I want to share the letter I just wrote to the US Courts, Southern District of FL, Miami:
It’s a year now since the judge forgave my fed fine, but I’m still getting bills. Federal bull in the china shop was our original bone of contention which freedom fighters will lose so long as the bureaucrats have their hands in everyone’s pockets, but my girlfriend is upset as my stack of unopened federal mail grows.
I told my ex-parole guy a half year ago that I’m content to watch the court bankrupt everyone but as I say, my girl is upset.
Save a tree, go out of business.
[my signature, followed by my name, my nickname, and the two versions of my name by which bureaucrats know me]
A. Paul Knatz
August Paul Knatz, Jr.
PS I got more than 150 e-fan-mails yesterday: from Netherlands, Washington, Sweden, Russia … Take a look: I talk about you.
Of course what you censored of mine was my real masterpiece: unrecreatable because it was a constellation of things. A bucket of nails isn’t the demolished house.
But you have to know the complete story to get the full flavor. Unfortunately, I don’t believe anyone but I knows (or cares about) the complete story.
I’m a human. I amsue myself by taking or by pretending to take certain ideas seriously, literally. Take the idea of liberty for example (or the idea of God, or Jesus, or Christ … any big idea will soon get you into trouble in this world: but trouble is the only thing worth having). The school told me we were free. Then how come we had to be in school?
It can’t have been that they valued skill or learning or intelligence: those things were punished in the school, not encouraged at all. It’s like being compelled to play cards where you know the dealer is a cheat, you see him using a trick deck, misshuffling, misdealing, every word he says a lie, but you’re compelled, by other thugs, to pretend that it’s a game you want to play and that it’s being played fairly by the thugs. Any fool can see the teacher herself can’t read well, what business does she have teaching? The same business the magicians assistant has laying to you about the apparatus she’s setting up on the stage: behave as an audience or the ushers will knock you on the head and throw you into the alley, where you won’t get the pop corn and Coke at intermission time.
Anyhow, I wanted to teach myself, not school, college: universities. So I studied for the stupid fraudulent PhD.
I devised an original reading of Shakespeare that explains everything: but my faculty didn’t follow it. It was original, it was true, it was profound: what did they know about anything like that? Their training only pretended to prepare them for the real things. Actually, they were like the priests at the Temple: there to block Jesus, not to understand him. They were there to defeat God, not to serve him.
So, with Ivan Illich, in 1970 I offered an alternative: a cybernetic social library: and internet of public information: information volunteered by the public, not confiscated by the government, not supervised by the government. List yourself as a resource for your community, declare what you want in return for serving as a skill model. With a listing of resources we could have a free marketplace. Run by me, and not the state, it would have had a chance to be a pure library, a pure anarchy. The store tells you where the produce is, where the canned goods. The shelves show the prices. There’s no bureaucrat telling you tyou must buy more beef, or you can’t buy that much bread. The library doesnt’ dictate which books you must read, it just organizes them on the shelves so you can find what you want to find..
Well, the institutions of 1970 saw my library as a threat to their old way of doing business. Immitations of certain aspects of my FLEX flourished: dating services, for example. Fake consumer reports had already flourished, but what about real consumer reports, such as Illich prescribed and I offered? The magazines have experts test the car. FLEX would publish your report on the car: and offer statistical digests of everyone else’s report. Or, we would have had you, the public, coughed up the money to build the infrastructure.
Instead of helping me to help it, to help itself, the public sat in its usual coma and waited till the state helped itself to more of its money and built its egregious internet through the supervisors, the interferers, the magicians assistant-thugs: the universiites, the Fortune 500. I offered public software before Microsoft was founded. With FLEX librarians would have run the computers: all you had to do was say what you wanted, chip in something, and get what you wanted: the name of a math teacher, the phone number of someone to discuss Hamlet wth, the experience of a patient with Dr. X …
I got knocked on the head, the public stole my offering. I complained, I complained plenty. Finally, the FBI arrested me, unable to see the savage irony in the letters I’d written: censoring with one hand while talking about not censoring with another.
The fed destroyed my onlinepublishing. The fed incarcerated me, froze me near death, denied my my meds, crammed me together with drug addicts and dealers and childmolesters ….
And then, stripped naked, the judge wanted to fine me: a moron. Blind, a deliberate moron.
I get out of jail, I have nothing. Ah: now the state, the fed, the county start to take care of me: minimal care, not care good enough for me actually to be come functional.
When the public sees God coming, sees me to be Jesus’ assistant, God’s recent messenger … when the public sees that’s its God’s internet we stole, not just pk’s, not just Illich’s, it’s Christ’s internet we stole, and perverted, the public will be knocking itself down to quick pay me back royalties. But it will be too late. I hope. I think. Maybe. Who knows?
With my cybernetic library, if someone wanted their phone number known, they could publish it. Cheap, through FLEX. When they changed their phone number, they could change the listing; not through the phone company, those crooks; no, through FLEX, cange it once, change it right, change if forever.
No, with the government, no matter what you say, they still won’t know what you said, and they’ll sell your phone number, even after it’s no longer your phone number. And when you move you’ll have to tell the IRS, and the motor vehicles bureau, and the police, and your friends, and your alumni association … No, no: you should just say, check FLEX, I’m listed.
But that would have made sense.
Oh well, if it was God who made the world, and if he wanted to world to make sense, then he should have made people for his world that were capable of sense: instead of just Jesus, Illich, and pk … and a zillion morons.
What a mess, too much to say, and my blood isn’t cold enough after finally writing that letter, sending the court a copy of the Judge’s order vacating the fine. They don’t keep records, they don’t know how to read their records, I have to both be jailed by them and explain to them how to do it, and pay them to do it wrong, then give them bonuses.
Maybe I’ll be able to straighten it out a bit in another visit, but you use your sense meantime, see where to jump, where to turn, where to fill.