/ Kleptocracy /
(My K. categories deeply overlap, I never hinted that they were distinct.)
Slash and Burn Government
I spent the 1960s giving my all to the system of universities and colleges that had already taken, and squandered, so much.
I spent the early 1970s offering an anarchists internet to the public, hoping, without much confidence, that the public would seize my FLEX as a lever to pry centralized predatory governments off their backs. I spent the later 1970s trying to stay alive, not to starve. (I probably shouldn’t have wasted the time, though I wouldn’t be writing this today if I hadn’t.)
I spent the 1980s writing the novels and stories I should have written in the 1950s and 1960s, hoping it wasn’t too late (but it was to late: it was too late 10,000 years ago). I began with a promise of patronage from my rich girl friend. (Her idea of patronage was to show me off to her friends like a gigolo with a diamond collar, not even providing me with a surface to put my typewriter on. I fled, wrote and wrote, living out of my car from 1983 to 1989 (and living out of this or that hovel ever since). Of course I’d sought support from the publishers who were invited to profit from my efforts: that would be like Jesus reasoning with the rabbis at the Temple.
I’d spent those 1980s living out of my car in Florida where I might starve but not also freeze, quite so much. My patron had given all of my furniture away and put my business in a warehouse I couldn’t get to, owing rent I couldn’t pay, not once I’d fled her. But, when I fled Hilton Head to head further south, I had the $70,000 or so worth of art in the trunk I always had as I traveled the US promoting the art of my friends, mostly multipe original graphics. Selling, I’d travel and go home; writing, I’d travel and travel some more, cramming a lithograph down the throat of some Podunk frame shop: fire-sale everything to put another couple of gallons of gas in the car.
I opened a postoffice box in New Jersey so publishers could respond to my offers. I’d winter around Florida, but at least once a year I’d have to go north to check the mail, to register the car, to get a drivers license in another state: I had Connecticut plates for NY, then NJ plates, but a Pennsylvania license … I got to Sebring in 1989 so broke and broken I couldn’t afford to drive to Avon Park, another ten miles north. I swore to myself I’d stop writing, at least long enough to reestablish a home. I’ve given up cigarettes, booze, pipes and cigars, I’ve even given up chewing tobacco, but I couldn’t stop writing. Oh, I stopped my novels and stories, but then I wrote headlong, day and night, in my diary: ah, word processing! Note: this here is in my headlong style, though not quite as headlong as my cybernetic diary of the 1980s. (See Journal under Personal / Writing.)
With a Mac I get online, put the business online, as PKImaging.com, founded Knatz.com. By 2006 I had six domains: business, personal (K.), scientific (Macroinformation), deschooling (ever the Illich disciple, ever the inventor of the people’s internet, the one that never got supported, this internet (that we’re both using here) plagiarizing that one, the one I offered that you didn’t support, monopolizing the resources, taking credit, just like kleptocrats everywhere, everywhen) …
I limped along with another patron, dear Catherine. (See Personal / Friends.) She was below the poverty line herself: crippled, blind, retired comfortably with her husband before inflation took everything: nevertheless, what was left she shared with me: that’s how I got the Mac, how I translated PK Fine Arts, Ltd. into PKImaging.com. But: Catherine died in 2004, that was the end of her income, I was living on the couple of pennies the business was making supplemented by her fast-dwindling savings. When I only had a grand left, I wrote the black irony comic masterpiece letters that got me arrested and jailed. October 2006. As my landlord observed, They saw they had made a mistake and let me back out as soon as possible: November 2007 (that’s how they show they’re admitting that they’re wrong: a year and a third in jail instead of life, hung from the dungeon wall).
I’m home! I empty all fluids from the car, fill the car back up with fresh, and bicycle to the motor vehicle department to refresh my license. The clerk gives me my sticker, but warns me: There’s a block on me in the (new) National Date Base from NJ. She gives me an address in Trenton to inquire.
Ah, but it’s already coming back to me without Trenton: I’d gotten a ticket in Jersey, the ticket had specified a time and place for a court hearing. I showed up and waited. Just as they were turning the lights off I approached the bench, what about me? I hand the judge my ticket, Not Guilty, I said. The judge tells me he can’t hear me, the issuing cop isn’t present, I hadn’t been on his docket. How can I not be on his docket: here’s the ticket. I say to the judge, the cop doesn’t have to be here, I’ll concende anything he would testify, just hear my explanation. No. And he swept me out the dooor.
The was the mid-1980s, now Trenton is extorting $100 from me. For what? I wasn’t found guilty, I was denied a trial. I’d written NJ from Florida in 1985, they never answered. So: I write Trenton, in 2007, remind them of everything … and I don’t hear anything further till I go to renew my drivers license, September 2014. No, blocked by New Jersey!
One thug holds me still while the other thug shakes me down.
I founded FLEX en 1970 to pry the US off our backs and NJ too! and Pa and NY and CN …
I wrote the draft board in 1961, declaring myself a pacifist. Search the records, I bet you won’t find it. I pointed out to my sergeant once drafted which orders I was specifically not obeying. Search the records, I bet you won’t find anything.
Thirteen states got together: Let’s pry King George off our backs. They formed a fed: the US: thirteen states, standing united. Each state could cannibalize its people. United, the fed could cannibalize the states. When Virginia etc. had had enough, they tried to secede: to form a different, smaller fed: the Confederacy. Rots o’ ruck, says Lincoln and bombs them to shit and gone.
Hey, ma, look: slash and burn government!
We have no right to live, except as we accept the siphon running from our arm, our belly, our pockets.
King Richard, the lion-hearted, crossed onto mainland Europe, went to Palestine to kill Muslims, to conquer for Christ. On his way back some local king, duke, probably some cousin of his, locked him in a castle, sent ransom demands to John or whoever in London or whereever. Rich people kidnapping each other, holding each other for ransom, is an old business. The Borgias knew all about it, the Sicilians perfected it.
One thug holds me still while the other thug shakes me down.
Same thing. Government. Kleptocrats. Thieves. The morons geniuinely (insanely) think they’re protecting us!
Pennies in the Poor Box: Calcifying Cash
Notice: put a penny in the poor box, once upon a time, any time, in a Christian church. Now: picture God at Judgment tracking the penny: how many of those pennies went to the poor? how many to the wine merchant, the land grabber, the Cadillac dealer? The state taxes our pennies: for our protection! for justice, for the poor. How many of those pennies produce justice? safety? and how much gets scarfed for administration? Penny your penny, the bureaucracy will steal it, waste it, tax you another penny.
Our worst addiction is money, administered by authority. The addicted anesthesioogist takes all the anesthesia.
I wrote to Florida, Tallahassee, repeated my story: you’re responding to polluted information, falsehoods. No: one state is still cooperating with the outlaw state. NJ should absolutely loose its license from the band of thieves, but so too should Florida for cooperating in their shakedown.