/ Neighbors / Highlands Dancing / Schiz Center
Who’s this pk that came to the Senior Dance in 2008, all horny, socially parched, out of jail but far from free?
I’ve told many dozen stories, featuring personal stories, illustrating failures of human conviviality in kleptocratic society. But new examples outpace my ability to report on the old ones, let alone add the new ones. Well, it’s not a race that can be won, especially not when the kleptocracy cheats at every opportunity, any journalist who wants a paycheck naturally siding with the kleptocracy’s mandate to perpetuate itself. With enough such journalists, the cooperative audience for the crucifixion can call itself Christian: Caesar and his centurions invented cooperation.
Kleptocrats mislabel faster than Tristram Shandy can narrate.
I arrived in Sebring FL at Easter in 1989, defeated as the deschooler, then also defeated as the novelist of theological humor. I wrote my experiences into a digital diary. By the early 1990s I had a new patron: she herself lived below the poverty line, but that was a luxury of wealth to me who had nothing at all. So: by 1995, not only was there an internet, plagiarizing my FLEX‘s offer: there were also local internet providers. I went online and started narrating my life and experiences: formed Knatz.com, initiated blogs … while all around me, under and above me, the kleptocracy continued to be the kleptocracy. The kleptocrats saw me, correctly, as alien: alien to them, an enemy of their culture. The internet I’d offered was intended to free us from the kleptocracy: but the kleptocracy’s internet had everything it’s own way. It’s as though Colt invented the handgun to empower John Doe, but Macbeth stole John Doe’s handgun to deepen John Doe’s enslavement.
Persecutors’ persecutions being “wrong” only serve to goad
the persecutors to persecute harder.
I founded FLEX in 1970. I asked the public for the funds to go digital, didn’t get any. But by 1973 we (FLEX) did have our own cable program: neighborhood-resources database available 24/7, even if it was still 3×5 card-based, not financed to become electro-cybernetic. By 1974 I was an inch from homeless. A foray into the art business saved my address till 1982 when I went from pan to fire in accepting patronage from someone incapable of delivering it: so I was homeless: as I wrote my novels. (Wouldn’t trade the experience, the stack of experiences for anything.) But by 1990 when Catherine became my patron, I was beginning, for the first time in my life, to look my age: to look older than my age. Bless her, Catherine reversed that. Now, 2015, I look (again) far younger than my age: my beloved Jan keeping me physically young. But psychologically I’m still smashed to smithereens, no king’s horses, no king’s men able to put me back together: the entire US GNP X 100 couldn’t repair the damage.
I diagnose my society as schizophrenic. I use the term not technically, but metaphorically. Everyone understands that schizes are “split” without bothering to take Psych 101. We’re split: in our experience, we’re kleptocrats; in our self-image, we’re Christian, free men, citizens of a republic … the good guys. We drop bombs on people, kill in the millions, give ourselves a gold star: schiz.
Meantime, pk says we’ve got it backwards: the klep can find a zillion experts to say that pk is the schiz. Well, insofar as I’m a member of the schiz culture, then sure I’m also a schiz …
Catherine died in 2004. There died my income. Her savings were getting fast exhausted. I thought, before I starve I’ve got to devote everything to achieving at least one success: I want to force NYU to respond to my testimony regarding their role in my assassination. I filled up Knatz.com with my reports and analyses the best I could. In mid-2006 I wrote to NYU, said Behold: Acknowledge.
Behold: or when I’m too broke to move, by next month, I’ll come up there and bloody your nose!
Anyone who isn’t a total imbecile will notice that that’s like Crazy Horse telling the US that when the Lakota are down to the last man, no warriors left, Crazy Horse, without even a horse, is going to invade DC!
What does DC do? It annihilates Crazy Horse!
NYU called the FBI. The FBI tag-teamed with the Sebring sheriff. Arrested me. Jailed me: in a series of jails refrigerated to keep me nearly brick-frozen. The FBI stole my computers, fragmented them. The US judge censored my messages to NYU. A+.net, my IP, destroyed all my data. The US judge thereby destroyed my business, PKImaging.com, making sure I’d be totally helpless once they released me. (The court was threatening me, aged sixty-nine, with forty years in jail. Once they decide thought that I’m really harmless, they give me the minimum sentence: 15 months. 2007, I’m back home, but with no business. The FBI returns my computers, but they’re no longer networked, no longer coordinated. If you put Hamlet in the blender, all that comes out is a lot of As and Bs and Cs, a “1”, and a colon … But there’s no “to be or not to be”. We don’t hear Ophelia sing herself to death.
The fed also prescribes a social worker of sorts for me: I have to attend a “Wellness Center”!
Actually I loved the social worker type woman: Sandy. And Sandy loved me. She sees I need to get laid, she starts fixing me up with horny widows. She tracked down some info for me on a senior social, with a weekly dance: the Highlands Senior Center. Every Wednesday: one dance band from 10 AM to noon, then lunch, then a second dance band from 1 PM till 3.
I showed up, eager to meet women: 60, 70, 80, 90 … any women.
The first three I met were indeed “90”: 91, 92, 93 … The daughter of the 93 year old looked me up, got the FBI’s pack of lies. (Look up Jesus after the crucifixion: you get not the Sermon on the Mount; you get what Pilat said, what the centurion testified: you get Herod’s complaints, the complaints from the rabbis whose money tables got overturned. That’s civilization: organized to steal, and to keep what’s stolen: to grow it. 93’s daughter faces off against the Highlands Senior Center: Don’t let this Knatz guy so much as breathe!
(Did she know that no one had let me breathe since grade school?)
Ah, but the Senior Dance boss already had her own opinion! Ann Mc had already decided I was a good guy!
So I continued to go to a schiz dance. There was a ground fire, arson, that burned so far but not much further; and there was a love-and-admiration core that also didn’t spread far but that did keep the ground fire from becoming a block fire.