I posted a blog the other day where I called out the Federal Government. I caught some slack for this, mostly from family members. My wife Rebecca usually posts all my blogs on her Facebook page, but refused this time because she doesn’t agree with the way I’m going about my rage.

Others have called me crazy but I found it hard to fully embrace it until I had some time to think about it. And after thinking about it, I have not come to the conclusion that I’m sane, because I don’t think I am, but instead I’ve discovered that I don’t think I know what crazy is.

We have one life to live. Some live to reach triple digit salaries, while others die at birth; most of us fall somewhere in between. As children, I feel like we have an intrinsic knowledge that we are a part of it all, that we have so much in common with each other and the trees and the rain and everything else. I don’t mean in the New Agey, “we’re all one” bullshit, but rather the understanding that we’re only made up of particles and we’re only alive for a ridiculously short time.

When we get older and we’re forced into reeducation camps and then work. Many people have problems with both of these transitions. Some of us are able to adjust, get good grades, and go on to work where we are considered successful. Most of us cannot adjust; we have this barely audible voice inside of us telling us to resist. We wonder why we’re being forced to sit in rooms doing things for other people for the majority of our lives. Most can keep it inside for quite a while, but eventually it comes out.

More and more of school children are diagnosed with newfangled diseases like ADHD and the likes, then pumped full of meds until they are docile sheep following the leader. Some who can manage to keep it in become sociopathic monsters, bent on making a profit (of both money and power) at the expense of whatever gets in their way, or they become depressed and feel like life is meaningless. Luckily, there are drugs for that.

Now we have a world mostly full of sociopaths and people on medication (and medicated sociopaths.) The few people, who listen to their inner voice and resist, refusing medication, face a tough life that usually ends in homelessness, prison time, or assassination. The sociopaths are generally disliked, but also regarded for accomplishing the American Dream (people who have fought their way to the top and now control their own destiny because they have money and power).

Most of the medicated people continue with their days in cages, whether that cage is an office, a suit and tie, or an actual cage. I consider myself all of these people. While I was growing up, I had a strong inner feeling that the life I was being forced to live was wrong. But instead was constantly told that I was wrong, that my feelings were wrong and that I was reacting to my grandfather dying or my parents splitting up. I was sent to shrinks and put on medication. I still resisted from time to time, but not in any meaningful way. Meaningful resistance wasn’t an option or even discussed.

I graduated high school and went into the working world. Between the ages of 18-25 I worked somewhere near 100 jobs, none lasting very long. I never could get myself excited about going to work. At this point I had already given up on medication, but I had been dulled enough to not really need it. The reason why I couldn’t hold down a job was because that voice was still there, that feeling that I mistook for laziness (maybe because that’s what I was constantly told) was tearing me apart inside.

Still, I continued to work because I had to have the newest clothes and make my car payments so I could at least appear to fit in. This battle went on for years. I resisted more and more, learned more and more about historical figures and movements, and eventually became what I considered to be an anarchist. I was able to see through the kool-aid they were trying to get us to drink. I didn’t understand why we had to have representatives and work at meaningless jobs for the better part of our lives.

At the same time I worried about money and new vehicles, and going out to nice restaurants and clubs. This made things even worse; I knew it was fake, yet continued to worry about money and material goods. I decided to go to a Buddhist inspired ($25k/year) school and study peace. During college, I got Gandhi and Martin Luther King tattooed on my arm and made some of the best friend’s I ever met in the activist world, yet I continued to value the opinions of the medicated and sociopathic who told me that I was finally growing up because I owned a business. Now I’m at a breaking point.

This is why I have trouble listening to people who are trying to tell me what to do about my IRS problems, because I’m done listening to the same old shit. I’m being told that my decisions will affect the lives of others around me, but I’ve taken that into consideration for years. What about how my decisions affect me? I ran a business in which I was constantly made to feel powerless and every time I wanted to react I was talked out of it by an investor, a partner, or a concerned fellow business owner. This is just the way things are, they keep telling me. I agree, it is obviously the way things are, but it’s easy to change. My refusal to follow the made up rules of a government that I never agreed to give my power to ends it. They can take everything I have and they can put me in a cage, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve already won.




Different presidents may enact different policies, but nothing changes until the people stand up.


A little more about voting

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