Company Store

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Mercantile State the Company Store

I owe my soul to the company store.
Sixteen Tons

I’d rather live among leeches and lions than among states and nations, with schools, and wars, and churches, and cartels and teams of cartels; but I’ve had no choice. The schools, the churches, tell me I have choices — free will, free markets, free elections — but I see it as all magician’s-choice freedom, not freedom at all. Oh, I can buy a Chevy or a Ford, I can work for GE or GM, I can even smoke, and then stop smoking: I can marry, and then divorce; but please tell me, if I have all this freedom, why I still can’t walk to the lake without finding traffic: find my own food without having to explain anything to a cop: find my own woman (or discard my own woman, or be discarded by my own woman) without having to explain anything to a priest: or the lady at the Motor Vehicle Bureau.

East India Company:
Grand circus of larceny
I, Ripper

Next day note:
Ugh: Im trying to say important things, little-understood things, little agreed-upon things, and haven[‘t yet said yet a fraction of them better than awfully.
Jews, Christians, Americans — circles of faithful, mistaking their faith for reason, mistaking their ignorance for knowledge — bred to jump to wrong conclusions about law, about innocence.
How dare we rig elections and call it “democracy”? How dare we build a mercantile state and call it a republic: on others’ territory no less!?
The thieves would have to give up their privileges as well as their booty before reason or democracy could begin to become possible.

I, pk, Paul Knatz, offered an internet in 1970, the public, were it intelligent, were it interested in either freedom or justice, could have pried the interfering state off their backs, co-built my offer of unregulated data bases, and then, maybe, seen to establish facts, truth, reason. Instead the plagiarists palmed their own centralized, regulated internet, replaced freedom with cell phones, cybernetics with techno-trash. Mislabeling everything, putting me in jail, refusing to hear testimony, to test its truth rationally.
So I sound like I’m the mad dog. So be it.
The cross is the only place for a savior to be: when it’s a kleptocracy he’s tried to save, to convert, to inform.
noted 2013 06 21 after 2013 06 20’s post.

Victim-citizens
I, Ripper

sketching, so fast:
I can buy Perdue or Tysons; why can’t I go to my friend’s and find him cooking rattle snake? How come it’s rice, or potatoes, and never amaranth?

Frank-Perdue
“It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken.”
thanx Forbes

Our ancestors in Africa couldn’t work for GE or GM, couldn’t buy Ford or Chevy, didn’t have Lincoln or Obama to vote for. Maybe Oc was killed by Bron, maybe Bron was eaten by hyenas, maybe Trin was never wed except by rape, and none of them ever heard of amaranth, or potatoes. Maybe Bor was flayed alive by Gron’s hunting party for not stabbing the gazelle when Gron judged he had a chance. But he died without having to ware a uniform.

Carnegie was free to drop out of school when he was fourteen or so. Carnegie was free to find passage to the US. Carnegie seized the steel business, had whole villages full of workers: then further he retailed to his workers through his own company store. His employees bought nothing, or they bought what he’d selected for them to buy. Then he could loan shark them too. The more you worked, the older you got, the more he owned you: your house, your vittles, your children. He wasn’t the only one. Boy was he good at it.
Then he endowed schools, kept the youth, potential competitors, tied to desks, books.

Carnegie wasn’t a tyrant, he wasn’t a king. Rockefeller didn’t need to be either. Sutter had a private army: a lot of good it did him: as soon as Sutter’s land and streams were overrun with gold-panning Yankees, his army threw down their rifles and grabbed their own gold pans, like baby spiders eating their mother. Carnegie and Rockefeller etc. teamed up, with anxious to please bureaucrats, Boss Tweeds who would bleed the poor wretches of the Five Corners, and skim some, and skim some more, but still be absolutely sure to funnel most of the cream to the Carnegies and the Rockevellers. Steel, oil … cattle, water: it was never just one thing. But it was all corralled, by teams of tyrants.

Put the “citizens” in school, can them, bottle them, label them.
Our ancestors in Africa weren’t citizens, they didn’t come from cities.
We come from cities, moronized.

Caesar conquered Gaul, then he turned and conquered Rome: served them right. Caesar repaid Gracchus the $500 million he owed him his first year as dictator! a position with no salary!!! But that was fairly straightforward: grow a mighty military, control the olive oil trade: skim, build roads, manage your bureaucrats along all routes. Turn the world into a company store.

Then everybody wanted to try it: the Church, Spain, Portugal. Spain drowned in its own puke, and England tried other tricks to conquer and manipulate markets. Political policy was supervised by teams of tyrant merchants: tea, opium: Hudson Bay, East India …

America does the same: steal America from King George, steal gold from the Lakota, from Sutter, use troops to spread racist policies … Nazis took the Jews’ piano, gave it to a Nazi: US took Cheyenne land, gave it to Smith, Jones, and Clancy. Put everybody in school, demonstrate that it’s virtually impossible to find food, shelter, a mate without utter conformity to the lies published in the schools: we’re right, we’re literate, we’re moral … have science, philosophy … we’re a republic, have no need for a receipt for the land, are under God … don’t owe any royalties.

When we enslave you, conscript you, plagiarize you, jail you if you complain, we don’t owe you so much as an apology. The company store owns your assets before it transfers them to its own inventory.

Don’t like it? You can vote!
Nixon, Obama in office? It’s Your Fault!

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About pk

Seems to me that some modicum of honesty is requisite to intelligence. If we look in the mirror and see not kleptocrats but Christians, we’re still in the same old trouble.
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