democrat.

But on a timeline, again and again, they have proven themselves to be the true party of conservatism. Instilling policies today that have saved us incredible amounts of time and money moving forward.

Republicans are arguing fiscally conservative in the moment quick fix applications, that end up costing exorbitant amounts in the future. And once we have no choice, because the machine has finally just shut down, they are quite liberal in increasing the national deficit tremendously. You know, one wouldn’t have to work that hard to put up a decent case that on a timeline, Republicans, in every way, socially, fiscally, morally, are a far more liberal party.

And this is where I’ll end. Where I usually wind up. Arguing over timelines. Like every other prophet. Essentially committing entire lives to promoting the philosophy of composting.

Today’s shit. Tomorrow’s soil.
Cheap today. Valuable tomorrow.

These terms, conservative, liberal, don’t hold up the same way on a timeline.

If intelligent life from the other side of the universe showed up on earth, they are not going to believe the party arguing against family leave, fair pay, the basic freedoms of women, also known as half the entire population, electing sordid pseudo-celebrities and teasing nuclear holocaust, is the more conservative party.

They’re going to laugh a little at how we are still being used by our own words.
And then. They will try to find anyone who can functionally think on a timeline.

I have been had by a dream.

To be saved by a government program is to belong to it.
If band aids and ibuprofen are the only things keeping you alive.
Another word for that is dying.
Sustainability is about predicting future need.
Another word for that is pessimism.
Government serves many basic functions.
And a lot more that are redundant.
They want it that way.
The word is enslaved.
And for the longest time
it has been the surest sort
of unchallenged.

I have been had by a dream.
That one day I will wake up out of and truly see
a world where humankind is free. And every nationality
on the planet can finally fit within one species.

I have been had by a dream.
That our leaders will be caught dreaming.
Up late at night scheming.
Earmarked nightlights though
their smiles are beaming.

I have been taken by sleep.
And placated by dreams.
Ever since my eyes were opened.
And in the dream I woke from.
Judging the living from the dead.
Was only a government program.

Some Kind of Camouflage

After two months outside, pretty well insulated from this political climate, I come back to find it was safer in the woods. The poison ivy at least has three leaves. Black bears are pacifists who prefer to hug trees. Bees are after their honey. And leave you alone once they know you’re not sweet. But outside of the woods, things are not as they seem.

I’ve seen black bears the color of cream wearing gray comb-overs who couldn’t fathom satisfying women their own age. Heard about poison ivy hung like mistletoe above office doorways, and dangled from handles, and laid out in thick wreaths on every seat. For years it will be coming out of pores, clothes, hiding in shoes, latent in skin. The itch. Hornets leaping from holes in the ground up skirts, up pant legs, down shirts, not even looking for honey. Honey is back home waiting. These insects just want to sting something. Anything.

After spending a couple months outside, without a roof overhead, I can tell you with confidence, it is in fact not actually raining. A political system is pissing on our heads. And it is not worried about these independent scandals coming out. Its fear is us discovering just how many years this has been happening. And my guess,
damn near every one of them since the beginning.

They’re going to continue painting black bears up like pandas. They already are. Scared people like to hide. These men are scared. They built these governments. All patriarchy. And turned themselves into monsters. And monsters like caves. Armani and Gucci and Polo Ralph Lauren. Single breasted and brand named and an office and a title for a lair. Bouquets of daisies wrapped in poison ivy vines on sumac place settings.
Not all the bees you meet are going to lead to honey.
And not all honey is going to be sweet.

In the woods, you really don’t wear camouflage.
It is actually far more beneficial and safer to be seen.
You put on something bright orange, you sing a little while you hike,
you don’t hesitate to talk out loud and make a little noise.
But now that I’m out of the woods, it has been the opposite.
Since I’ve been home
almost everywhere I go
I see some kind of camouflage.

Just Like the Rest of Us

This just in. You may not actually be a white supremacist if you have no problem using United States currency. You’re probably not a true racist if you participate in any way in this economy. The people who entered this nation as a commodity actually have more claim on this country. It was built on their backs. They are its original profits. Value. Commercially speaking, if you enjoy anything about this country, you enjoy black people. You like Asians. You delight in the gifts of indigenous peoples, whether or not they gave them freely.

Their contribution is inseparable, and indistinguishable from what America is.

This just in. A person might have more luck being a white supremacist in Europe. But even then, it won’t be easy. Still, not all of those countries stacked their foundations on the backs of the people who are the colors racists claim to hate. Claim to be better than. Beyond. But the dollar in your wallet says something totally different. It’s just how capitalism works. These races you perceive actually have a good bit of money. And it is quite impossible to delineate, or keep separate, their effect on markets, culturally and commercially. So if you hate them, you are most definitely in the wrong nation. Because without these people, the United States would mean nothing. Financially speaking.

This just in. You’re not a true racist if you are in any way profiting off this system. Maybe there are a few in-the-moment instances where you use a word, or judge a person on this basis, or a whole group of people, because of skin color, or they’re speaking languages you don’t understand, or have a sense of humor you don’t get, or different fashion or food or whatnot. That’s called being afraid of different. Racism requires research into continental movements and biological and environmental and genetic factors, migrations and immigration and forced exoduses into new worlds, and a subtle, for the most part, unspoken promotion of the theory of evolution.

This just in. Racism requires reading. And honestly, I doubt the homework has gotten done. I know somewhere, someone left you hurt, and any descriptor you can cling to in order to separate them from you, you will use. You take it as offense that you have to be the same species as the organism who treated you as an object. So, you objectify them. I get it. But that’s like a drowning person striking out at their lifesaver. A reaction to fear. And pain. Thrashing out at darkness that isn’t there. You’re just blinded by your own night light. Being racist requires a lot more than being proud of being white skinned. Or beige tinged. Or deeply black. Or light peach. This just in. That’s not racism. If skin color were race, then I’d be a new race at the end of every summer. People come in different colors. I’m not surprised that gets a rise out of a lot of us. It makes sense we would fear different, and favor familiar. But that isn’t racism. Racism would refuse to use the dollar. Refuse to walk on and benefit from an infrastructure that has time after time apologized and defended the people it once acquired and treated as commodities.

If I search my heart, it says there are only maybe ten true racists in this country. Who have now realized they can camouflage themselves conservative, and recruit armies of highly confused colorists. People who naturally fear different. And change. People who do not actually care at all about race. They’re just lifelong pessimists. They meet a few people, experience some uncomfortable situations, and that becomes the standard, and every good person, and positive experience, just an exception. The most hateful, what I would come closest to calling truly racist, whom I have met, always had exceptions. Certain humans who didn’t adhere to a stereotype they otherwise treated as a rule.

This just in. Racism can’t have exceptions.

If you do not hate all people included, you do not hate a race. In my heart, I don’t believe there are more than ten humans in America who have the moral bankruptcy and self-contentedness to sustain such a powerful exclusionary philosophy. It’s not good for capitalism. Not good for small towns. Not good for government.

And, you know, America sort of stands alone among nations in its inability to separate success and vitality from the impact of large groups of non-white and immigrant people.

This just in. You wouldn’t even deign to make your white supremacy stand in America if you were truly racist. This isn’t the hill you would die on. You wouldn’t be able to eat at McDonald’s. Let alone stand keeping cash in your wallet. Knowing where it has been. The hands that make it what it is.

I know people. I know myself. Don’t let the propaganda of a few highly unsustainable individuals convince you that a natural fear of what looks different, denotes any kind of evidence for superiority or inferiority among the racial and geographical dynamics of humanity. Of our species. This is just what happens when you’re a creature who doesn’t go extinct with its environment. When you cross mountains to find new forests, and new worlds. We get a little reshaped by each place along the way, but we wouldn’t be able to breed if we weren’t the same. We’d have different eyes. Different hand shape. Different lives. Just stop thinking in exceptions and standards, and lend other people the same autonomy you demand for yourself. Hate them. Hate everyone if you want to. But if you’re not rejecting capitalism as an economic system, you’re probably not racist. And if you think America is a good place to formally distinguish the white race against all others, you really haven’t done your homework.
There’s a lot more reading required to being a true racist.

This just in.
You might just be afraid of different.
Which means, you are just like the rest of us.

And if facts don’t persuade you, no mater what,
you are going to have a hard time being a true capitalist.

Inalienable #projectlocal

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

I want to take a moment to break this statement down. There are a lot of words here, but in reality, there is only one. An all encompassing four letter word that, should we fail to pause on it, even for a second, we might overlook the never ending, climactic struggle of ongoing cause and effect it entails. This word life. And to iterate a point, how many ended so that you could arrive at this point? How many lives complete with beating hearts and restless lungs and electric minds, stopped, so that this day could start?

I take it this is an agreed on statement, since I’ve been taught this in school since I was a child. That it is an inalienable right, for all of us, endowed by our cosmic creator, to have life.

It can be confusing. We’ve only had around a billion years roaming this little world to figure it out, but what exactly is life? Not talking about purpose, or pursuits, or the spiritual ramifications of eternal conquests for insight or understanding. I mean, what does it take to sustainably exist in a state one can call life? You see, this one is a simple equation. I can’t be the only person in the room who knows there’s no life in a vacuum. And that incredibly complex and deep running planetary roots are required to sustain all of us just to sit in a chair and breath regular. Just to exist. You’ve eaten. You’ve had a good bit to drink. And you’ve had reprieve from the elements. Food. Water. Shelter. A nice neat simple little equation to help make reality of this little soundbite, life.

If we have a right to life, that is different than a right to existence, right? Existence can be a blip. A single second. A momentary instant where some flash flood of consciousness thinks ‘I am’ just before it is gone. But life is more of a fire. A spark we share together with single cells from a billion years ago on the shore of a prehistoric ocean. Then all the fuel and tinder and kindling we’ve fed into it over the many millennia. A lot of work and effort went into life. And there are sources for resources we as a species can not generate all on our lonesome.

We don’t protect endangered species by putting them in armor. We do so by protecting their endangered habitats. Because there is no life outside of constant access to food, water, shelter.

“That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

Debt and over taxation without adequate respect or representation are forms of oppression. They have a long history of being used to maintain people in varying states of not fully free. Human beings can not survive in a vacuum. If you’ve guaranteed a human its freedom, you’ve guaranteed it free access to some food they can consume without fully depleting it, clean water from a consistent source and shelter from weather, from seasons, from the prying eyes of others. Without this option, this reality, what we have can not be called freedom. And if these assets are not available by natural, agricultural and rural-industrial means, and can only be obtained monetarily, then an appropriate amount of value must be provided, untaxed, at the very least annually, for the procurement of adequate food, water and shelter sources.

Choices.

The only doorway that leads to freedom. And unfortunately, when it comes to basic needs, none of us has any choice in the matter. Any governmental, or economic barrier that must be passed through in order to get to that simple, basic, fundamental place, is a restriction on, and therefore a denial of, our intrinsic right to freedom. We have to be alive to be free. We have to eat, drink, and have a safe place to sleep, to be alive. Therefore, having free access to those resources is the physical equivalent of having freedom. And what you do with it from that point on is living.

Fast cars, big houses, fancy dinners. This is why we formed economies. But capitalism has no intention of feeding our children past profitability. Capitalism knows that food, water and shelter are the invisible monopolies. And that if it can convince creatures these basic rights are commodities, they have found the perfect product. One consumers can’t boycott.

I’ve used a lot of words here, as usual, only trying to say one thing. Farmers don’t waste time trying to orchestrate the social lives of chickens. We would have better functioning government if they gave up trying to government, and simply tried to farm us. Because a farmer does three things for an animal. Provides food in varying sources, water clean and constant, and shelter from weather, danger and one another. Apart from that, freedom means nothing. Stubbornly doing absolutely nothing else for this little creature except watching it learn and grow throughout the ever-changing trials of life.

Local infrastructure: designed around food production and foot traffic based economic activity and education and healthcare.

Community justice: a tremendous burden placed on proof, and judgement by those who knew your name before they knew your crime.

Federal networking: communication town to town, region to region, state to state, and state to nation. Connecting the dots between surplus and shortage, recognizing the otherwise unseen congruencies between agriculture regions and climates. Trade regulations, foreign affairs, diplomacy, military and medical and disaster relief organizations.

We built a nation from the top down, and because of it, some country could take the head off America and the rest of it would just collapse. Local farmers go out of business while we feed families food from other continents, because it’s actually cheaper. We have flea markets, and garden like it was a pastime or hobby. Not like how when there is a disaster, it will be our sole source of life. Local will always be better. Always. Because there is an actual cost available. The story behind where a product came from and how it came to be. It is usually an incredible story. But it is always, however, local.

I propose we promote each agricultural region of no more than twenty square miles or so, to look at their area as an ark. As in, if they had to, just how much could they produce without going too far from home. At first, a simple, beneficial exercise, but ultimately, a ranking system where areas compete to produce upwards of forty, to sixty, or even eighty percent of their entire food, medical and water needs. So that when each local principality reaches out to their larger regions, even to their states, for help, it is only to supplement, or trade for the diversity we’ve grown accustomed to accessing. And in doing so, each region and state would go to our federal system needing that much less. An easy endeavor to incentivize, and even promote a little capitalistic competition between regions and towns to out-sustain their neighbors.

As opposed to what we have now, which is leadership most likely praying disaster for the sake of publicity and increased budget spending. Police departments receiving new gadgets and pay raises after each destructive riot. A certain level of homelessness and unemployment to keep the ship rocking. All hands on deck.

For as long as people look to governments to fulfill basic, daily needs, there will be government jobs in an endless stream. The motivation just isn’t there. The perfect worker works to make his or herself obsolete. So what we have here is an entire system built on a conflict of interest. And a government invented by unimaginative, vengeful men who didn’t want to dissolve the crown, but split it up into eight hundred pieces and secure never-ending employment for their little nephews and nieces until kingdom calls us all home. And it has. Right here and now.

We can not be free without the choice to be. To human. Before we American, before we are students or residents, before you are anything but you. This right is God granted. It does not need to be government approved.

What did Trent say? #oldjournals

I used to make myself write about headlines.
As if my perspective would be sought after some future day.
That some roguing scholar might say,
what all did Trent write on the bailout,
on this election, our first not full white president,
on Libya, Syria, Benghazi, the Mayan prediction,
the Iphone evolution, the social media revolution.

Well, I used to, but then,
I was writing to be the author I desired to be,
and not the one I am.

Geniusest

How many words were invented when we invented our government? Congress. President. Senate. I’m waiting. Which of these positions was invented specially for our unique democratic experiment? Because if we took these words from history, let there be no more mystery as to why it doesn’t work. We run our nation like the question how many broken lawnmowers does it take to cut the grass. Maybe a piece from each will work, and we can somehow splice together a decent machine from the rest of the world’s spare parts. But I doubt it. None of these countries, empires, philosophers or tyrants sent us their hearts. Just their rebels. Contraband. Freedom bound. People who look forward to sleep because of their dreams, not to avoid them. Face it. Democracy hasn’t actually successfully happened yet. The infrastructure required to stabilize it in a modern realm may yet not be in existence. And what we need are geniuses. Not chess champions or intellectual gunslingers pointing facts or eleven year old violinists.

We need what genius really means. What it’s always meant.
For the time being. A chance to reinvent.

Everything is better when there are women in the room.

What if this is an issue of equality.
Of feminism.
We are arguing the functionality of purely male-made systems of
government and economy.

Perhaps if there had been at least one woman in the room,
she would have mentioned how unprofitable people still like to eat.

Perhaps she would have brought a scale,
and given a demonstration of the true meaning
of the word equal.

An Ironically Open Letter to the Alt-Right

Isn’t it control alt delete? Wasn’t sure if you were freezing up on an old screen, I have to do that as well when what I’m looking at fails to update how I want it to.

Moving on, you really like paper work don’t you? Bureaucracy seems to have become more a philosophy in your movement. I mean it might be hard for you to see a person as a person without checking their driver’s license first, am I right? Something about their image and name and height and weight and birth date all on a little laminated card between fingers. That has to be an intriguing experience for someone who believes identity lives in skin.

But as far as race, that is not skin color, correct? I sometimes burn old magazines and newspapers to start fires, and every now and again this really interesting thing happens, where a book on fire will actually turn its pages as it burns. If you get a chance in the next few years, take a look at a science book or two as it gives you its dying attempt at seeding information anywhere other than solely on paper. We are all all races. You, white man, are an African. This is not climate change. This is not human ownership of such a process. This is not environmentalism. That is not disputed science. We have read our genetic code like it were some special form of government identification, and it read we all come up one continent. We have genetic codes for every color skin all wrapped up in ours. Look at it this way, the way you look is more about the doorway you passed through coming into the world, than the room you were in before you took a step forward. Those last few generations of skin color and nose shape and eye color and hair type, the tip of an iceberg of genetic information stored just beneath the surface. So you’re going to have to claim and build this identitarian ethic all on your own. It has no foundation in truth.

And gender. That is half your fucking species man. That is your mother. Your daughter. Your sister. Hopefully your friend. They don’t have to whoop you in an arm wrestling competition to convince you you don’t exist without them. We are equal by necessity you bozo. We represent that fact in pay, protections, access and respect, not because its right or a nice thing to do or a special gift for your lady. You do that because it is reality. Women are not an ingredient in the stew, they’re the fucking water you start with. They’re half the equation. You strengthen and improve their way of life, their self-esteem, the respect offered them by their society, you enhance the entire system in one fell swoop. You support half of all of our foundation when you right this equation. You might feel good when you buy her flowers. But give her your eyes as an equal, and you will see the superhero you’ve been keeping in the kitchen. She walks city streets having lived through your worst fears head high, shoes sharp, face painted. She has heard words, and felt pressures, and experienced pain you don’t know exist. Learn them. Gain a friend. An equal. Make our species whole. Keep the flowers. Make the world ours. Because it will die if it stays mine.

That being said, a little advice for your ethic. I would love to be hated for the color of my skin. For being a man. For some externally perceived categorical assessment of my identity. Puts me in the perfect place to practice powers you won’t believe exist in my category. Allows me access to so much more subversive development of ideas and plans. Get to know me, talk to me, even feign friendliness just to access some better, more nuanced understanding of the answers to who, and how, and why, and what for and what all I am, and more importantly, all I intend. To put it simply, empathy and consideration are keys to greater hate. Just saying. Try it. Even if the sole motivation is ‘how the hell can we hate these people just a little more effectively?’ But I get the feeling that’s not going to happen. Not while this nice neat little laminated card stock photo identification stays cradled between those peachy white well callused fingers. You don’t want to know me. You want the me that can be erased from the world by a pair of scissors. Which is why my movement will always be stronger than yours. You have numbers.

But we, the people.

Letter of Resignation from Donald Trump’s Masseuse:

Dear ‘The Donald’,

First of all, thanks for making me call you The Donald, it really isn’t clear just what sort of noun you are without it. Secondly, a Masseuse is a term for someone who does massage as a practice. It’s not the name of a herd of moose. It’s not something Dr. Seuss fans say to each other. It’s not the female version of master, sorry Melania. There’s no such thing as masseuse shoes and no one ever says ‘hand me masseuse’ but you. Just needed to get that off my chest, and yes, that’s the only thing I need off or on my chest. Also, I know I’m not the skinniest thing skating around in a size six, but if you could please hold off calling me Rhino Pudding and asking what all it will take to blow my horn, that’d be swell. Honestly, I sometimes wonder how I put up with you all these years. Luckily I’ve had my cat Rhino Pudding by my side for constant comfort. Speaking of, it’s weird how you knew I was a cat person way before I mentioned it. I just remember you shouting ‘get that pussy home’ over and over again as I walked across the parking lot leaving work. You were always very perceptive in that way. I guess I can’t fault you for that.
Oh yes, and those shoulders. I remember the day we had to tear down the doorway and reshape it into a giant exclamation mark just to fit those far-reaching, epically carved flesh plateaus you call shoulder-blades. I have been officially diagnosed with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, arthritis, Cubital Tunnel Syndrome, Epicondylitis, etc. from just trying to dig these feeble little lady digits deep into the rock hard, ultra dense mathematical equation constituting your arm-bar anatomy. I really tried, The Donald, but I’ve run out of masseuse’s excuses, the pressure has grown to a point and I just can’t grope, grab, I mean grasp the strength needed to milk campaign trail stress out of those massively mythological back-crowns. I know you understand. You were always so understanding. Like when I was up on that ladder changing a light bulb, and you were under, standing, staring up my dress. You can always be counted on, and you make such a solid spotter. I know you’re capable of holding America’s soft ass tight as she waddles down the angelic stepping stones of democracy, back into acceptance of a representative best case scenario based republic. You really taught me the purpose of concepts like faith, and hope, and forgiveness. The day you showed up naked wrapped in a clear shower curtain. You said look, its like my whole body is in a condom, now fuck it with your fingers. That was fucking deep The Donald.

But I am sorry, I do apologize. I’m going to have to move on to another career. Do you have any suggestions?
“Female soccer player.”
“Grape crusher at a vineyard.”
“Sneaker tester.”
“Foot fetish prostitute.”
“Feet massage expert and call the parlor I wanna take off masseuse and foot you
“Professional kicker.”
“Sideshow Claw Hand Lobster Girl.”
“Author a tell-all book about the intense yet inspirational task of alleviating The Donald’s stress throughout this historical campaign. Write it with your feet. That’s the thing. First book written by foot.”

Thanks TD. I can always count on you to drop bombs. Well, I’ll check ya later The-Don Greyjoy. All that glitters ain’t gold but fuck gold I got platinum on. Love peace and white police. Catch you on the flip my flop. Thanks for the memories. Keep grabbing them by the cat, my friend. Any cat lover knows, that’s where the heart stays anyway.

-The Donald’s Masseuse

ps: Did you know that instead of build or building you could use the words erect or erection? Was waiting until I quit to tell you that, but there you go, enjoy. Erect something tremendous. Your career has been a monumental erection.