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The Passing Shadow…

In Uncategorized on October 18, 2016 at 12:05 am

The passing shadow, can only be seen through the veil,

For the days expire, like kindling to a match,

Sulfuric haze, mirrored glaze, and scratch,

Mortal, crude, nail,

The skeletons of this year falling to and fro,

Like enamored leaves descent-

Twilight never looked so appealing, repent,

In the blood, in the snow,

Frigid hands can only hold on so long,

Their obscene grasp, beyond the shadow,

Forlorn years weep bitter, low,

And she may call to me, a song,

Guide the veil over me,

Lay me down, rest,

One may, one attest,

For the day has been spared for thee,

Ship in excess distress,

This World wrought,

Tungsten gallows sought,

Death’s veil, caress,

The friends, the foes- equal stance,

Belay the torture,

End in forfeiture,

She, pagan queen shall dance,

And no one counseled the fates before the last,

Before the steam rendered eyes mute,

And the shiftless bard, called the dirge from his lute,

The scream of soul, has been a few months past,

There in the bed I witnessed,

The escape, the release,

Your everlasting peace,

None, the fittest,

And were we scuttled,

Coleridge and his Mariner,

I, the albatross,

The beacon- a glimmer from behind the veil,

Cast amongst the shadows,

And, here the story takes a turn,

For the chattel to be survived by the law,

Turned to the heirs,

From cinder, to green,

And all in between,

Miles wrought from family, and birth,

The story…

Were the maiden suffering would you attend her, shawl in hand?

The epic recourse would be to the end,

Defend the darning night, knitted in the canvas of specter,

Shoal and bar conspire against the tide wrecked hulk, now prone,

Conjoined in despair,

This pair, a mortal question…

Shall we?

Fire never knows,

And blunt instruments suffice,

To wrest the veil from the tomb,

Caught by forgiving womb,

Cast the bones, let the Autumn sun figure it out,

The shadows long this time of year,

The sickle cannot steer,

Reap, reap- at what cost?

71-97,

Coin toss,

All the coin and privileged,

Came into the fulcrum of crutch,

And now, in the ream, the whole play unfolds,

Where the human condition was spat out,

Over fine dinners, and sarcastic conversation,

Let out your bile, as a sail furls into the wind,

No one cares, alone this road, craggy in the steep wind,

Can’t see the lodging from tree,

No Diogenes…

The truth withered under the weight of plural,

So much deception, without truth’s courtesy,

Cannot bide the veil, nor stave the shadow’s grasp,

The highest mount will succumb to the river below,

As rifts undone will spoil the show,

Harbor held fast,

The storm consumed,

One ship pitched and rolled before the tide,

The maidens ribbons held fast through the gale,

While the mighty assailed,

The weak played in their tears looking for a solstice,

And I?

I remain aloof, and yet… frightened.

Outcomes and soil-

Outcomes and soil,

Erase the veil?

Summon the shadow so soon?

Curt could never hold a candle, instead spilling the wax all over longevity’s robe…

The stellar coincidence contrived to make the maiden bleak and well it may,

For the fire cannot consume what does not feed,

And feed it does,

As mist and smoke evade the subtle bend of neck- just for 30 odd,

And all the undone creeps up in the night like a 67 white Lincoln idling placidly in a garage somewhere in a sub division,

Those nights of hell,

Those fox-hole prayers,

All amount to the sum,

The equation must be satisfied,

There, he stood stern and fore-lorn,

A lesson away from the truth,

Now he rots upon her grave- craving the shadow, as his remains rebuke the testament of light,

Light drives the shadow, the veil is the shadow’s friend, together they obscure,

The vision, truth-

We slaughtered a hart in the name of noble to continue in blood

The rant rolled into morning and made no more headway than cursory explanation,

For rot and root, use the same tools,

And seed and spurn carry the same footprint,

A deed not sought, is industry wasted,

Wasted industry…

For cottages and homes, and heart are carried away

Eyes lose sight and hearing, dim,

Love, the end of excitement,

Love, the end of alright,

Love, the end of OK

Love delight…

For year hairy diligence sought,

While meticulous records kept, resolute betrayal,

It ends quickly- soon

Before it’s begun, when it’s due

Nothing is the all of something,

While pretense worked hard at getting you there,

Ego’s shallow veil could not be pulled down low enough,

To cover your embarrassment,

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The Curious Case of JW’s Estate. . .

In Uncategorized on August 13, 2016 at 10:32 pm

Section II:

. . .Bridgette, the domestic partner, cut bait and ran.  Brent, and his wife Sue, were left to pick up the remaining pieces of the estate.  Don had to return to the Midwest, and poor Mary- the mother, had broken her hip just a week after her son’s death.  She was recuperating from surgery, however, she would never return to her home.

Brent could not administer his late father’s estate- the state would not recognize him due to his criminal background.  So, Sue had to boldly come forward as the Personal Representative of the struggling estate.

In the midst of taking care of Mary, and selling the remaining property of JW’s, Brent and Sue tired their best not to be consumed by sadness and pity.

The cars were sold first, a boat, a landscaping trailer followed.  The primary residence had to be cleaned out by a crew of six- it took four days.  Everything was taking shape in the void.  That is, until Mary had a few down-turns in the early summer of 2016.

Mary was in her late 90s, and had she had a bout of congestive heart failure, which led to a debilitating stroke.  She passed on 7-15 from her injuries, the family was stricken.

All we have for certain is the moment.  All we have is now.  We can lay store by goods material possessions, but in the end they possess us.

The Penance Hole

In Uncategorized on June 27, 2016 at 11:49 pm

Penance Hole
06-27-2016
We all enter life much the same- by accident. Our spirits are out surfing in the ether, enjoying the our neutral disposition in the universe, when we are summoned from the depths of the penance hole. It’s a place between dream, and death, life, and wake.
“Well, we’ve decided there’s nothing more to do, so we’re putting in the order for hospice.” The doctor at Sarasota Memorial told my brother and I. It appeared that the end was near for Gina, our 97 year old Grandmother. She’s the one that told me and Dylan (my older brother)about the “Penance Hole.”
I’m Clint, 42, he’s Dylan, 49- then there’s my wife, and her family. We don’t talk too much about Dylan’s wife, she’s in Michigan and that’s about all you need to know there.

The odd thing is we never remember the penance hole or surfing in the ether, were brought to, or decide to come back here, every time from, one source. We shuffle about taking turns at the helm of the universe, we have our good and bad times, then we come to the Earth. One can see the penance hole from dreams or near death, we visit, and visit often. The thin veil isn’t always that thin and we have trouble believing half of what we see.
Sometimes it’s art or fantasy, other times it’s a long drive in the car. Yet, we clash into each other fighting over every dollar as if it were the only value in the world. Gold, Land, Pussy- J. Maylin. Human Fucking Greed. Yet, I digress.
For myself, Dylan, and Gina- the penance hole, or was it “whole”…? They were the last of the Demitris. Clint and Dylan had chosen not to carry on the legacy, at least for the time being. Pap, passed in March of 2016, and it was now May of the same year. So, the Demitri brothers muddled around their sadness, staring at each other, as if: “what is there left to do?”
There was much- the probate of Pap’s sickly estate, the care of Gina. Dylan had to return to Michigan carry his load there, while Clint and his wife had to pull the cart in FL.

Life, Death, one source. There was a song by The Semisonics, “Closing Time.” The lyrics “…Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end…” struck Clint.

Here, in reality, we think live good, and goodness shall happen to you. We live where we work hard to raise a dollar just to give it away, we live to promote, and endure. Often, we do not care, severally, we care too much. We cannot consume the riches of our “world” fast enough never knowing the equation must be satisfied at some time. The penance hole equation. Remaining in a state of neutral, stay in the ether. Stay in one place. We seek why and how, we know nothing of our where and what. Be still was taught to me by a shaman that didn’t know she was a shaman! Yeah, that remaining teachable stuff, that never ending humility. That place of wonder, and wander.
The spirit of man isn’t corrupt. The spirit becomes corrupted, through the first lie- that we die. Yes, the shell may quit, the husk, may remain here- adding to the juggernaut. The spirit remains neutral in the equation fulfilling the grand design- the outline in the ether. We choose to leave and come back- as what and why we never know, it’s a subtle form of of reincarnation. There are no penalties- just more to learn and experience.
Each time we leave the penance hole we want out on our volition, then we are escorted here, for no other reason then we try to improve. Isn’t that the point? We, me, you, the unborn- all striving for the same why and how? It becomes pointless and therein lie the point. Pointlessness, is stationary, it’s neutral. We all say the same things feel the same emotions, go through the entire “cycle” exactly the same, what’s the difference? The timing of it all. There are three notes that compose the entire shebang. The three notes are played each day, each minute, each hour- by a different entity be it God or spirit or whatever. They are broadcast through the universe and you can either tune in or strife. Constant cosmic harmonic reverberation…

The Curious Case of JW’s Estate. . .

In Uncategorized on March 15, 2016 at 11:35 pm

Section I:

“Beware the IDES of March”

JW died on 3-10.  He was 71 years old.  He was survived by his immediate family, His mother, Mary, Sons: Don, Brent, and , Bridget his domestic partner for the past 23 years.

These people were thrust into the fulcrum of a horrible machine of (JW’s design) that threatened to consume them from beyond the grave.  He left no estate planning documents whatsoever, save for a “Mad-Lib” style, fill-in-the-blank will that was unsigned, not witnessed, and not notarized.  Therefore it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on in the eyes of the law.  A second estate planning document- signed and witnessed was found, but not notarized, it was a holographic will from ’03 and did not reflect his current frame of mind or testamentary wishes.

The property, the chattel, the accessories were all spoken for from various creditors, and all the tiny family had was each other.  The main issue at the bar, so to speak, was the care of the elderly mother, and the best way to dispose of the wretched estate that was so far behind in payments that foreclosure was assured on JW’s last breath.

JW was a proud man, and had a big ego.  The family was in utter shock to find that he was so consumed with himself he failed to carry out the necessary arrangements to have his affairs conducted in a dignified, calculated, and respectable manner.  Everyday  more lies, more hidden facts, more deceit, more sabotage was excavated from the digs into the ruined estate of excess.  The family couldn’t even mourn!

The piles upon piles, the layers upon layers- the sheer “more” of the situation could not be comprehended.  A talented play write on his best day could not draft a more seething, scathing, scorching, soulless litany. The man was totally devoid of any notion of love for those around him, as evidenced by his lack of concern for their well being and safety after he left the planet.

As Brent and Bridget searched for the estate documents, Brent found his sex toys first with photos of women who were not Bridget around their mutual homestead.  Brent had to jimmy a lock box with a pry bar and hammer.  Next, JW transferred none of the accounts into Bridget’s name as he had promised.  Then, he had Mary’s home tied into the estate with a mortgage.  Talk about a true Oedipus complex!

The entire Human Condition from birth to death was played out in less than 5 days of unimaginable suffering and torment.  The “buzzards” swooped in with regal wings, and took the sweetest carrion from the rubble.  Don, the elder bother, was graced with three firearms, a telescope, a painting and a few books.  Brent got a blue ship’s lamp, and a watch that he gave to JW for a present that the man never wore.  To Bridget, you ask?  He erased her heart and soul as if it were a failing hard drive., with just about as much emotion.

There were cars and boats, and stocks, and cash, and, and, and. . ..

It amounted to nothing but sheer ignorance, spite, and damnation.

Section II to follow. . .

Elect to Abstain. . .

In Uncategorized on May 4, 2015 at 1:16 pm

Greetings.  In the throes of this America we find ourselves in currently, I elect to abstain from voting, regardless of the shape of the monster, politics is still a monster.  There is no “better” candidate, there is no one leader that is able to cure the “ills” of a failed system of governing.  Whereby, I choose to abstain, I also choose autonomy.  How I interact, and choose to relate to others and function in society is of key importance to me.

Until we are unwilling to adjust our world view to a more contemporary framework, we are doomed.  Doomed to be at the mercy of the government and the policy it hands down, doomed to feel ashamed of our country and world, doomed to play an unwilling role in our society.  Why?  Because we choose to endorse and approve the “status quo” through our tax dollars and voting rights.

Your voice goes unheard except in tirades over the internet.  Why not use that freedom of expression for something other than fault-finding and bemoaning affairs?  Why not create positive change?  Stand for something not image based or manipulated by greed and power.

The real picture is that of the ecosystem without it we are lost.  It should be at the forefront of our endeavors, yet it trails almost last.  There is a market here for the economy to improve and for America to take the helm again as a first class nation.  First, re-invest in our cities.  Our urban infrastructure is so far run down that it is inhabitable.  In restoring our major epicenters, we are able to build a sense of community- something that has been lost to a certain degree from the attacks of 09-11-2001.  Turn foreclosures and vacant buildings into low income housing, and safe neighborhoods.  make each citizen a “shareholder” in the transformation.  We all have something to lose why don’t we build something that lasts together?  Our model is based on competition for resources, rather than cooperation for what matters.  In reinventing our cities, we are able to curb sprawl, cut down on an overtaxed, outdated, system of mass transit.  Replace the ACA (Affordable Care Act) with a JOBS division of government that draws from the same laws that were enacted during the Great Depression.  Set up public housing in every major city so that unemployed, eligible candidates can test the job market for a fraction of their pay.  Rebuild and reinvent.

Stop looking outside of the US and declare war on poverty and homelessness here at home.  Foreign concerns are just that foreign.  Think green, act clean.  Clean up our cities and mass transit, and the environment is sure to improve.  Utilize local action and resources rather than China made goods.  I suggest we stop relying on technology to clean up our messes and take accountability for our actions as responsible adults.  I also propose that we endeavor to cultivate the culture here in America and stop living in a paranoid world of terror threats and NSA spying.

There is going to be change but it may not be the kind we want, change is the only constant.  2024, the world’s population doubles from 6-7 billion to 12-14 billion.  at that point we have reached critical mass.  This means we are unable to process the waste that 12 billion people create.  That is a major problem, as we will not have the resources available for people to eat and live in a manner that we have enjoyed for a good number of years.

Rather than looking for a political party or one person to change the current system, I would suggest that we abstain to change.  Abstain from the vote and instead focus on the importance of country.  The machine will do as it pleases but it does not rule thought or expression.  I choose to use my voice to wail the importance of reduce, improve, and cultivate.

Reduce the impact on the environment, improve the quality of life, and cultivate the culture.

Background into the foreground.

In Uncategorized on September 19, 2014 at 11:40 pm

How much information is too much? I recently went through a background check and it took almost two weeks to complete. I can understand the nature of why, but how and what is the scary part. It seems to me that we need only look at the past 5-7 years, and that many of these checks are an intrusion into our privacy. Further, I contend that even the most rigorous check won’t reveal the true character or intent of the checked. In this, the land of information and surveillance, it’s hard for me to comprehend why it took so long for the results to be in? At any rate, the screen went well and all is good. Yet, I wonder if these checks are somewhat unconstitutional and unnecessary, outdated, and a mere matter of protocol, of inefficient and lacking entities???

In Defense of the Sportster, 1200 cc’s of Luxury.

In Uncategorized on September 19, 2014 at 11:39 pm

The first one I had, was a 1974, Harley Davidson, 1000 cc, Model XLCH- Sportster.  It was a total basket case, and probably still is to this day, I sold it to a friend- he passed away, shorty after getting it road worthy again.  Today, I enjoy the luxury of a 1998, 1200 cc XLH- Evolution, Sportster with only 19,000 miles on the odometer.  In the culture of Harley-Davidson, a Sportster model XLH or XLCH is only considered “Half a Harley,” “The Old Ladies Bike,” or “Just a Sporty.”  I beg to differ.  The origin of the XLCH is and was Harley’s only racing motorcycle.  It has true heart and soul.  It is nimble through the gears and handles well, it is responsive and quick- for a cruiser!  I like sport touring motorcycles and the Spostster fits the bill.  On the drag way or on that long road, the Harley Davidson Sportster model is the only one for me!

The Ultimatum. . .

In Uncategorized on June 17, 2014 at 11:28 pm

I am not a dollar sign, I am not aligned, nor am I subject. If by some marvel this finds you, good day.  I refuse to dole in dour, dire spaces, forthwith!  I challenge, without hostility, the mass, the pit, the gall of humankind to free thinking- currently being considered a mental illness in some circles.  The art of thinking, free or not, has been lost instead we let Google or Siri sort out our shortcomings.  I surrender to the fact that intellectualism is somewhat lost, but for the purpose of this model, I shall refrain. . ..  I refuse to lose liberty, freedom and valor over the cost of gas, or my mind in the pursuit of it!  We’re losing- point blank.  Our cities are trashed, morale is low, grief is high and the bill collectors will barely stay at bay.  Why are we losing?  We forgot how to count that’s why.  What is the fundamental right we are given in this country that we fritter away on Facebook- expression, number 1.  So, starting with one what else are you willing to give up in the tussle?

I am not just a number, I count today and it’s not because of the things I buy, or the image I portray, but it is because I represent America, in whatever capacity I may, and I choose expression.  Today, I believe.  What or how is of little importance because if you don’t believe then your mind is closed and you can’t graft a new idea onto a closed mind.  Ideas, thoughts, action- think, act, react.  The choice is yours- choice- decision again- action.  Many are calling for action, action from the government, action from others to cease the pain.  Pain- a word I choose to use sparingly.

I give up feeling sorry for myself in spite of myself, I rescind the great ‘plan’ I have or had, I refuse to act out of pain and fear anymore than is necessary.  Instead I will boldly face each day, not with determination, bent, or resolve, but with gratitude, thankfulness, and humility.  Expression takes on all forms- I choose to express my love to those closest to me, I choose to express appreciation for the life I live, and I am thankful for those who stand with me.

All I can ask for myself is that I remain believable, in a state of belief- believing.

 

Corrupt Drive

In Uncategorized on August 26, 2013 at 1:49 am

There it was: Blue screen of death.  Error codes and stalls had handicapped the T23 since the hard drive reached it’s 10 year mark- Dylan shuddered- his EBT benefit wouldn’t come through, he was miles form nowhere and needed the forsaken thing to work.

“Now, there has to be a way. . ..”

Operating system after operating system. The result was nil.

“Useless!”

It was the way it was, had been, and is.  Corrupted drives EVERYWHERE.

The rattling mosaic of flesh turds everywhere crying out for the same resources- since Spokane, Dylan noticed the allure of media fresh shit-  Right after he bought a pound of peanuts from Wal-Shit on Tuesday, peanuts and Wal-Fuck had been appearing in his feed.  That facial recognition shit sure was working well- so much for the Constitution.  Many had to split before the world again regained footing.  Overpopulation was unheard of until 2024 when the human traffic increases to 12 billion and we shit ourselves out ofa world- Yet, everyone wants the same rights and to ‘feel good.’  Well here’s your chance. Shine.

The T23 came to life after the fourth pass and a brand of Linux that was very unpopular.  But it was stable and transmitting.  Now for the data crunch.  Dylan stayed up for a week straight eating and drinking instant coffee and caffeine pills.

He applied for every government program over and over resending the data and rerouting the ip.

The T23 flickered in and out during these times, but the responses flowed back in, we were all promised the same things in life liberty pursuit of happiness and the bullshit we cave to is big, like glacier big or dinosaur big.

Half reflecting in a daze he decided to go for a grant for “the Most Absurd American” which was directed through the NSA, unknowingly but drew it’s resources from US Department of Census.

I guess some idiot had figured out that by finding the most ridiculous mother out there, they could market insanity, then there would be no need for medicine after all we are all horrible genetic mutations of some off-fiendish-divine-hell angel AMERICA((N(S)))

Thus, to get the grant he put his last tofu bruger up on efuckt, and sold the television on craigs-stool.  With the proceeds he bought a package of stamps.  Then, he sold his family to an oil concern in AFREAKA = profit to the soul, with shoddy handwriting- denounced his religion at the hands of MacDooland’s Hamburgers- Pirated his own Facestick account stole his identity three times over reverted his credit score to a negative.

He smeared himself with shit and lit his sandals on fire in front of Star-ripp-off while chocking down a triple grande-soy -fuck mocha and singing ‘America The Beautiful.’

Before they spirited away his grandma, he went to her house and ate all her medication for the month just out of spite and because it’s called for in this cuntry to rip off the elderly and double charge them for their misery.

Changing his sexual orientation to BI-Moth- attracted to light, heat, and open, dirty, sewers was the first thing he did as the new American-ese.

IT GOT SO DISGUSTING AT THE END I CAN’T RELATE, NOR SHOULD ANYONE ELSE.  LET IT BE KNOWN THAT DYLAN PURGED HIMSELF OF THE ‘MERICAN WASTELAND OF EXCESS BY RENOUNCING HIS CITIZENSHIP AND REAPPLYING FOR SAID CITIZENSHIP TO THIS WRECK OF A CUNTRY AS A SURREAL , RELIGIOUSLY PERSECUTED, FALLEN AMERICAN ANGEL, FOR ASYLUM AS AN ‘ILLEGALLY,’ LEGAL ALIEN.

Needless to say it worked, he got the grant, loped off his testis under the tenants of his NEW religion- STOOPID BY PROXY AND DIVINELY PROTECTED SPECIES OF MUTANT PROPAGANDA THAT THE STAR-SHIP ECONOMY IS COMING BACK.

Once that was taken care of it was an easy jump to change his orientation to asexual at the hands of the GOVERNMENT- STUPID WASTE OF TIME FIGHTING WARS THAT SERVICE PEOPLE COULD BE DEFENDING THE HOME-FRONT HERE, LEGACY.  This allowed him to form a tribe and buy back his enslaved inbred cousins.  Happy all around.  Dylan went one step further and righted the economy by removing the penny from the currency system as it costs 2.8 cents to make one cent, then gridlocked the entire nation for a day AS HIS DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE FROM A FEEBLE AND ILL-THOUGHT-OUT FORM OF MASS TRANSIT THAT IS OUTDATED AND CORRUPT AT THE HANDS OF RUINING OUR URBAN INFRASTRUCTURE.

END OF LINE.

Remember- it’s not who we are, it’s who can aspire to own us. . .. SOLIDARITY- ALLEGIANCE.

Censorship and Taxes

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

Image

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.