Archive for February, 2013|Monthly archive page

Censorship and Taxes

In Uncategorized on February 24, 2013 at 3:48 pm


Money, Death, Taxes, and the Freedom of Expression. These are certain to our life as Americans. Yet, as they are the most fought after, sought after characteristics, they have become so common place that we collectively abhor them. What is the right amount of money? How and why are taxes an instrument rather than a necessary evil. When is death an asset? What expression costs the most? Enough with the questions!
I love my family, and my country. I love to pay my taxes and I love my right to expression. What does all of it have in common? Money is a tool, crude, yet it works. Much like a hammer, money can be used to construct goals in life, used in the wrong manner of expression, a hammer can also cause death, just the same as money. Similarly, taxes, I purport, by rendering them and the act of filing them represents the most patriotic expression that a citizen of the U.S. may demonstrate to their country, especially this one and in the fulcrum of today. For example, when a loved one or friend really needs a loan, and you can provide them with a surplus of your money, does it not feel and demonstrate affection for that person. You are looking out for their best interest and also your own. The reason is simple. The monetary system is an illusion. It’s merit and base is the importance we place on items and services. As we look out for our ‘friends’ or ‘loved ones’ common interests, and ergo: endorsing them and their cause, we ourselves are saying something about our feelings toward that person. In the same vein, the transference to an entity such as the Federal Government, as we go through the dedicated ritual of tax declaration and payment of these taxes do we not, by this act, endorse ourselves and our nation? It is the most sincere form of expression, to contribute to the overall well being of our nation and ourselves as citizens of that nation. By remitting taxes we see that the common good is served, and that we protect ourselves and our country.
However, if any of you have ever had a drug addict as a friend or family member, who consistently has their hand out, asking for monetary donations, at some point one must draw the line with generosity. Alike to this scenario, our dear government has proven in the past that squandering of our tax base is prevalent at all levels of organized government. What type of expression does that state back to honest citizens? The same message that our above drug using example typifies, one of recklessness and disregard for our mutual expression of compassion and generosity.
Money is a tool or resource or whatever you want to call it. To me it is an expression of trust, honor, and commitment. It is a bond between friends and family, government and citizen. In this culture and society little can be done without it, but more can be achieved through a positive expression of our hard earned dollars.
As sure as taxes, now is death. Death is just as necessary as taxes and just as certain. This planet Earth is only an ethical workshop for the next plane of reality. We pass the ‘money’ test, do our best and disappear into the ether. There is nothing more certain than death and taxes.
What I find most displeasing about the taxing process, is like the problem with death, the mystery. A firm known as the IRS- masked assailants working voodoo magic with numbers and forms- letters that are so vague and threatening, regulating the very nature of what I say, and how I choose to say it with the capital I create. What does that say? It says to me that a suspicious and paranoid government has no business taking my data, coin, and expression and turn it into inquisition. Imagine if funerals were like filing taxes- all merits on one side of the room, and all liabilities on the other and somewhere in the middle is a ‘balance.’ What if we, as humans were promised a refund of hours at the end of our life?
But the IRS saw fit to put a hold on those hours?
At any rate I contend that my tax return and the subsequent payment of my taxes to MY Federal Government is a Constitutionally Protected Right. I feel that ANYONE who challenges what I declare with my physical, monetary, EXPRESSION is in fact censoring my message and therefore denying me my fundamental 1st Amendment Right as a Red-Blooded, TAX paying, AMERICAN citizen. Lastly, the next time I fill out a W-4 form, I’m going to write my social security number, and then “Null and Void under the 1st Amendment Right.” Because I choose not to be censored/edited by the IRS or anyone for that matter.


The Cardinal Nomads: NNW

In Uncategorized on February 13, 2013 at 2:24 am

Looking in every direction, the key had to be somewhere!  There perched on the edge of the trashcan was the key to the Sportster.  Brent was relieved.  He could finally set sail for home under 1200 cc of ‘More Milwaukee.’  There you were watching us pull away on the bike- from the saddle bag- YOU that innocent unopened bottle of Jack.  I wanted you and others did too. Just me and my over-inflated sense of importance held me glued to the seat as I gritted the teeth against traffic like so much band wind.  You- linger in the bag, taunting my fingertips couldn’t wait to get you home as I would a new bride.  But you were always my new bride, and I swore NEVER to go out on you.  Making the tight curves and radical lane changes 5th was all I could think of 5th gear, 5th of Jack, 5th Amendment.  Your honey brown color and smokey taste set me afire like some many supple breasts and asses.  How many nights you trashed and smashed totaled me out and whatever I was driving.  You break me out in handcuffs like a rash around my genitals from too much friction burn.  Friction, everywhere- the man you, and I.  I took you away from MAL and he wasn’t unhappy to see you go instead he prospered.  You thrive only at the graveside.  You bring me ruin and joy a sip at a time, I undress you as I would a gentle female using all my tenderness and care.  I inhale you instead of drinking you, I get high as you go down.  Down that’s what we do, all we do.  You, I, Her, She, IT.  I get to the bottom of you and then I have to start over, just as I was taking your panties over your hips. Then, I taste you in the morning, dusky and sweating, I pour ice over you to bring us back to sense.  I arch your back and suck off your breast as a mad, teething child, safe in your arms.  With fury, I smote your backside and sometimes smash you into the wall- out of control, just like a car wreck.  Sometimes you are a covert friend I take on missions- I introduce you to another girl and we three way for days.  You really got a hold on me (like the song!)Image  Your tight hole offers so much warmth right to my stomach, then to my head.  I passionately embrace you and kiss your lids, over and over, and you make sure it never works out with others. But it’s just you and I tonight, alone- Solemente.