Tales from the Third Rock

Aliens Did It

2012-01-29T20:31:00.002-05:00

...unbeknownst to the devout followers of the world's various (and still remarkably similar) spiritual dogmas, sacred scriptures from all over the world are doused in allusions, and often outright assertions, of direct and indirect contact with extra-terrestrials.

...explained by the obvious fact that any sufficiently advanced lifeform would appear to be a deity in the eyes of a technologically inferior human. This has been repeatedly demonstrated throughout our relatively short history. One need only recall the reactions of the Mayans upon the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors as proof of this quirk of human psychology.

We've idealized characteristics which have been deemed unacceptable by most other cultures throughout the course of known human history

We've come to regard our home planet as if were some trash heap we can all just get up and walk away from. Just maybe flying away is a real possibility for the true orchestrators of this construct?

...dismiss the possibility that our past has been subject to various, often grandiose conspiracies, to such a degree that the word is often uttered in hushed tones, its speaker afraid to be identified for fear of ridicule.

Splatting is not a punishment for jumping off a cliff. It is merely the consequence of an inadequate appreciation for gravity. Social, economic and ecological disaster is not a punishment for the pursuit of profit. It is merely the inevitable result of an ideology which provides personal gain for narcissism, competition, apathy and disregard for nature, traits which have been generally acknowledged, throughout our history, to be contrary to universal human values.

So when I make suggestions of a few choice conspiracies, try not to scoff before you give it some thought. And if you can, ignore what you've been told and consider the argument on it's merit no matter how uncomfortable it might be to believe the implication. To paraphrase a line from famed economist Adam Smith, if you don't believe that human history is rife with conspiracies, then you're as ignorant of the world as you are of the subject.

Moving along...
For the record, it should be noted that educated opinions on the subject relegate the likelihood of other intelligent life in the universe to a virtual certitude. The matter in question, here, is whether there is evidence of an extraterrestrial presence in human history.

Even the bible, cited as the absolute authority by hundreds of millions of Christians, offers a tale about the literal impregnation of human females by "fallen angels" or Watchers which led to the propagation of a hybrid species of giants called Nephilim. And this is but one of countless stories, in that same book, featuring advanced lifeforms descended from heaven -- otherwise known as the sky -- and interacting with humankind.

The Book of Enoch, suspiciously omitted from biblical canon, is nothing more than the story of the relationship between the two factions of Nephilim and their human contemporaries. All one has to do is replace the words angel with alien and you've gone from spiritual text to space drama with the flick of a pen. The mystical element to the tale vanishes like a phantom and the fairytale suddenly becomes nothing more than a record of ancient interplanetary communion.

One can't help but highlight the implication that angels in heaven were endowed with biological functions such as sex drives, genitalia and genetic material with which to reproduce with humans. If these stories are to be afforded any historical legitimacy, whatsoever, it can only be for the suggestion of involvement between extra terrestrials and humans and even possible genetic and cultural influence on humans by nonhumans rather than any purported mystical affiliation with the anthropomorphized supreme creator of the universe.

Speaking of giants, this is a one of several archeological reports of magnificent humanoid skeletons being recovered from the ground.

Talk about a rock and a hard place.

If one should be forced to choose between the two possible interpretations of the evidence, I'm riding with the aliens before I go with the angels.

...the prospect of an unknown world is too frightening for most of us to genuinely consider. Like a child afraid of the dark, we'd rather pull the blanket over our heads and slam our eyes shut and wait for the sun to chase the boogeyman away.

Is it really so farfetched?

I used to own a goat that was neither male nor female made, quite deliberately, by some folks in a lab. And while we humans are interesting creatures, no doubt, at the end of the day we are mere mammals.

...and tell

Let's try and take a look at things from our ancestors' perspective.

Consider whether hunting and foraging in the distant past, when one day onsider whether the sudden descent of Captain Kirk, from the clouds, when the best you could muster was sticks and stones, that your limited concept of technology combined with the equally archaic tendency to fear the unknown and idolize power wouldn't lead you to the conclusion that James T. and his buddies were preternaturally originated, whatever that's supposed to mean. And if you had occasion to record what you had experienced, your tales wouldn't be of supermen and you wouldn't adopt a unmatched reverence for the skies where the sun and other celestial bodies roamed and from which the you had seen the gods descend from.

Take a look at this six hundred year old painting.

Madonna with St. Giovannino, credited to Domenico Ghirlandaio (15th Century)

In case you missed it, here's a closer look.

Did a six hundred year old painter might imagine the exact same spacecrafts as have thousands of others across the globe throughout history? Is it reasonable to believe that all these people have been delusional?

Take another piece.

Baptism of Christ, Aert DeGelder (1710)

If there exists a credible argument against this being a rendering of a space vessel; one eerily similar to the type being witnessed today, then I would like to hear it.

If ever one might could speculate on a motive for omission of The Book of Enoch from biblical canon, it would be for the con

Is it possible that humans were visited by extra terrestrials in ancient history? I, for one, cannot see why not. If such a thing did happen,

Or how about these

The great Nikola Tesla was said to have communicated with extraterrestrials...

If you are able to discount all of this mythical as the Tooth Fairy and the Eastern Bunny, then I pose

The truth is, I don't know the truth about this thing here. But that is exactly what I do know. And it's a better place to start than many.

Where Is the Love?

2011-12-21T19:18:00.001-05:00

I recently discovered that the final charge against me, the bogus attempted kidnapping accusation which was dismissed in November, was done so without prejudice.

In courtroom parlance, it means that the prosecution indefinitely retains the right to re-indict me for the same offense. It also prevents me from having the matter expunged from my record despite that fact that I never committed the crime.

Several weeks ago, I approached my friend, Chris Tracy, about the possibility of having the charge modified to a dismissal with prejudice, which would prevent the possibility of arbitrary re-indictment and also allow me to have the matter permanently expunged from my record.

Tracy thought it best to seek the assistance of the prosecutor in order to expedite the process, but a few days later, he returned with the news that Bobby Gullette had indicated that he was not inclined to "help me", because I was "too litigious."

To be clear, Gullette didn't state that he was refusing to alter the dismissal because he believed I was guilty. He just flatly refused to administer justice because of my perceived inclination to sue the police when they try to kill me.

So I suggested to Mr. Tracy that we file a motion to have the court order the adjustment on the grounds that holding me hostage for reasons unrelated to any crime was a violation of due process. But it was determined that a quirk of Kentucky legislature had rendered the matter outside the court's jurisdiction, subsequent to the dismissal.

Thus, I am left at the mercy of a spiteful and unscrupulous man who refuses to relinquish me from the vestiges of a hollow and damaging accusation because he doesn't appreciate my tendency to exercise my rights as a citizen and as a human being.

And despite the fact that, with the exception of this single lingering remnant, this entire matter has been finalized with my innocence affirmed, just as I promised from the beginning, Gullette would still deem it conscionable to punish me, in any way he can, for holding folks accountable for seven years of perpetual torture.

Where is the love, people? Where's the love?

The Scoop

2011-12-09T15:12:00.001-05:00

I heard the most compelling story the other day.

Apparently, information regarding the demotion of former Detective William Persley has finally been released, by a Fayette County court, for professional consumption. From my own knowledge, this particular file has been a hotly contested item ever since it was discovered that Mr. Persley had suffered a substantial demotion as a consequence of some previously unspecified investigative misconduct.

Several local attorneys had attempted to subpoena Persley's disciplinary record citing that the nature and scope of his infractions could potentially be relevant to other cases in which he'd acted as an investigator. Members of my team filed repeated motions to acquire the same information throughout the course of my cases up until just earlier this year when my last case was dismissed.

Unfortunately, despite our adamant suspicion that the cause for Persley's demotion was similar to the circumstances which led to the allegations against me, we were never able to garner the favor of the court, which tended to side with the prosecutor's insistence that an investigation into the matter was unlikely to have any bearing on my circumstances.

We found the sentiment...curious, to say the least.

For one thing, I highly doubt that anyone would find that argument credible had it been offered by a defendant. Secondly, if Mr. Gullete is truly possessed of the capacity to foresee whether the cause for Persley's demotion would have lent any insight into my case, without having read the file himself, then he'd likely be more effective as a clairvoyant than he'll ever be as a prosecutor.

Perhaps he should do us all a favor and take out an ad in the classifieds?

Either way, I've said all along that something stinks at the Lexington Police Department and now I know that there's a big fat manilla folder floating around to prove it.

I should restate that I have not seen this mysterious paperwork to corroborate these allegations against Officer Persley, but it isn't for a lack of effort. And since I am of the firm belief in the credibility of my source, I must relay this tale as it was told me—

It was discovered that Detective William Persley, acting in his capacity as an investigator continued to pursue the prosecution of a suspect despite the full knowledge that the man was not guilty of the crime in question. And later, while pursuing the real culprit, he broke into a residence, located incriminating evidence and petitioned for a warrant while conveniently omitting the fact of his illegal entry. In other words, he deliberately tried to incarcerate an innocent man...

Sound familiar?

...and then violated the Fourth Amendment and a host of other "laws" in pursuit of the guy who actually might have committed the crime.

What are the chances that he gets caught the first time he does this sort of thing?

As of this writing, both Elizabeth Adams and William Persley are still employed by the Lexington Police Department.

Adams now works in an administrative capacity after she was deemed incompetent and discovered to have hidden evidence while Persley enjoys an even greater opportunity to interface the populace, as a patrolman, despite having no compunction whatsoever about conspiring against innocent citizens and violating civil rights.

Anyone else think these two got off a little light? Furthermore, I can't help but wonder why it's been so difficult to get this information released to the public? Whatever happened to transparency in government?

If they gave out awards for irony...

The Good Fight (Is Over)

2011-11-14T04:11:00.022-05:00

It’s official, people.

After failing to pull the wool over a jury's eyes last August, Bobby Gullete Jr. and the Commonwealth of Kentucky havefinally cut their losses and dismissed the remaining charge againstme.

It’s the one where I’m the shape shifting ninjaagain.

Some two years ago, the suspect was said to have stood some 6'4" tall, but oddly enough, his dimensions seemed to creep closer and closer to mine, on an almost daily basis, since the alleged incident. I say"alleged" because at this point, it’s not even clear that anything happened atall.

Either way, it wasn’t me and everybody and their grandmaknew it, so that particular curtain has finally drawn to a close.

So now Mr. Gullette can keep his, admittedly entertaining,show at home and no longer has to be unconcerned with missing court in that oh sodistant land called Fayette County, where public lynchings might be just tadharder to come by than he’s accustomed.

And I do mean just a tad.

Also, to be sure it’s one of those “once and for all” kindof dismissals, I’ve relocated to more concrete pastures to avoid any future skirmisheswith the good ole boys down at the Lexington Police Department.

I figure it’s best for the both of us.

Now, I finally get to spend my time thinking about thingsI’d like to think about rather than studying case law and remembering courtdates and wondering whether or not they'll eventually succeed in deprivingme of my freedom, just for shits and giggles.

As for the boys in blue, they no longer have to see me hangingaround downtown as a perpetual reminder of just how many times I’ve whippedtheir asses in court.

So it worked out well for everyone.

After nearly seven years of relentless abuse and perpetual indignation, I amfree. And the police are now free toforget me. Ironically, it’s all I everwanted in the first place.

There’s much more to be said about all of this, but I’ll save the savorydetails for later, once my new attorneys have given me the green light to punch these keys some more. You read that right. My NEW attorneys...

Somebody around here has to hold these people accountable.

You Are Not Free

2011-09-22T02:12:00.004-04:00

In the current economic model, theintroduction of currency is synonymous with the incurrence of debt. In otherwords, every dollar in your pocket is an indicator that someone, somewhere inthis system owes someone else. The most obvious conclusion to be drawn fromthis is that in a debt free society, there would be no money.

No money, no debt, no servitude, no slaves.And I’m not talking that back in the day, myriad of dark and ancient peoplesdescending from megalithic ships in chains.

I'm talking about the droves of chattelsilently reassuring themselves that they are free every morning amidst that hourcommute with the caffeine fix; the hoards of consumeritis infected zombiesthumbing through Sears catalogs on their 15-minute lunch breaks or theinnumerable drugged-up minions shuffling from one underpaid absurdity to thenext doubtful of whether there will be enough time to sleep or even food to eattoday, but relieved that they had the good sense to scoop up thathigh-definition 52” Panasonic when it was on sale last week.

I mean the lobotomized masses huddled intocubicles literally buying into their own extinction with their faith in greenpieces of paper. In the words of brother Goethe, "None are morehopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free."

You are not here because you’re free. You arehere precisely because you are not free.

In fact, you're the fool who mortgages hislife in eight to ten hour shifts and prostrates himself before the latest sun godfor some paper to buy his woman a new set of tits or yourself another over-sized, gas guzzling SUV. You're the socialexperiment who thinks liberation means the "privilege" to commit slowsuicide at the 3am drive-thru.

Super Size Me, please.

You're a tin man eagerly shuttling hischildren off to "kill or be killed" whenever some well-dressedstranger glorifies the notion behind some rosy sounding words.

You're the Frankenstein who'd rather playx-box over brewskis until you've pissed yourself in the lazy-boy than take thetime to figure out why you can't manage to save a damn dime no matter how hard you try.

We can always blame those Democrats, though.Or the Republicans. Or the Remocrats. Or the Depublicans. The Mexicans. TheMartians... What was I saying? Better yet. What are they saying?

"If we all just dig a little deeper, have a little more faith, maybe this will all just magically work itself out? Maybe if you had just a littlemore money?"

Exactly. Another quarter on the hour isgonna rock your world. On second thought, maybe you could just pop an Adderalland get a third job? Who needs sleep anyway?

Nah. You should have just gone to college.Wait a second. You did that. Never mind.

You're a doped-up, hypnotized, impotentautomaton. You're Johnny 5 gone haywire; a short-circuited robot whose egg isso scrambled it still thinks it's an American. And if I told you the truth— Thereis no America, you'd probably shoot me with a pistol.

This system is a farce, its populationinured, its facilitators criminal to a scathing, unfathomable degree. We,the masses, are nothing more than the peasantry of a vicious, warmongering,oil-addicted oligarchy that tortures and incarcerates its poor en mass for profit and executesits Negroes for sport.

In nearly every aspect, the machinations ofthis so-called society have degraded to the point of complete dysfunction andyet an obese, apathetic populace would be more apt to break a sweat over afootball game than lift a finger to save its own soul.

Meanwhile, we suffer from relentless social and economic oppression at the hands of a corporatocracy that no longer even pretends tomasquerade as government.

These people aren't concerned with ethics or progress or universal human needs. They have no interest whatsoever in right and wrong or you and yours. Your faith has been severely misplaced because they couldn't care less whether you had a hot, a cot, or even a pot to piss in.

This is the worst educated, worst managed,most corrupt, violent and obtuse nation in the so-called first world. TheUnited States and the bankers and corporations that run it are villains. The savagery and injustice that have become the standard of this decrepit era would be reviled in even the most barbarous age. And our descendants will regard us with thecold chill of embarrassment and seething disdain for the outrageous disregard that we have shown them.

We all need be ashamed.

Your potential has been wrought from you a sliverat a time since the day you were born and you don't even have the wherewithalto give a damn. And you are so complacent, so hopelessly dependent upon thisparadigm that you will defend it to your bitter, dismal end.

Where there is no justice, there shall be nopeace. Rest easy, Mr. Davis. You didn't diefor nothing.

Can I Get A Witness?

2011-04-28T05:08:00.030-04:00

Last week, the second installment of my evidentiary proceedings was scheduled after nearly three months of stalling by the prosecution. The lengthy intermission came despite the court’s request that the sequel be arranged within a week of the initial hearing back in early February.

Our resident persecutor, Bobby Gullette, had been ordered to produce his witness to allow the court to explore potentially critical details regarding the manner in which I was identified as the suspect in the crimes that allegedly occurred in the fall of 2009. Despite our best efforts to procure a second hearing, Gullette proved even more evasive than usual, to the point of blatantly ignoring our phone calls, for several months.

We even sent him a letter.

Then, late last week, my attorney, Chad Butcher, called to inform me that our persistence had finally paid off and we were scheduled to appear the following Tuesday afternoon.

Come Tuesday, my attorneys and I entered Fayette Circuit Court to find the doors to the courtroom locked up tight some ten minutes removed from the hearing. We loitered in the lobby for a few minutes, speculating about the reason for the holdup until Mr. Butcher called the judge’s chambers to inquire about everyone’s whereabouts.

Apparently, Mr. Gullette had alerted the judge, earlier that morning, that his witness would not be available to attend the hearing, thereby mooting the purpose of our appearance, that day. The meeting had been canceled, but we didn’t get the memo.

Justice, it seems, is an elusive mistress, indeed.

Scorsone once admonished me, after I’d arrived some two minutes behind schedule, that he fully expected me to respect the judicial process. He spoke sternly and threatened to hold me in contempt as I stood, stoic and silent, hoping the day would pass without seeing the inside of a jail cell.

Now, for something like the millionth time, it has been reiterated to me, in no uncertain language, that Mr. Gullette is not held to the same expectation. Most importantly, it is also quite clear that he knows this full well.

Furthermore, after six years of perpetual disregard for my existence by various agents of Fayette County, Kentucky, I must confess to have absolutely no regard for the implementation of justice, in this region of the country, at the very least. My own personal involvement in this system has rendered no positive or optimistic impression upon me and, frankly, compels a somewhat pointed, if obvious, question.

I gotta ask—

Considering the circumstances in which I currently find myself, amidst insidious police officers and vanishing evidence, a negligent county attorney and runaway witnesses, shady courtroom tactics and the repeated and merciless usurpation of every arena of life, why would any rational, reasonable, fair-minded person have anything remotely resembling respect for this process?

I have spent the last eighteen months in circuit court defending myself against the baseless accusations of the most uncivil servants while a feeble and disinterested prosecutor flips a coin to decide whether he'll show up for work that day. As Gullette perfects his select brand of prosecutorial absenteeism, I am present only because agents of a biased and fractured system will deprive me of my freedom if I am not.

Obedience at the barrel of a gun does not constitute respect.

It's been a long while since I maintained any infantile notion that the mechanisms of this process in any way pertained to ethics or any generally accepted moral standard. To persist in such a delusion, in light of my experience, would be tantamount to insanity. And while it is readily apparent to me that the depths of my attackers' corruption eclipses my ability to anticipate, this much remains clear—

Bobby Gullette will be more than happy to prevent any real investigation into the facts of my case by deliberately delaying court proceedings all the way up to the day of trial. He'll use every trick he knows to get us to June with as little information as possible because if we have all the evidence, my legal situation becomes a non-issue and certain unscrupulous popo just might be going to jail. As the sand passes through that hourglass, he's content to milk the clock for every second it's worth.

It’s a courtroom filibuster.

This way, he can cruise into trial and roll the dice with a white-bread, Kentucky jury where just about anything short of a public lynching is a live possibility.

Then again, maybe I'm giving him too much credit? Maybe he's just lazy?

Either way, something tells me this guy skipped class the day they went over due process.

Can I get a witness?

Justice in Molasses

2011-04-06T21:09:00.006-04:00

In early February, an evidentiary hearing was held in Ernesto Scorsone's courtroom to discuss the validity of the procedures used to identify the suspect in the crimes pertaining to my trial scheduled on June 6th.

Among the matters under consideration was that the investigating detective, Elizabeth Adams, had three times told my former attorney, David Zorin, that a lineup had not been used to identify me and that she had, in fact, only shown the victim a singular photo of my face in order to procure a positive identification.

When the issue was later raised at a district court preliminary hearing, under Judge T. Bruce Bell, the detective quickly recanted her story about using a singular photo and offered, instead, an array featuring six men of apparently African descent, alleging that she had, in fact, shown the lineup to the victim and that any allusion to the contrary must have been the result of some misunderstanding.

That is one hell of a misunderstanding.

Needless to say, Mr. Zorin was not a happy man and continued to question Adams regarding the details of her prior statement, but it was her lie and she’d be damned if she didn’t stick to it and after some uncommonly vehement discussion, the judge ruled that it wasn’t a matter to be decided by his court, either way, and summarily escorted that elephant to Scorsone, which is where this particular tale begins.

So I’m sitting in circuit court with Chad Butcher and Chris Tracy listening to Adams lie about a lineup she never used. As I said before, it features the faces of six men including myself, of which four are dark enough and stereotypically Negroid enough so that one might genuinely mistake them for some of the original transatlantic slaves five hundred years ago.

They look like they just hopped off the boat.

Curiously, one characteristic of the suspect in the crimes of which I am accused is, "light-skinned, possibly even Arabic." Now, I happen to think of my skin as something akin to a creamy mocha, but either way Adams cuts it, she’s either perjured herself about using a lineup altogether or she’s used an invalid one because only two of the people in it even remotely fit the complexion of the suspect in question.

She might as well have stood me beside a bunch of white dudes and told the victim to point at the nigger who did it. The identification would have been equally valid. As Chris Tracy so eloquently explained in his closing statement— “It’s not a six pack," that Adams claims she used. "It’s a two pack.”

When Adams’ ex-partner, William Persley, was asked whether the other men in the lineup could possibly be characterized as light complexioned, he answered a resounding, “No.”

And he's the father of the victim.

For those of you who don’t know, Elizabeth Adams tried to incarcerate me five years ago and failed miserably. Now, she’s accusing me of having attacked and robbed her former partner’s daughter.

What are the chances of that?

For the record, the two are partners no more because Adams has since been removed from the robbery/homicide division and now enjoys a cushy little desk job instructing other officers in the formalities of identification procedure.

I couldn’t make this stuff up.

Amongst the factors which contributed to the "job change" was that Adams was discovered to have withheld evidence, a video tape, inside her desk drawer for over a year; a fact which segues nicely, I think, into the kicker of this intriguing edition—

When questioned whether it was standard procedure to record suspect interrogations, Adams readily answered in the affirmative, then immediately added that, in the instance of my interrogation, the digital recording — which features her repeated acknowledgment that she did not use a lineup — had been rendered inaccessible by a random computer malfunction.

She claimed that all subsequent attempts to access the file had failed and that she was unaware of any way to retrieve it. Simply, I was out of luck and to hear her tell it, she'd just stumbled into a whole pile of the shit.

Surprise, surprise.

It all seemed to raise enough questions, though, that Scorsone requested a second hearing to talk matters over with the alleged victim, even if I do think the convenient disappearance of the recording went rather lightly regarded. Mr. Gullette was to be in charge of rescheduling the new date, under the presumption that it would be held as soon as possible, preferably within a week.

That was early February.

And yet, here we sit in April, some two months removed from my trial, still wrestling with critical matters of evidence, courtesy of an inexplicably reluctant prosecutor. I, for one, have no idea why it should take two months to reschedule a hearing when all the man has to do is bring his witness.

If this is Justice, she must be swimming in molasses.

One can't help but wonder about the irony of the universe when the one piece of evidence which might lay this entire matter to rest suddenly and inexplicably disappears.

Anybody seen Serpico?

I Won't Apologize

2011-01-05T07:58:00.035-05:00

Things only seem to get curiouser and curiouser.

I’ve recently been re-permitted to roam planet Earth pending trial courtesy of the Honorable Judge Ernesto Scorsone. I had been under the impression that an innocent man’s freedom was nature’s jurisdiction singularly, but have since been convinced to the contrary by some immensely persuasive arguments from local government.

The men with the guns make the rules. I, personally, don’t carry guns. I write letters and get thrown behind bars. Such is life in the age of mass incarceration. Ask Michelle Alexander if you don’t believe me.

But don't misunderstand, I’m not complaining at the unexpected change of fortune. I can assure that no one has more interest in my freedom than I do. And in light of the myriad of possible motivations for the court's sudden change of heart and the sheer size of the mountain still left to climb, I’m not inclined to waste energy speculating about people whose thinking differs from mine in such seemingly fundamental ways. Not in this example, anyway.

For me, the bottom line is that, at the end of the day, one can only be true to himself. The cards are gonna fall where the cards are gonna fall. I can only call it as I see it. And in my mind, the manner in which I came to be free one minute, detained the next, and then released again to pick up the pieces of my fractured life deserves some inkling of a response.

I've been subject to the myriad of advice, solicited or otherwise, from a number of local legal professionals. While many seem to sympathize with the sordid state of affairs, others are simply cautionary. “Be careful,” they whisper. Some suggest I refrain from expressing my feelings regarding my legal circumstances. "Stop writing!” They insist. “Who do you think you are? They'll bury you.”

I reply that my name is Pleas Lucian Kavanaugh. I say was born in a dingy little hospital just south of the Mason Dixon. I explain that I am descended from a people proud and versatile and stubborn; a people who simply do not comprehend concepts like fear or submission to tyranny or injustice.

My folks made a point to prepare me for the world that I was to inherit. And for good or ill, right or wrong, I have taken a look and found it lacking. I won't shame my heritage by disregarding the teachings of my ancestors. I was trained to trust myself, to be bold and forthright.

That is to say that my willingness to resist my persecution, even until my own end, is as natural to me as scratching an itch. Simply, the Constitution and I are down to ride this wave all the way out.

And for that, I won't apologize.

Tomorrow

2010-11-19T03:26:00.006-05:00

It's late and I'm tired, but I have to get this out since there's no telling about tomorrow. Whether tyranny or sanity rule the day is for another man to say, but for my part, I've done what I could in the preliminaries.

Apparently, our absentee prosecutor has taken offense to my blog habit. Says I'm making a mockery of the court and filed a motion to revoke my right to bond and lock me up until the two trials pertaining to the charges filed against me, last December, are concluded.

I wonder why the First Amendment is squirming in his seat from the back of the class hissing "Pick me! Pick me!"

Here's a link to the motion in its audacious entirety.

Essentially, this man is trying to lock me up until February without bond for publishing my opinion on the internet. While this wouldn't be the first time someone tried to shut me up, the fact that this man would commit that rationale to print, in a court of law no less, really makes me wonder about the caliber of this dude's synaptic firing. Seriously. Somebody's got some screws loose.

I wish I'd bought that cracker jack box.

For the record, my lawyers filed a motion on Tuesday to be heard Friday. So all that talk about neglecting the law is little more than propaganda. Let's just hope the judge sees it that way.

Anyways, it sounds like Bob's pissed that I called him out and I guess that's fair enough, but it still brings me back to the question.

Is this what passes for professionalism around here?

Maybe I should just be flattered that he's reading my stuff? A writer can't have enough fans, you know. That's for damn sure. You know what? On second thought, where are my manners? Thanks alot, Mr. Gullette, for taking the time to read my blog.

Good luck to you, sir.

To everyone else, if you don't hear from me for a while, just assume I'm scarfing cinnamon cakes down at the LFUCG Detention Center, political prisoner style. Somebody please call the ACLU.

Your boy in Liberty,
PLK

A Letter to the Judge

2010-11-17T00:08:00.000-05:00

While bias is understood to be an intrinsically human characteristic, that urge to presume on the basis of often erroneous information such as criminal history and passing innuendo, one can only hope that Lady Justice’s eyes remain shrouded as they should and implore that the prosecution and the defense be regarded equally so that no quarter be provided Mr. Gullette which isn’t summarily endowed upon myself as well. It seems a most humble and reasonable request; a mere reiteration of the most fundamental inherence of any worthwhile legal system.

Which isn’t to suggest that one good foul deserves another or any such twist of illogic, but only that in the totality of this specific circumstance, it is difficult to fathom how one could arrive at the conclusion that my incarceration is the proper remedy for an isolated incident of inconvenient scheduling by arbiters.

Furthermore, if the respective sides are to be held to an even remotely comparable standard, then it is noteworthy that Mr. Gullette has failed to appear at multiple appointments during the course of the last year without so much as a verbal reprimand or even an apology.

This most recent mishap, for which I am currently held responsible, is more accurately, a hybrid of both the prosecutor’s failure to appear on November 4^th and a rather perplexing failure to acknowledge my lack of availability on November 8^th.

If the court will pardon the insistence, I deliberately submitted that I would be out of town in order to avoid the very dilemma in which I presently find myself. That the point has gone unnoticed and that I came to be regarded as the primary culprit of this mishap contradicts even the most unrefined conception of fairness and alludes to a major point of concern in my mind—

It has been the experience that my extensive involvement with the Lexington Police Department has served to disrepute me among certain members of the local establishment. Incidentally, the suspicion has been confirmed on several occasions over the years by a myriad of officials, both on and off the record, to include a former member of the judiciary. And while it would be far from me to insist that such is the case in this particular example, I must admit to regard the question with no small measure of trepidation.

Studies have highlighted the multitude of challenges confronting an indigent defender in the criminal justice system ranging from the typical lack of access to resources and overloaded public advocates to unabashed disparities in rates of detainment pending trial, conviction and even capital punishment.

In such a flagrantly lopsided system, a temperate arbitrator serves as perhaps the greatest barrier between a less fortunate socio-economic status and injustice. To condone the denial of that single respite is to sanction the deprivation of justice altogether. Without it, I am lost before the first word was ever uttered on my behalf. And if the police have succeeded as the saboteurs of my life, then the judiciary should now play the role of my executioner.

But I remain hopeful that all has not been lost in a swift gust of disparaging conjecture and have faith that my liberty should not be stamped out with calloused indifference and shameless preferentiality. I maintain my innocence and have no doubt that time will readily disprove my accusers as it unseats all things shoddily founded. In the interim, I hope to be allowed the benefit of the doubt due a presumably innocent man and respectfully request to remain free until such time as a jury of my peers should decide otherwise.

Sincerely,

Pleas Lucian Kavanaugh

Another Close Encounter of the Judicial Kind

2010-11-12T12:17:00.039-05:00

There must be something in the water at the Lexington Fayette Urban County Government.

I had a court appearance last Thursday. This time before presiding Circuit Judge Ernesto Scorsone regarding the instance where I was that 6'4" light-skinned black dude with gold teeth, green eyes and hair who tried to kidnap some pregnant chick in the middle of the Downtown Lexington Transit Center in broad daylight, but managed to avoid every single one of the sixteen cameras comprising their multimillion dollar, state of the art surveillance system.

You heard me...Somebody remind me to add shapeshifting ninja to my resume. Here's a refresher for you amnesiacs.

So I'm standing in front of Scorsone with my two public defenders, Chris Tracy and Chad Butcher.

My previous attorney, David Zorin and I parted ways for reasons we most certainly won't agree upon. He thinks we parted ways because I couldn't afford his tab. And I think we parted ways because I was better off with the public defenders.

Incidentally, I got drunk with him a couple of weeks ago and he expressed some interest in pursuing another civil suit against the City of Lexington for ruining my life the last five years. I indulged the conversation because he's good company - plus, he was buying the drinks, so what the hell - but I'm pretty sure I'm better off seeking competent representation elsewhere.

Anyway, we're standing before the judge; me and my two guys, but the specially assigned prosecutor from Nicholasville, Robert Gullete Jr., otherwise known as plain old Bobby Gullette, is nowhere to be found, which isn't, actually, unusual. I used to think it bizarre that he could just elect not to appear like he was skipping first period, but have since come to expect his absence because he's only attended maybe two appointments since I got charged with this nonsense last December and it's starting to get under my skin because every time he doesn't show, Scorsone just shrugs and schedules another appointment for me as if I have nothing better to do with my time than brighten the courtroom with my pretty face.

Where in the hell did my speedy trial run off to?

Apparently, Mr. Gullette didn't look at his calender properly the night before and now we're all standing around twiddling our thumbs wondering what in the hell we're doing here. Meanwhile, I can't, for the life of me, figure out why we just don't have him drive the 15 miles to Lexington so we can reschedule my trial date, which had originally been scheduled for November 17th but had to be extended because David Zorin took an obscene amount of time to withdraw and basically prevented the Public Defenders from having sufficient time to prepare; none of which has anything to do with me, of course, except that it's my life that hangs in the balance of all this bullshit.

Not to mention, why doesn't Scorsone ever reprimand the prosecutor for missing court? He hasn't mentioned it once. Is this what passes for professionalism around here? Even now I can't figure out why we didn't just call Gullette to find out when he would be available for a trial and saved ourselves the trouble.

So, once again, the judge suggests we schedule another date to meet just to schedule another trial date and then, I guess, we'll cross our fingers and hope the prosecutor shows up. Believe me, it's as stupid as it sounds.

The three of them begin bantering about availability until Scorsone suggests that we reconvene the very next day. As they consider it, I whisper to Chris Tracy that I am scheduled to be out of town and won't be available.

He then suggests to the judge that the three counselors be allowed to coordinate the new trial date in my absence, which seems reasonable enough since I, frankly, couldn't care less when the trial happens granted I'm provided ample notice beforehand.

But for reasons unbeknown to the rest of us, Scorsone disagrees and insists that that I am present for the scheduling of the new trial and informs my representatives to discuss the matter with Mr. Gullette and to keep the court informed. We leave and all seems well.

Just as I'm on my way out of town, Mr. Butcher informs me that they've conversed with Mr. Gullette and rescheduled for the following Monday. En route to Key Largo, I learn that my transportation won't be available to return on Monday and that I am essentially stuck in Florida until Tuesday. So I call the PD's office and leave a message. No reply. I call again on Friday morning and the secretary assures that she'll deliver the message, so I forget about it and spend some time writing on the beach.

But when the weekend is nearly passed and I haven't heard back from either of the Public Defenders, I begin to wonder. Finally, on Sunday, I decide I'm better safe than sorry and basically guilt a friend of mine in Florida into driving me all the way to Kentucky. She's a good friend, indeed. I definitely owe her one.

By the time I've hitched the ride, we're already behind schedule. After I'd driven a good deal of the way, she insists on driving. We switch places and I'm napping on the passenger side when the next thing I know, this woman is barreling down the highway at ninety-seven miles an hour and, naturally, the popo stops us. She yanks the ticket, hits the gas, but there's just not enough time in the day.

A couple of detours and a few traffic jams later, it's becoming readily apparent that the Monday appointment is, simply, not a possibility. I alerted the lawyers to the news and they informed Mr. Gullette who, with his characteristic indifference, expressed no problem postponing Monday's appearance until Tuesday. You can imagine the collective gasp when Scorsone declared that a warrant would be issued for my arrest if I was not in his courtroom at 3pm sharp Monday afternoon.

My attorneys later described his rather bizarre determination as uncharacteristic and were at a loss to explain it. For my part, I've seen some members of the Fayette County Judiciary do some very strange things and while this definitely hovers near the top of the list, I have my own theory as to why, but that's another blog altogether. Anyway, they opined that all was not yet lost.

My understanding is that as I was stampeding up I-75, Mr. Butcher and Mr. Tracy had met with Scorsone at 3pm hoping to dissuade him from issuing a warrant, but that their pleas fell on deaf ears. Incidentally, Mr. Gullette declined to grace the courtroom, once again, but that fact went unnoticed even as the ink on my warrant was settling in. Still, my ever optimistic counsel surmised, we would go to the Judges' Chambers tomorrow after he had a chance to reconsider and surely the man will have come to his senses by then.

The next day, we chatted in the lobby for some twenty minutes before a petite secretary approached and politely informed us that the judge was neither inclined to speak with us nor to lift the warrant. She smiled awkwardly and left the three of us alone with the crickets.

As we trudged back to the office, Mr. Tracy remarked that he and I hadn't had much luck with judges lately, to which I expressed doubt that the treatment we'd been experiencing had much to do with luck at all.

Ironically, it turns out they were able to set a new trial date after all, for February 23rd, without me and over the phone to boot, per Mr. Tracy's original suggestion. At the end of the day, the only thing that anybody seems to have accomplished for all the extra trouble is the promise of me in a cell. Who needs prosecutors with judges like these? While I have no doubt that Mr. Scorsone is a generally evenhanded and honorable man, there is something bad wrong with this picture.

According to Mr. Butcher, there is no pending status date or bond revocation hearing scheduled for the $3000 my brother put up to ensure my freedom pending trial. That will undoubtedly change in the near future, but it's almost as if the judge got so beside himself in his eagerness to land me in a cage that he abandoned the official particulars in the process.

As last December made many well aware, a warrant for my arrest in Lexington is tantamount to a license to kill in the eyes of some highly antagonistic public servants. One can only hope that it was a failure to realize this which allowed Scorsone to jeopardize my life as flippantly as one flushes excrement.

Maybe that's what he thinks he's doing...

So that's the story. I am a fugitive, once again, for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with fairness or truth or any high ideal whatsoever. Ladies and gentlemen, this is what passes for justice in Fayette County, Kentucky.

Money Matters II: More Money

2010-11-01T17:11:00.049-04:00

For most of us, economics is nothing more than a course we tried to avoid in college. But from a practical standpoint, it means access to resources and there is nothing in the history of human civilization which has been prioritized above it.

Marx and Engels wrote, "The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles." The point has never been stated more succinctly.

Every war or revolution you've ever been in or heard or read about, every conflict where masses of people were convinced to sacrifice their lives for some illusory ideal like "patriotism" or "freedom" or "democracy" was really just economics in sheep's clothing. So bear with the lesson a moment.

Beyond interest, there is another mechanism by which the Federal Reserve manipulates your ability to purchase the things you need to live. It's called, inflation, and the skinny goes something like this.

Anytime the Money Supply (the amount of money in circulation) increases ahead of the rate of production of goods, then the amount that an individual has to spend for that good, say a loaf of bread, increases also. In other words, if there is more money, but an equal amount of goods, then the dollar loses purchasing power as prices increase.

In the real world, this means that people who've spent their entire lives saving their money are actually losing money as the dollar loses value. It also means that when prices increase ahead of wages (which they almost always do), it becomes increasingly difficult to feed and clothe your family.

Essentially, inflation is an invisible tax on your dollar; one you did not vote for or likely didn't even know was there. All you know for sure is that five dollars doesn't buy you what it used to and one in a million earn enough to compensate for the difference. The unfortunate and inevitable result is that you've got a whole country in which everything is out on loan.

For a more in-depth explanation, check out the videos linked in Money Matters: The Federal Reserve, this lecture by Texas Senator Ron Paul and two excellent documentaries, The Money Masters, and Money, Banking and the Federal Reserve, both of which serve as a fantastic foundation for understanding how money works in this country if you have the patience to sit through them.

As part of their defense of central banking, Fed supporters claimed that it's establishment would serve to stabilize the economy in order to prevent nasty things like recessions and depressions, but a cursory glance at history quickly reveals that the Federal Reserve has done no such thing. On the contrary, there have been multiple recessions and now two great depressions since The Fed came to town. Additionally, a more thorough examination reveals a profoundly more disturbing implication—

That by gradually increasing and then suddenly contracting the money supply, the Federal Reserve is able to incite an economic crisis as deliberately as you start your car in the morning. In the words of Senator Charles Lindberg,

"Under the Federal Reserve Act panics are scientifically created. The present panic is the first scientifically created one, worked out as we figure a mathematical equation."

He was referring to the Panic of 1920, but the banks have been playing the same game ever since. If it ain't broken and all that. Worse is that their ability to manipulate the economy has only strengthened as the average politician has become less willing to challenge the status quo.

Now, you might be asking yourself why anyone would do such a thing. What could possibly motivate a bunch of rich guys to cause the rest of us to live in squalor at the push of a button? I'd say that's a more than fair question and while I'll always suggest that you do yourself the favor of investigating the matter on your own, my take is forthcoming.

Thanks for reading.

Money Matters: The Federal Reserve

2010-10-27T02:19:00.066-04:00

It's a little known fact that the United States Government does not print the money we all love to spend.

Contrary to popular belief and despite Article 1, Section 1 of the US Constitution, which grants Congress explicit powers to coin and regulate money, the responsibility has been delegated to the jurisdiction of a private company quite expressly since December 23rd, 1913 when President Woodrow Wilson sold his country for campaign contributions from some of the most powerful and insidious men in America.

Wilson, for his part, later acknowledged his role in the crime when he stated—

"I am a most unhappy man. I have unwittingly ruined my country. A great industrial nation is controlled by its system of credit. Our system of credit is concentrated. The growth of the nation, therefore, and all our activities are in the hands of a few men. We have come to be one of the worst ruled, one of the most completely controlled and dominated Governments in the civilized world. No longer a Government by free opinion, no longer a Government by conviction and the vote of the majority, but a Government by the opinion and duress of a small group of dominant men."

In order to more thoroughly understand the source of Old Woodrow's gloom, one should really check out Paul Grignon's, Money as Debt and Peter Joseph's, Zeitgeist Addendum, but a summary explanation of the trouble goes as follows—

Since Wilson's blooper in 1913, American currency has been loaned to the government by a private institution known as the Federal Reserve or "The Fed." But don't let the name fool you. They're about as federal as FedEx and much harder to stomach once you're hip to the game.

Actually, the Federal Reserve is a conglomeration of foreign bankers, a private company pursuing private interests just like McDonald's or Walmart, except that instead of slinging Big Macs and can openers, they print worthless paper money out of thin air and loan it to the government at interest. And since they're the only ones entitled to print money anymore, all the money to pay back the interest on the loan has to come from them also...at more interest!

In other words, when the government borrows a dollar from the Federal Reserve, they do so with the understanding that the taxpayer must pay back a dollar plus interest. And where does the money to pay back the interest come from? The same bankers who issued the first dollar with another interest rate attached to the second one. The short end of it is a never-ending cycle of debt from which it is mathematically impossible to escape.

The real world consequence from the perspective of Joe Citizen is a lifetime of perpetually increasing debt, scarcity, and work. In a word? Slavery.

In this system you are nothing more than a bolt or a cog in a machine engineered in the interest of profit for a few men. Furthermore, the government they have purchased is merely an instrument for your manipulation.

While some of you might scoff at the ramifications of such an accusation. Ask yourself, is it really so hard to believe?

When was the last time you saw a politician change the system in any meaningful way to improve the quality of life for the people of this country? I'll wait... Is it not readily apparent to even the most casual observer that corporations have established a disturbing level of influence over government? Is it not clear that their loyalties do not reside with you and I?

These now prophetic words from former Congressman Louis McFadden sum up the issue quite nicely:

Some people think the Federal Reserve Banks are US government institutions. They are not... they are private credit monopolies which prey upon the people of the US for the benefit of themselves and their foreign and domestic swindlers, and rich and predatory money lenders. The sack of the United States by the Fed is the greatest crime in history. Every effort has been made by the Fed to conceal its powers, but the truth is the Fed has usurped the government. It controls everything here and it controls all our foreign relations. It makes and breaks governments at will.

The diligent-minded should research the story of Congressman McFadden, an adamant enemy of the Fed and a true representative of his country. The idle might, at the very least, note that after several assassination attempts McFadden finally died by poisoning after a banquet in 1936.

To further validate the notion of Fed supremacy over the government, take a look at an excerpt from an interview with Alan Greenspan, former chairman of the Federal Reserve.

This whole central banking conflict is hardly a new phenomenon.

One poorly explored fact about the American Revolution is that resistance of the Founding Fathers to the formation of a central banking system; King George's attempt to subjugate the colonies under the Bank of England was one of the direct causes of the war.

In the words of Benjamin Franklin—

"The refusal of King George III to allow the colonies to operate an honest money system, which freed the ordinary man from the clutches of the money manipulators was probably the prime cause of the revolution."

Even afterwords, the first patriots worked diligently to prevent infiltration by bankers and repeatedly denounced them as agents of corruption. Several times in history they were able to acquire a foothold only to be cast out by the watchful eyes safeguarding a fledgling nation.

This most recent incarnation forever changed the trend and sent America spiraling into a despotism far more miserable and surreptitious than any hardship she had been birthed to circumvent.

As Thomas Jefferson put it—

"If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around them will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their Fathers conquered."

Jefferson uttered those words in the late 18th century but they likely ring truer today than they ever have. So take heed. This is but one of the many things you are not supposed to know. Do yourself a favor. Throw away your television and wake up.

The matrix really has you.

Close Encounters of the Judicial Kind

2010-08-02T14:38:00.008-04:00

Whether I have suffered any violation of my rights according to the letter of the law is a question best left to the expert. And as I am not an attorney, or even especially knowledgeable in matters of legality, I therefore have no choice but to defer to the proper authority in hope that my words will be provided the same consideration due any other citizen.

It happened that I was scheduled to appear in both district and circuit courts about the same time on the morning of June 15, 2010. After the circuit court appearance, I explained my dilemma to the court clerk and was informed that it would be best if my attorney, Chris Tracy accompanied me to the fifth floor to corroborate my story to the judge, Megan Thorton. When I located Mr. Tracy sometime later, he agreed to assist and the two of us proceeded upstairs.

As Mr. Tracy concluded his account of our morning in circuit court to Judge Thorton, she crinkled up the paper pertaining to my district court case, which incidentally consisted of nothing more than traffic violations, and chucked it back underneath the protective glass. She scowled and muttered that she didn’t care if I’d had another court appearance that morning; that my new bond was set at $350 and that I should turn myself in.

And that was the end of it. She just stormed away.

Mr. Tracy and I crept slowly towards the elevator more than a little taken aback by the encounter. As we waited, he turned and apologized for his inability to help me and admitted that he was extremely surprised by what he had just witnessed. I inquired about whether the law afforded me recourse in resolving the matter more amiably and he grudgingly retorted that to his knowledge, the word of the judge was final say. I nodded my comprehension and we parted ways.

While it is understood that a judge is well within her authority to defend the issuance of a warrant for a failure to appear in court, it seems only reasonable that such strict adherence to policy be relegated to appearances which are, at the very least, physically possible. In this case, Megan Thorton put me in jail because I could not be in two places simultaneously. And she became more resolute and even crass in her posture after the unique circumstances of my absence were plainly explained to her by a credible party. It is hard to imagine a sound defense for such an unabashedly authoritarian perspective. And I am inclined to wonder whether she was motivated by something other than a wholehearted pursuit of truth and justice.

It would be accurate to say that I have had more than my share of encounters with the law; a fact of which I am certain Judge Thorton is aware. But I should point out that the overwhelming majority of those have been resolved with my innocence affirmed. Regardless of the outcome of any prior litigation, it is well within reason to expect to be treated fairly and impartially in all pending legal matters if the presumption of innocence means anything. As such, it seems highly unlikely that other defendants are generally treated with the same disdain I was afforded as Thorton addressed me with all the due diligence of a haughty aristocrat; casually proscribing my freedom as if she were swatting at flies.

In the absence of bias rooted in my admittedly extensive experience with the court system, there remains an even more harrowing alternative— That Judge Thorton refused to regard me in fairness and with the moderation and caution expected of her designation expressly because she could. The implication of such an abhorrent sentiment should need no further exposition here.

Since a hypothetical foray into the possible reasons for such seemingly curious behavior would be futile and well outside the parameters of this complaint, it must be sufficient to emphasize on behalf of the citizenry that judicial officials are rightfully expected to exemplify dignity, humility, temperance; the virtue befitting someone endowed with the title, Your Honor. In this instance, at least, Judge Thorton has rather grossly missed that mark.

And thus, it happened that as I sat waiting to be processed and released from the local jail on account of the warrant issued by Judge Thorton, I was unavailable to appear for the very circuit court case which incited this debacle in the first place. As per this writing, I have yet to discover whether I shall be penalized for that absence as well, but in any event, there can no longer be any doubt as to how Judge Thorton might elect to handle the matter.

A Letter to the ACLU

2010-08-01T17:12:00.009-04:00

While it might be beyond my ability to convey a respectable version of my dilemma in this small allotment, I wish to emphasize from the onset that the impact of what has happened to me cannot be understated and that if this account is somewhat beyond the standard length, it is so for the depth of the actions taken against me by a power well beyond my capacity to contend with.

As such, I would implore that my circumstance be given attentive and thorough consideration as I am, quite literally, under the most oppressive and sweltering attack at the hands of the Lexington Police Department; an attack which I fear will not end until either I have been unjustly incarcerated, murdered or until such time as responsible parties are held accountable for a most egregious affront to liberty, justice and all things idealized by civilized humanity.

Let the facts be submitted to an impartial eye.

In November of 2004, just prior to my 25th birthday, I was informed by a Detective Elizabeth Adams that I had been accused of sexual misconduct by a classmate and was charged with felony rape and sodomy. After 2 ½ years and multiple plea offerings, the matter would be settled rather succinctly by jury trial with my innocence affirmed.

Prior to the resolution of that matter, in the fall of 2005, on the 1st of November around 2am, I was enjoying the holiday festivities with two friends when three Caucasian men pulled to a stop light near our parked car and began shouting racial slurs. When a member of my party replied, the men parked and approached us; one with an over-sized wrench in hand. By some miracle, we managed to avert a physical altercation then, but encountered the same group again later, just a few blocks away. Our parties exchanged insults, momentarily, before a police cruiser, approaching distantly, compelled us to resume our course none the worse for wear.

Not to be deterred, the cruiser followed my party until an officer, a lady by the name of Jacquelyn Richardson, hopped out and demanded the three of us to sit on the curb. I politely explained to her that while we would be glad to answer any of her questions, we would not be inclined to sit for the sake of it being soaking wet but most importantly for the sake of our dignity as we had done nothing to justify her subordination.

Before I could finish the sentence, she responded by grabbing my arm, an act she would later qualify as an attempted arrest. As I demanded an explanation, another officer, by the name of David Boroschik, approached me from behind and began choking me. Before I knew it, I would be body-slammed and nearly suffocated, squealing desperately for passersby to witness the event. To accentuate my humiliation, Officer Richardson sprayed a bottle of mace as I lay helpless and threatened one of my friends with the same fate as he attempted to shield my eyes from its stream.

At the end of the night, I was bloody and battered and charged with resisting arrest, disorderly conduct and alcohol intoxication. It would take two trial attempts to resolve the matter, as the first resulted in mistrial after Richardson was discovered conversing with a jury member— a clear violation of my right to a fair trial. But the second attempt proved successful and eye witness testimonies would later corroborate my account. In what would be the first of several of my trials, I was acquitted of all charges.

At which point I filed a 1983 action against Lexington Fayette Urban County Government, effectively inciting the most tumultuous period of my life as members of the police department began targeting me for any and every crime they could imagine, contrive or invent.

Some three days after I gave a deposition in my attorney’s office, at which Officer Richardson was present, she spotted me exiting a club with friends. Accompanied by several other officers, they isolated me and inevitably arrested me for disorderly conduct and alcohol intoxication under the pretense that I was speaking too loudly. When a trial date was set during horse sales, my public defender requested an extension citing that two of my witnesses would be unable to attend as they were involved in the horse industry working as blacksmiths. The request was denied. Against an all white jury, stripped of all support, I was convicted on both charges even as a recording, provided by the police, featured nothing more than a heated conversation on the night in question.

On one occasion leading up to that trial, I was represented by a public defender from another county, Rhonda Atkins, for a status conference. She introduced herself and explained that my usual representative had taken maternity leave, and then excused herself to converse with the prosecutor. After a short time, she returned, seeming slightly perturbed and told me that while she could hardly believe what had just happened, the prosecutor had suggested she neglect my case as I was, “suing everyone over this.” I thanked Ms. Atkins for her honesty. And though we resumed a rather routine day in court, the implications of her warning have resounded throughout my entire experience with the legal system in Lexington.

I was once arrested for alcohol intoxication while speaking on a payphone. When I asked the officer why he’d engaged me in the first place, he claimed that I fit the description of a suspect in the area. When the citation described “the suspect” as black, male, with a jacket, the charge was quietly dismissed the following day.

On another occasion, I was approached by a familiar officer, while observing a fistfight, and told that I was no longer allowed to witness the incident. When I explained to the officer that he did not have the authority to prohibit me from merely witnessing an incident, he responded to the effect that his authority over me was without limit and that he would be obliged to prove the point if I was inclined to let him. I remained undeterred and was promptly arrested. Incidentally, the arresting officer had been accompanied by one David Boroschik, the same officer who had nearly killed me a few years earlier. Disappointed by my experiences with impotent public defenders, I opted to represent myself in the matter. After some minor haggling with the prosecutor, the case was dismissed.

In the following years, my experience with local police became characterized by one frivolous arrest after another until my rap sheet had mutated into a curious litany of charges, dismissals and acquittals; the story of my oppression common knowledge to most downtown Lexingtonians. I was even once warned by a police officer friend that claimed to have overheard other officers discussing me. He admonished me to “be careful,” but when I requested suggestions, only shrugged and flaccidly advised that I avoid being caught alone with the police if at all possible.

A disagreement with my civil attorney regarding the manner of handling my case, namely that I felt the various incidents should be strung together in the lawsuit to demonstrate a pattern of harassment, led to our separation and I began representing myself in federal court, pro se, while actively pursuing more proactive and competent representation.

Meanwhile, a settlement conference ordered by Federal Judge Jennifer Coffman was wholly unproductive when the negotiation was deemed to be “not in good faith,” by defense attorney, Carolyn Zerga, when I refused to settle for a monetary amount of less than $5,000. Finally, I found an attorney in Louisville upon a friend’s suggestion. Months later, my spirits would plummet to an unprecedented low upon discovering that my case had been dismissed without prejudice citing failure to prosecute. Attempts to obtain a satisfactory explanation from “my attorney” were less than successful, but he later informed me that his attempts to revive the effort in court were equally unproductive.

Injustice notwithstanding, I must admit that a part of me welcomed the prospect of not having to deal with police in court or on the street or in any other part of the veritable nightmare that had become my life. I had assumed that, at the very least, I would be able to live unencumbered as the police would have no further motivation to harass me. And then, on the afternoon of December 10th, 2009, a former employer informed me that I was, once again, the subject of a police investigation.

According to the police, someone had attempted to kidnap a pregnant woman at the downtown transit center several days before. According to the investigating detective, Elizabeth Adams, the very same officer who had failed in her attempt to incarcerate me several years prior, the suspect fit my description without question. Adding insult to injury, I was also flippantly charged with an unsolved robbery which had taken place in late October. As an aside, Detective Adams would later acknowledge, in her preliminary hearing testimony, that I had not been a suspect in either crime until she had become personally involved.

In the coming days, I would become the subject of an intense manhunt by the police and US Marshals which involved scouring my Facebook page to locate the names of my associates, some of whom I had not seen in years, and invading their homes and their parents’ homes; interrogating patrons of downtown businesses which I was known to frequent and even threatening people with prosecution should they assist me in the acquisition of a private attorney. Perhaps most disparagingly, I was featured in several televised editions of Crimestoppers, in which I was characterized as “armed and dangerous” and alleged to have been previously convicted of sexual assault.

A motion for discovery would later reveal that in both the robbery and the attempted kidnapping, the suspect(s) stood approximately 6’4’’ tall. I stand at 5’10’’. In both instances, the assailant was said to have a military-style “crew cut.” I have suffered from male pattern baldness for the better part of a decade and am unable to grow hair. In the transit center incident, the suspect was said to have gold teeth. With all due respect, I have donned gold teeth not one day of my life.

Repeated attempts to obtain video evidence from the transit center security system have been remarkably unsuccessful. To this day, no person acting on my behalf has seen a video of any crime occurring in the early afternoon on December 8th despite the 16 cameras littered throughout the facility. Finally, it was my good fortune to have been in the company of my landlord, on the morning in question, as he repaired my broken heater.

When the suspect in the robbery incident was alleged to have left DNA evidence, I offered a sample of my own genetic material to squelch the issue. After several weeks, inquiries regarding the DNA were ignored until a prosecutor alleged to have had no knowledge of any genetic examination whatsoever. There is little question that the DNA evidence has “mysteriously disappeared” because the results were exculpatory to the defense.

Detective Adams admitted to my lawyer, during my interrogation, that I had not been identified using a photo array or a lineup, but that she had personally identified me from a composite sketch and then shown a single photo of me to the victims in both incidents. When my attorney asked her repeatedly whether she had used an array or a single photo, she reiterated several times that she had not used a lineup, but had relied on her personal identification of me from a composite sketch to make the ID. It was only when my attorney expressed some dismay at the admission that she became reserved and refused further questioning.

At the preliminary hearing, when my attorney asked again about how she’d arrived at a positive identification, she quickly produced a lineup and recanted her previous story. After some debate, she explained that there must have been some misunderstanding at the interrogation and that she’d used a lineup all along. Not surprisingly, all attempts to obtain the interrogation tape have been unsuccessful. As per this writing, both matters are still pending despite the host of startling inconsistencies in the evidence.

In March, I was referred to as “Mr. Celebrity,” by a downtown beat cop patrolling my neighborhood, forced out of a friend’s car, threatened with a taser and arrested essentially for refusing to relinquish my digital tape recorder.

To continue recounting my own personal experience with police misconduct and brutality and abuse would be an effortless, if extensive, task despite that many might find it hard to fathom the essence of my plea—

Just prior to my 25th birthday, I had never been charged with any crime beyond a traffic violation. Subsequent to filing a lawsuit against the City of Lexington, I have been arrested more times than I can count, the overwhelming majority of which have resulted in dismissals or acquittals. And while some might suggest those results to be evidence of a healthy judicial process, my so-called victories have come at the cost of my social standing, my morale, and very nearly my sanity. I am the hostage of a system which aims to effectively barrage me with accusations so libelous and corrosive and expensive that I no longer function within the parameters of a normal life.

My existence is now subsidized expressly by the charity of loved ones as no person in this economy, or any other, has a prayer of obtaining meaningful employment as a perpetually pending felon. I am a sideshow, criticized as a nuisance by police and judges alike; a pariah, ostracized for the continual fear of an impending tide of blue uniforms; men and women parading under the guise of public service, but motivated with the real intention of draining my fortitude until I am but a shell of my former self, tortured inside a cell or better cold within a grave.

I am the victim of a state sanctioned mob with virtually no incentive to refrain from abusing me. I am a word to the wise; the decapitated head; that warning against even the thought of challenging the local establishment. And to this very day, the police continue to violate my rights as a minority, as a citizen and as a human being. They have pilfered my liberty, smothered my happiness, and I have little doubt that in due time they will even end my life.

It is for these reasons that I petition your support in the acquisition of competent legal representation to fight the grave injustices done against me and to help publicize the rampant abuses of authority taking place in Lexington, Kentucky. I seek criminal representation to defend against the latest string of bogus charges brought against me as well as proactive civil representation to hold the city and all appropriate civil officials accountable for crimes against the constitution. It is my belief that the truth resides within the domain of public scrutiny and that such abuses persist when those who would transgress against freedom are allowed to revel in obscurity. It is with no small hope that I implore your concurrence, your sympathies and your resources.

Sincerely,

Pleas Lucian Kavanaugh

The Unanimous Declaration of The Free World

2010-06-15T00:37:00.007-04:00

June 15, 2010

When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of humanity requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all human beings are created equal; that they are endowed with certain unalienable rights. Among them are life, liberty and property. — That to secure these rights, governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. — That whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to preserve their freedom and opportunity.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes and accordingly all experience has shown that humanity is more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right as free citizens, it is their duty as sentient entities, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of the common people of this planet and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government.

The history of the current social, economic and political world model is a story of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over this planet and its inhabitants. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.

It has refused assent to laws and practices, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

It has implemented, as a matter of protocol, strategies which are diametrically opposed to the general welfare and prioritized myopic corporate interests above every other tangible and intangible concern.

It has eroded the confidence of the common people, stripped the masses of their innate independence and rendered them hopeless and demoralized by fruitless drudgery and endless suffering.

It has restricted humanity from access to available resources and technologies which would relieve the burden of unnecessary economic depravity and operated within an illusion of scarcity in order to maintain a brutish, reckless, unsustainable world order.

It has forbidden legislative modifications of immediate and pressing importance until such modifications should prove beneficial to corporate interests.

It has repeatedly squelched independent representation of lower socio-economic classes, for firmly opposing invasions on the rights of the people.

It has endeavored to manipulate and control populations of lesser means for the purposes of limiting their social and economic prowess.

It has obstructed the administration of justice, by disregarding balance and law in preference of wealth and privilege.

It has corrupted judges for the tenure of their offices and the amount and payment of their salaries.

It has abandoned transparency and simplicity in preference of espionage and secrecy.

It has corrupted the educational and agricultural systems and conscripted mass media to stifle and confound an unassuming public.

It has erected a multitude of misleading fiscal strategies and sent swarms of agents to harass the people and eat out their substance.

It has kept among us, in times of peace, standing armies in direct violation of its own legislature.

It has affected to render the military independent of and superior to the civil power.

It has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving assent to acts of feigned legislation.

It has quartered large bodies of armed officers among us to subdue the lower classes.

It has protected them, by a mock trial, from punishment for any murders and transgressions which they should commit against us.

It has deprived the lower class, in many cases, of the benefits of equal treatment under the law.

It has imposed taxes on us without our consent.

It has curtailed free systems of law in viable democracies, attempting to establish illegitimate governments therein and enlarged its military jurisdiction so as to render both an example and a fit instrument to further its supremacy throughout the world.

It has replaced our once lofty ideal with a crude and vile facsimile, abolished our most valuable laws, and fundamentally altered the forms of our governments without our knowledge or consent.

It has suspended our autonomy and authorized itself to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

It is at this time transporting large armies of misinformed citizens to complete works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of cruelty and treachery scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous age.

It has abdicated true government; rendered us out of its protection and waged a myriad of official and unofficial campaigns against the common people in the interest of restricting access to planetary resources and enhancing its range of influence and power.

It has convinced the citizenry, intoxicated by fear and ignorance, to take up arms against their own; to become the executioners of their kin or fall themselves at the hand of threats both real and imagined.

It has rallied the globe into a state of perpetual frenzy; engulfed it in venomous skepticism and conflict and steered it down a path of eternal violence and warfare; a course which can only lead to the destruction of all that is esteemed by all creeds across the face of the Earth.

It has declared peace its enemy and wages war for resources, political control and monetary gain.

It has blackened our seas, ravaged our coasts, decimated our forests, fouled our air and destroyed the lives of the people.

In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress in the most sincere terms. Our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A government, which is thus marked by every act which may define a tyranny, is unfit to govern a free people.

Nor have we been wanting in attention to our more inured comrades. We have cautioned them from time to time of attempts by legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the conditions of our compliance to government authority. We have appealed to their native justice and nobility and compelled them by the ties of common interest to disavow these usurpations which have invariably inhibited our sovereignty. They remain oblivious to the truth and, as such, remain little more than automatons bred to facilitate a profoundly insidious system. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our separation, and consider them, as we consider all the rest of humanity— enemies in war, friends in liberty.

Therefore, we, the remaining representatives of The Free World, unified in conscience, appealing to all proper justice and logic for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by authority of the free and sentient people of Earth, solemnly publish and declare, that we are, and of right ought to be free and independent; that we are absolved from all allegiance to any previously recognized political order, and that all connections between us and currently established world governments, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as free and independent citizens of Earth, we have full power to defend ourselves, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which autonomous entities may of right do.

And for the support of this declaration, with absolute confidence in the mandates of providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.

A Letter to Dave Spencer

2009-12-13T12:41:00.009-05:00

Mr. Spencer,

While I am more than grateful for the opportunity to offer even the briefest account of my story, this most recent attack on my freedom by the Lexington Police Department has brought me to the brink of desperation regarding my ability to preserve my own civil liberties as well as how I might illuminate the circumstances of my now rather extensive persecution.

For the record, I'd like to clarify a detail which was incorrectly highlighted on your news program.

As you well know, I was charged with felony rape in college, but as you apparently were not made aware by the police, I was acquitted of all charges by a jury of my peers after a mere thirty minute deliberation. To state that I was convicted of sexual assault on live television is to provide your viewers with a flagrantly erroneous account of the event as well as to irreparably damage my image and good name. While I am sure that this was not your intention, In light of the fact that the question of my acquittal is a matter of public record, I would like to think that I am not remiss to suggest that a retraction is in order.

I also want to emphasize that despite every assurance of the Lexington Police Department, I am not a villain. And I would like to reiterate my confidence that a thorough, neutral investigation will reveal my involvement in the circumstances of October 24th and December 8th to be distinctly less than newsworthy.

What might be worthy of your attention, however, is what has compelled me to write.

You have been offered two distinct possibilities to consider:

The first, offered to the whole wide world by the Lexington Police Department, depicts a convicted rapist with numerous run-ins with the law who has reared his rapacious head once more to victimize the helpless members of an otherwise fair city. All publicly available documentation contradicts this account.

The second describes the repeated arrest of a Lexington resident who has been charged with everything from alcohol intoxication to felony rape. The overwhelming majority of the time, he has either been acquitted or the charges have been dismissed and yet the police vehemently maintain that this person is a violent menace to society. They maintain this assertion to such a degree that they have organized a massive smear campaign against him on the basis of an alleged composite drawing.

On the contrary, this person maintains his innocence and contends that it is the police who are the violent party. He also expresses thathe is no longer able preserve his liberty as the local police will stop at nothing to ruin him in every way in which they are capable. He firmly believes that the police intend to murder him.

It isn't my intention to be maudlin. But if this second account is even remotely accurate, then it is your responsibility as a newsman to illuminate the truth of an insidiously corrupt local police force. In doing so, you may very well rescue my life.

I would appreciate coverage of turning myself in...

I've heard that a peaceful demonstration against police brutality is being organized for Tuesday. You might be interested in covering that as well.

Sincerely,

Pleas Lucian Kavanaugh

Friends at Keeneland

2009-03-02T15:37:00.007-05:00

This is just some silliness at Keeneland from a couple of years ago when my boy David brought his camera. I figure that if I really want to express myself well here, I'd best add dimension and give people a more solid impression of my life. In other words, expect more video from now on.

Made In America (Part III)

2009-02-26T17:18:00.033-05:00

Build National High-Speed Electric Transit System

According to the American Society of Civil Engineers, the United States' infrastructure is nearly destitute. The report, encapsulating everything from water quality to power grids to schools acknowledges America's roads to be particularly defunct as citizens spend 4.2 billion hours a year stuck in traffic costing the economy some $79.2 billion annually. The unavoidable conclusion is that the transit system is in desperate need of restructuring.

In 1990, the United States of America constituted 4.6% of the world population, while responsible for 36.1% of the all greenhouse emissions. The situation has only worsened since, relative to the rest of the planet, as the western superpower remains the only industrial nation on Earth to not have ratified Kyoto Protocol into law.

As American politicians and media outlets banter on about reducing dependence on foreign oil, the skeptic denotes such wording curiously when the general international consensus is that we should have long since begun eliminating our dependence on oil altogether. Considering that the U.S. consumes over 25% of the world's crude and is slated to exhaust her own supply within the next generation, the evidence lends credence to the majority opinion here.

As of January 2009, the American unemployment rate has risen to 7.2%, the worst since '93 and, according to the President of the Economic Policy Institute, is expected to rise above 10%. These statistics are admittedly understated as they do not include people who have been forced into lower wage jobs in desperation. The phenomenon has affected all sectors, spanning all industries from manufacturing to hospitality to mining. Unemployment and underemployment; slashed wages and hours are all at critical levels throughout the country.

For clarity, the aforementioned issues can be stated succinctly as 1) Infrastructure 2) Unemployment and 3) Pollution.

These problems are critical. They are specific. Most importantly, it is feasible that they be solved or at least greatly affected in one magnanimous swoop.

*****

Europe and Japan began incorporating the use of high-speed electric trains to impact the overall capacity and efficiency of their public transportation system shortly after World War II. As America invested billions developing the most expansive highway system on Earth, effectively putting her eggs in one bloated basket, the other technical societies diversified their means of transportation through the employment of planes, automobiles and trains.

A destitute Japan developed its first bullet train in 1964. Historians have indicated its construction to have been paramount to the country's miraculous economic revival for a host of reasons; among them, a dramatically bolstered economy and increased transportation capacity. Furthermore, the effort reflected a trademark distinction of the Japanese economy, one that is often absent in American society— cooperation between government, research bodies and competing manufacturing companies toward the practical alleviation of public needs.

High-speed trains travel over 125 miles per hour and produce no carbon emissions. In Europe, the cost of travel by train is easily more affordable than by automobile before one even considers the cost of gasoline. A two-track high-speed railway has a capacity of nearly 13,000 passengers per hour while taking up significantly less space than modern highways. Railway maintenance is easily more cost effective than that of highways.

Modern trains are safer, cleaner, faster and cheaper than their automotive counterparts. Development and construction of a continental system would require the employment of millions; provide relief to a nearly defunct transit system; reduce oil consumption and pollution; repair a failed infrastructure; all the while making travel more accessible and affordable for every American.

The European rail system, regarded as the most advanced and extensive in the world, connects virtually all of Europe through a system of above ground rails and subterranean tunnels and even an underwater passage which connects the United Kingdom to continental Europe. Dubbed, The Channel Tunnel, construction of 95 miles of tunnels took some 15,000 engineers, technicians and workers over seven years to complete. Total cost was estimated at £10 billion.

Economists estimate that every $1 billion spent in new infrastructure creates 47,000 jobs. As millions of American citizens are faced with the prospect of financial ruin in light of recent historic job losses, the creation of millions of employment opportunities would have an immeasurable effect on both America's economy and her morale, all the while providing desperately needed infrastructural development.

The European and Japanese transit systems both report a substantive annual profit. Though initially costly, an American model would undoubtedly be a viable business venture, over the long term, in the eyes of even the most resolute capitalist.

America's reluctance to follow suit with the rest of the world; her over-reliance on archaic, consumptive technologies and outdated, short-sighted processes; her conservatism; her blind faith in the strengths of unregulated capitalism, despite the available evidence, has resulted in a systemic stagnation which has relegated the citizen to a sullen spectator of his own regression.

An electric, continental, high-speed train system is but the next step out of these dark days and, indeed, towards a better future for ourselves and for our children.

(cont...)

Made In America (Part II)

2009-02-23T04:10:00.018-05:00

Nationalize American Automobile Industry

The consequences of allowing the automotive industry to flounder are so flagrantly unacceptable that there should be no need to mention them here. But for the sake of argument and to ensure a thorough presentation, the following end-note will adequately recap the inquisitive mind.

Furthermore, the recent suggestion of allowing foreign automakers to purchase or replace the U.S. industry, effectively outsourcing a potentially viable American market in a time in which Americans are seeking to become less dependent on foreign supplies, reeks of a slovenliness that can only lead to further economic deterioration.

Equally unacceptable should be the prospect of granting any amount of taxpayer dollars to private companies which have 1) produced an impractical and inferior product for the better part of a decade and 2) demonstrated a shameful inability to properly manage their finances.

The fact is that when certain ecological and political circumstances manifested to compel foreign automakers to "downsize" their product, their American counterparts stubbornly maintained the illusion of a predominant demand for over-sized SUV's. As rising gas prices rendered American spaciousness a non issue, GM and company still failed to adapt.

So while some might contend that this current automotive crisis is merely a side effect of the failing health of other crucial U.S. markets, the reality is that although U.S. auto sales have plunged to a 26 year low as of this publication, a downward spiral has been the general trend for the better part of a decade. Since 1998, the U.S. has been consistently out-competed by Japanese and German automakers dropping from a 70% market share to a dismal 53%. As of early 2009, even the Chinese have risen above the United States in units sold and are a likely candidate for purchasing the American market altogether.

A third, and perhaps most viable, alternative is to effectively nationalize the automotive industry. At an estimated $30 billion to buy GM, the price of nationalization would be nominal beside the prospect of a $35 billion bailout request which is likely to amount to little more than an initial investment to subsidize the debt of GM, Ford and Chrysler. General Motors alone is indebted some $45 billion. The American people will have no choice but to see their investments through once the first checks have cleared. Thus, it is easy to see how this could all result in a rather heavy and extended financial burden if the problem isn't addressed with prudence.

Other key advantages to nationalization include increased transparency over spending, tighter adherence to ecological regulations and a greatly enhanced control over product quality— all of which would have been useful in preventing this problem in the first place and will be necessary to prevent similar disaster in the future.

To put it another way, if America can invest $12 billion a month in the Iraq War alone, then surely she can manage the $30 billion or so to save such a critical and immensely profitable industry from an otherwise perilous fate.

(cont...)

Made In America (Part I)

2009-02-12T18:43:00.008-05:00

It is expected that many Americans will regard with an intense aversion and unflinching skepticism, the suggestion that the federal government purchase the U.S. automotive sector. Critics will undoubtedly scoff at the prospect of nationalizing the industry citing that it is Communist or anti-American or any of the other terms that have been wielded over the years to instill fear and distrust in the general populace.

While their concerns must undoubtedly be addressed with a respectful will and a courteous ear, as they are our brothers and sisters in both blood and bond, we must note that these are also the voices of men and women forged in the very system which has unleashed this latest crisis upon the world. Their unwavering derision; their eagerness to ridicule rather than contribute; their tendency towards competition over cooperation is the same dead horse which has dragged us to this most delicate fork in the road. They are echoes from a fading past marked by division and a rigidness that we as a people can no longer afford.

On the contrary, there is nothing more inherently American, indeed, more intrinsically human than to adapt our practices, that which we do in life, according to a more evolved understanding of the world. To be true to such form, one must emphasize function over ideology; place rationale squarely before partisanship and allow welfare to precede acquisition, for at least a time, in the interest of the betterment of all people.

But just as sinister intentions were not necessarily culprits to this gradual unraveling of human affairs; neither is lofty altruism a requisite in order to affect change. The most basic necessity is only that in these difficult times, Americans shift from their purely capitalistic vantage; from obsessing of augmented personal fortune and unadulterated materialism to aim toward a more holistic approach; one that is beneficial to the whole rather than just a few gluttonous parts. Now more than ever, intelligence, innovation and even an uncharacteristic humility will be paramount to our continued strength as a nation and perhaps to our very survival as a species.

Hence, the future rests squarely in the hands of the mindful, the inclusive and the courageous. The fate of our children and grandchildren resides with those who will be wise enough to curb their apprehensions and bold enough to consider possibilities that were once dismissed as mere fiction or fantasy. Where there is a will there is a way, but even the best laid plans can only be manifested through the resolve and sacrifice of a people. America is currently faced with perhaps the greatest set of challenges since her inception. The new age has beckoned us, in no uncertain terms, to rethink and revise the fundamental mechanisms of the past. It is merely a question of deliberation and imagination.

Just as the founding fathers decided precisely how they wanted their government to perform over two centuries ago, the obligation to modify their design according to contemporary need has befallen every subsequent generation. Our duty, while perhaps daunting in degree, is not inherently distinct from that of our forefathers. And if we should deny our responsibility; if we should crumble beneath this weight, then that dark cloud looming forebodingly overhead; that which has left us reeling before war, poverty and impending ecological disaster, is merely a harbinger of things to come.

Thus…this—

Preoccupations

2007-12-11T03:05:00.007-05:00

I ran across an old college English assignment that required one to list their "preoccupations" in life. It's a common enough exercise, devised from the understanding that good writers write what they know. My list was shorter than I care to admit now, as if I had not put much stock in the value of the exercise. My professor apparently concurred as she scratched 'More!' down the side of the paper in bright orange highlighter ink. But, at the very least, I thought my four entries noteworthy, particularly the first one:

'I need to be free from limitation,' I'd written.

Again, my professor was compelled to comment, this time in good old-fashioned .07mm.

'What does this mean?' She scribbled, chucking a lanky arrow towards the words.

'What had I meant?' I wonder as my eyes graze the page. I clasp my fingers together and pitch at the small pile forming at the foot of my unmade bed.

Perhaps I'll give it a shot—

I would like to fly to the top of the world and take a long hard look for myself.

I want to read minds and ease ills.

I want to leap from a cliff without hesitation because I can; fold time and talk with my father as a man.

I want to walk through walls, since no cell can contain me; create through sheer acts of will like…let there be light.

I want to swim with the fish; be a bird when they give chase; howl with the whale and the wolf.

I want a broader spectrum; clarity; to bend the gravity.

I want to know the earthquake and the monsoon in my gut; to manuever connections, the ties between the atoms and the Milky Ways.

I want to touch the sun and throw a rock so hard it never comes back home…

I want to recognize the road unfolded before me with yellow bricks; to commune with the divine; to plummet straight into the pit of hell and be all the wiser for it.

I want life and liberty.

I want to hold my breath, for almost ever, and explode.

Untitled !

2007-07-21T15:04:00.001-04:00

A man
revels in his lust
knowing that it shall one day subside
like the ebbing tide
and allow him to see clearly past his youth;
one fast and free, in truth, but resolute
laden with lessons
between rock and steel
and realness enough
then screechingly halted by the awareness
that he must grow UP --
on the head like a hammer
heard loud and clear
but with a stammer
to twist him for years
with uncertain liasons
and casual moonlit affiliations...
Feet against pavement
seeking their way
beside none other to light the day--
With the length of the road
comes the wear of the soul
and the dawning that
alone
was to be the way of this,
sure to be short excursion
touched like an intrusion
and that other aspirations
were fit only for faint remembrance
between passing moments with strangers
amidst nights that last forever
to the chiding weathering waking hour,
or were at least to be reserved for others
treading another path...
Unwavering
he plods clumsily along
step by step
one foot after another
perhaps all life long---

Bittersweet Foray

2007-06-04T03:22:00.001-04:00

Since you have gone, there is no dread like dawn;
loathing and red, as a token of pain.
For fate has spoken and I, a mere pawn,
am deemed unworthy; abandoned in vain.
Knowing your warmth, I abhor its absence.
I lie scorned and burned by its fiery wrath.
Where once was fulfilled, a gaping vastness;
a hapless void. I exist without faith.
Heartache encroaches upon reflection.
Despair has risen on a wretched pew.
Unashamed, I yearn for your affection
and reject that which I know to be true—
Dusk will fall on the most glorious day.
And thus, fairwell..my bittersweet foray.

Tidbits #1

2006-09-05T12:59:00.001-04:00

I'm still not out of the woods yet.
While a newfound occupation has given me hope regarding my financial concerns, it's quite the hole I've managed to dig for myself. My kind old landlord has done his part to defend me against the owner of my apartment building, who would probably opt to evict me if he could do so without seeming like a villian. But I've got some money for him yet and more soon to come if all goes well in the near future.
I might not have to sell my Lincoln after all. Not that I could really justify driving it considering all the greenhouse effect hooplah.
The earth is getting hotter, there's no doubt about it. We're all going to hell in a handbasket. Some just get there sooner than others, I imagine. One thing's for damn certain, though, the situation isn't improved one iota if I'm lugging my fat ass Lincoln around the block for kicks at three dollars a gallon.
I'll probably just leave her parked...
Looks like the semester's begun without me. Good luck to all those whose biggest concerns are midterms and finals. I wish I could be there, really, but it seems like some of us are meant for other things.
Just over two weeks until the big day.
This is going to be interesting.
Be cool.

The Well

2006-07-28T17:35:00.002-04:00

Not sure what to say, really. One thinks so many things. Where to begin?
Ahh...the mundane.

Babies. I imagine two; maybe three with the right girl. Resources. A moment to marinate. All normal aspirations, certainly.

But the feeling in my gut makes me doubt the likelihood of any of it.
Que será, será.

A mere mortal is the master of his domain no more than a leaf on a breeze decides the course of the flight. Me thinks a man can flail about with all his might, but he must still ride the wave treading inevitably towards the grave. One may swim better than another, but the river beats them all. So be it.

No babies. No lovely lady today. I didn't want them anyway.

Perhaps no resources either but if there is one lesson to be taken from my boot camp of a childhood it's that I am not the sum of public opinion. Despite every subliminal assertion to the contrary, I am not the number of notches on my headboard and I'm not my fucking Jordans.

Nope. I will walk whether I wear them or not.

In fact, I have perceived a direct correlation between the degree of my deprivation, whichever variety, and the intensity of my life.

The less I have, the more I feel.

This vividness was, at first, relegated strictly to suffering, but suddenly other less familiar impulses came reeling into my awareness. In the current analysis, it was the opportunity to remain undistracted; to be left alone with my internal workings that made me cognizant of a part of myself which I had never known before.

'Clearly', I realized, 'I am a work in progress.'

At the bottom of the well, The Fool discovers that as he has been engaged in the regular functioning of his life, within him has raged a rather sordid civil conflict. As he has gone about his days working, praying, striving to make himself pristine in the eyes of the world, an eyesore lie in hiding just beneath the surface of his psyche. Like a motor unmaintained for the better part of a lifetime, he is in dire need of an overhaul. He is fractured. He learns that the part of him which contained his conscious identity is, in fact, only a shard of a greater entity. He is a fragment glued to other fragments, the rest of them lurking in wait at the bottom of the well.

It is here that he is left alone to contend with the darkest parts of himself.

It is here where he inevitably either wins or loses.

If he wins, then he is free to resume the course of his humble existence and the event, his breakdown, is written off as an aberration; an anomaly with no one the wiser.

But if he loses, then The Fool is forced to come to terms with that which he would have otherwise ignored. He understands, now, that these are not vagrants to be extinguished in the interest of vanity. This is the yin of the man; as integral to his wholeness as food and water. And our fool has no further interest in climbing out of the darkness, just in walking the shadows unafraid.

Red Pill or Blue Pill?

2006-06-08T20:45:00.002-04:00

I have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up.

I believe in fate, but I still don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my own life.

I am here because I know something.

What that is exactly? I can’t say, but I feel it. I've felt it my entire life; that there is something wrong with the world.

I don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in my mind, driving me mad.

I am a slave.

I was born into bondage; into a prison that I cannot taste or smell or touch; a prison for my mind.

And that is why I’m here. It’s why I hardly sleep; why I live alone and why, night after night, I sit at my computer.

I’m looking for something. I’m looking for an answer.

But it’s the questions that drive me…

Salió Bien

2006-06-08T12:25:00.000-04:00

En mi vida ideal, vivo en el sur, en una casa de campo, con mi amante. Soy un escritor exitozo de novelas, guiones, y ensayos políticos. No me preocupo mucho por las necesidades esenciales para vivir. Soy libre de viajar alrededor del mundo y ver todos los lugares, culturas, personas diferentes y aprender cualquier idioma de mi elección. Hablo con mucha gente interesante que me cuentan de sus experiencias, aprendo mucho de ellos y los incluyo en mis escrituras. Mi carrera no requiere que me quede en un lugar específico y por eso voy a donde quiera mi novia la mayoria de las veces.

Cuando mi novia ya haya visto muchísimos detalles de la gente y me canse del bullicio del mundo; cuando parezca estar siendo opacada por la fealdad de la humanidad entonces regresaremos a nuestro hogar en la ladera española. Este pequeño lugar, donde crecen los árboles de peras y duraznos que me gustan comer, está encerrado por una reja que ella me convenció que construyera. A primera impresión no me gustó la idea, ya que prefiero la libertad y una reja me acuerda a una cárcel, pero ella me convenció con sus ojos, y como siempre, yo accedí. A mi novia le encantan las parras que se enrrollan en los postes. Siempre la veo; recostada de la ventana contemplando el panorama. Ahora, estamos de acuerdo con poner la reja.

Hay animales por toda la casa. Tenemos dos perros grandísimos que persiguen a los caballos, y dos caballos que se burlan de los perros. Hay una perrita que se queda adentro; que ladra mucho y mi novia la imita. Me gusta mirar a los peces del acuario mientras pienso sobre mis futuros hijos, y mientras busco una manera para preguntarle sobre eso mismo.

Siempre tenemos fiestas, y las personas mas acercanas a nosotros nos acompañan. La música llena el aire y pasamos la noche bailando, charlando y tomando hasta el punto que todos estemos completamente ebrios y contentos. Al llegar la madrugada, nos sentamos en el patio hablar del pasado y de todas las personas que hemos conocido, también lo que esperamos del futuro. La noche pasa muy rápida antes de que el mundo se despierte de nuevo. Nos acostamos cuando el sol del próximo día salga. A mí me gusta mirar el amanecer después de que todos estén durmiendo.

Finalmente, me apuro a la cama donde duerme mi amor.

War!!!

2006-06-06T07:59:00.009-04:00

The United States government imprisons six times more people than any other first world democracy on Earth. Its prison population is more than eight times that of Italy, France, the UK, Spain, and Australia combined.

Since 1980, the number of people caught within the web of the legal system has tripled to more than six million. The number of people serving prison sentences has increased to over two million. Over fifty percent of them are of African descent. A quarter of them are Hispanic.

I'll reiterate. Blacks make up 1/8 of the general population and 1/2 of the prison population.

Prediction models state that a young Black man aged 16 in 1996 faced a 30 percent chance of spending time in prison during his life. His white buddy, on the other hand? Four percent.

In Illinois, there are 10,000 more black men in jail than there are in college. For every African American enrolled in college there, two and half are either in jail or on parole.

In New York, it's reported that more Blacks entered prison just for drug offenses than graduated from the state's massive university system with undergraduate, masters, and doctoral degrees combined in the 1990s.

None of this has anything to do with crime. This is about population control.

This system is rejecting brown people like an immunity does a virus.

But it isn't really about race either. Race is just another mechanism by which otherwise similar people remain divided; their powers reduced; their eyes blinded to the truth.

It's a well known fact that the color that matters most in America is not white, but green.

More than half of all prison inmates are reported to have lived under circumstances of abject poverty. The legal system is designed from top to bottom in the interest of the rich. Anyone ever wonder why it's standard practice to put the accused in jail if they're innocent until proven guilty? Do the concepts of bail and bond not blatantly favor the privileged?

Statistics vividly illustrate that people with public attorneys are more likely to be confined pending trial thereby nullifying their ability to conduct investigations. They're also far more likely to be found guilty of their charges.

Make no mistake about it, it's an all out war. They even named it. They just called it "The War on Drugs." But you can't fight a war on drugs in a country that rakes in somewhere around a trillion dollars a year in pharmaceutical sales. No. There isn't any war on drugs in the United States anymore than there is a war on guns or cattle farmers, but if they called it what it is, it'd be named "The war on Blacks and the Impoverished."

America is undoubtedly waging war on her own populace, but as of now no one is fighting back. We're all just standing around idly twiddling our thumbs hoping to be included in a system where we function only as the burden bearers for the elite citizens of this nation.

As dire as it sounds, it is what it is. The evidence is there for anyone with a conscience to recognize.

The real question is...what, if anything, are we going to do about all this?

I'll tell you what we're not going to do. We're not going to ask Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton. And we're not going to ask Bill Gates or your local senator either.

Maybe we should just sit around and talk about it until all of our children have mugshots and no nonwhite person can even step outside to get the morning paper without being shot by a cop. By then, Tyrone Johnson and Hector Lopez will definitely understand the reality of the situation but they won't be able to fight back because all of their boys and esses got hauled away to that big concentration camp they call the penal system.

The old rich dudes can finally have first dibs on all the voluptuous minority women left behind. It's the first time they've gotten to do that since slavery, so they'll be on them like horses out of the gate, no doubt.

Before long, subsequent generations of Americans will become increasingly paler until no one notices as the wealthy European finally accomplishes his goal of ruling planet Earth with an iron fist. It's enough to leave Adolph Hitler warm and fuzzy all the way from his grave.

"Better late than never," he says.

I say it's better sooner than later that we recognize the truth.

My Daddy Is A Drug Dealer (Part I)

2006-06-06T07:58:00.000-04:00

A story told to me by a coworker the other day got me thinking.

The gist of it being that he had been incarcerated for more than six years for a child support violation. Apparently, he'd been mandated to pay a sum of $250 weekly or face the wrath of the American Judicial System; an institution which might be more aptly pinned the American Joker's Society or something to that affect. My friend, having come to terms with his reality long ago, knee deep in jail time, relayed his former circumstances to us calmly over a cigarette. I, on the other hand, became agitated and felt myself growing hot with anger at every word that billowed out of his mouth. Ultimately, his story rendered me useless for the remainder of the day as his words stirred about in my head. Undoubtedly, I was a complete waste of man hours. Fortunately for me, we're a pretty tight knit group and my friends picked up the slack allowing me an opportunity to ponder further.

It seems to me that...

Any uneducated person, not in the entertainment industry, who is capable of paying $250 a week and still maintain his other expenses is likely doing something illegal. Furthermore, the threat of jail time could very well drive an impoverished father to a life of crime in order to cover his outrageous new bill. It all seems quite contrary to the alleged intention of the child support system. How's this for family structure and support?

"My daddy's a drug dealer."

A drug dealer he is, child, courtesy of Uncle Sam himself.

Furthermore, the rampant implementation of jail sentences as a penalty to nonpayment of child support leaves one wondering--

How does imprisoning a poor man enable him to pay for his child? Some might point towards the increased motivation of a man eager to avoid prison. On the contrary, though, additional threats to one's existence are likely to have the opposite affect when he is simply not capable of increasing his income. Talk about demoralization.

Strictly for the record, the stereotype of the deadbeat father is a statistically nonexistent entity. It doesn't mean that he doesn't exist, but that he is proportionally insignificant relative to the number of fathers who are simply struggling economically.

The look of it, then, is that the child support system serves as nothing more than a mechanism by which the government can exercise financial and social control over members of the impoverished population. As if there aren't enough ways to do that already.

Rich folks don't have to concern themselves with revealing the intimate details of their lives to perfect strangers before an open court. No explanations are necessary. The prospect of such humiliation would be thought absurd. Instead, they just go to market and merrily provide comfort for their children.

Ultimately, the entire process serves to further divide an already strained familial situation. Ironic considering that this outcome is directly opposite the supposed purpose of child support.

So a more profound question is-- In light of the obvious fallacies of the structure and implementation of the child support program, why would a system with such blatant flaws be utilized? Who approved this? And who, if anyone, stands to gain anything from this rather ridiculous arrangement?

One thing is for certain-- the poor are not the ones to gain.

To be continued...

Rest In Peace, James

2006-06-06T07:56:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I bumped into my old neighbor randomly on my way to work. She informed me that James, the old man who used to mow my lawn, had died.

I remember him soft spoken, but whimsical like an undisciplined mime. In the beginning, he used to knock on my door and offer his services formally until their necessity became a given. After that, he would just stop by at his convenience, usually on the cooler summer days, and cut the grass and trim the hedges whether anyone was home or not; making sure to return later to collect his small fee.

I did not know him well, so I can't tell a meaningful story about his life or speak of the intricacies of his character. Truth is, I had all but forgotten him after he stopped coming by the house on a regular basis. But I can say that he loved a good drink, had one hell of a sense of humor, and could dance as good a jig as any old man I've ever known. Also, I suspect that he spent his final days on Earth, more or less alone.

There was one occasion in particular that afforded me enough information about him to decide that I liked him and to make it so that I would ultimately feel something when I heard that he had passed away.

He had stopped by the house, one day, after having already mowed the lawn earlier in the week. Upon seeing him, I promptly headed for the little hat in my room where I kept my money.

"Your roommate already paid me for the work," he called out.

I poked my head out from behind the door. "Did he?"

"Yep," he nodded. "I was just wondering if I might ask you about an advance?" His eyes jutted aside in hesitation. "I kinda wanted some ice cream."

Being an ardent lover of the stuff myself, I completely understood. "No problem, James." I vanished into my room, handed him the money and he went along his way.

It wasn't until several months later that I saw him again at the checkout of the local supermarket. As always, the dead of winter had all but halted his landscaping ventures and he'd been MIA as a consequence. Having seen me first, he walked right up and forced a crumpled bill into my palm. "I'm good for it." He smiled, proudly snatched the top off of a drumstick he'd just bought and strutted away.

"I had no doubt," I answered. He disappeared around the corner.

James and I would certainly speak again after that day. Still, there were little talks on the front porch to be had about this thing or that; microcosmic lessons to be extracted from him yet. But it was his pride in that moment that made its impression on me; his quiet bravado that had likely persevered through a million humbling days.

One can't help but like a guy like that.

I gathered that she might have felt similarly when my neighbor solemnly reported the news to me. "Are you serious?" I stared at her, unable to muster anything more poignant to say. The truth is, there is no consolation; no small phrase to alleviate the discomfort of death.

She nodded and continued her recounting of the story.

It seems that James had spent the better part of the past year hospitalized and finally passed away some two weeks ago. His funeral services lasted no more than five minutes; its lone attendant being this pretty middle aged woman before me who used to offer him lunch and refreshment whenever he tended her lawn.

He was honest and observant and far more prone to say a wise thing than most others I know. And while I honestly missed old James not one day of his life, the certainty that I will never again spot him riding his bike down the street; never laugh at his old man jig, and never hear another story of his youth, brings me to miss him now.

Rest in peace, James.

The Price

2006-06-06T07:51:00.000-04:00

There was a story once, about a young man that walked along a populous city street one chilly October night. It had rained all that day, the downpour threatening the night's festivities, but the party gods had shown mercy and resolute college kids scampered about in their costumes pouring themselves over one another with reckless abandon. Our man passed a large group of loitering hippies, surveying the familiar territory, until the end of the block and headed for his usual watering hole up ahead. He had nearly come upon it; almost evaded the dampness and the terrors of the night for the torrent of sound and warm bodies cramped together inside, when a shiny blue and white police cruiser suddenly pulled onto the sidewalk some distance behind him. From it jumped a nearly adolescent little woman.

"Stop!" She shrieked, slinging the door closed. He had been aware of her from the moment she'd maneuvered onto the chalky pavement but had opted to continue, faintly entertaining the possibility that her words had been intended for someone else.

"I know you hear me," she insisted.

He turned and pointed at himself gesturing, "Me?"

She slammed her head up and down, summoning him curtly with a wave. "Get over here!"

He trudged back to meet her.

The lady officer struck him as decidedly stout and youthful in appearance. She couldn't have been much older than twenty and her hair pulled staunchly away from her round face didn't mature her any. For compensation, she donned the most ardent expression; one clearly intended to convey an otherwise latent formidability and stayed her hand just above her holster like some crazed cowgirl itching to relive the glory days of the old west. Generally, though, he thought her something akin to cute; not quite cuddly but almost, and was grinning unabashedly as he approached.

"Is there a problem?"

"Why don't you have a seat, sir?"

He quickly surveyed the wet concrete and remnant litter. "Excuse me?" His head cocked incredulously.

"Sit down," she commanded, indicating the curb.

"Listen, I'll be happy to talk to you, but I ain't sitting," his voice went flat, "down there."

She tugged the leather tie looped around the back of her pistol and advanced. "You're going to sit your ass down one way or another." The surly pitch of her voice rang over him, raucously, but he concerned himself more with its syrupy drawl; the drippy twang that had coaxed one smart syllable into three winding ones. He felt compelled to share how much he enjoyed it but recanted, on second thought, thinking she wouldn't likely understand.

Later that night, as he slept confined within a jail cell; shielding his burning eyes from the dull unwavering overhead lamp, it would occur to him how simple things might have been if he had simply found the driest place among the discarded cigarette butts and waited for her to bore of her power to subordinate bigger, blacker men in front of their peers. When she had gone, he could have brushed away most of the dirt from his jeans rather than be attacked in the name of the law. The water on the ground would soak the seat of his pants, surely, but he might have tolerated it rather than be blinded by a jet of mace while another officer choked him unconscious. He could have gone on drinking with his friends instead of being beaten and finally arrested. He might have found a girl who actually adored that his skin was milk chocolate brown with a hint of auburn. Maybe he would have even gotten laid.

But this young man had spent the better part of his life chided for his stubbornness. While any random white man was quick to inform him of how he needed to develop a sense of humility about him; that he shouldn't be so quick to show off his intelligence; and that he'd be better off not disagreeing so much because it made him seem hostile; he'd always adhered to his own assessment of the world. Above all else, he was most grateful for his faith in himself, despite the regular assurances that such confidence was an undoubtedly bad thing. Consequently, he was not the man to be forced into much of anything. His mother, a naturally more compliant sort, had always foretold of an inevitable change of heart citing that it would arrive either gracefully in time or quite expressly at the hands of another, more thickheaded, man to drive home the point.

"You'll learn your lesson one of these days," she'd scoffed with a shake of her crooked finger.

He always retorted to the effect that he wasn't interested in learning such a lesson. He'd just as soon leave that part of himself as it were. And as to whether or not he should ever meet his proverbial match; whether a day would pass that instilled in him the meaning of that presumably invaluable lesson remained to be seen. He could say with relative certainty, however, that today was not that day and she was not to be the one.

A word and a shake of his head prompted the woman into action. Another officer came, suddenly, from around the corner and entered the fray. As they pulled at him, tugging at his arms, his shirt, punching and forcing him to the ground, he thought of the thousand white faces that would delight at the sight of him now. He wondered if his mother might; seeing how this was all ultimately for his own benefit.

Irony tempted a brash chuckle from his bleeding lips that left the lady cop stunned and her rage renewed for the audacity. He laughed that she had finally gotten her way after all; that the stench of the cold earth pressed against him was far more vulgar than he'd ever anticipated; and that, for him, there was quite the price to pay for simply being. Again he aimed to tell her, to shed some light on their apparent misunderstanding; perhaps to save himself; as her partner crushed him ever more resolutely and he began drifting away from the nighttime cool and the blood and the fear like leaves or a feather on a somber breeze.

"Spray'em," her partner's voice echoed thunderously within his fading awareness. The hiss of the spray left him blind and seared and resigned; assured that they would never understand.

* * *

I Think I'm A Communist

2006-06-06T07:49:00.000-04:00

I think I'm a communist.

While I'm pretty sure that label doesn't garner quite the venom it did in the fifties, there might still be a hint of lingering resentment towards the capitalist's diametrical opposite. For those who don't know, communism means no social classes, no private property, and the even distribution of resources. On the other hand, capitalism means social classes and businesses working in their own best interests. In this system, capitalism is directly responsible for poverty. How the world came to prefer it to communism is a mystery to me.

Past criticisms of the communist model have stemmed from the fact that true communism has never been manifested in reality. In the history of our species, every alleged attempt at communism has ultimately resulted in a totalitarian regime.

Karl Marx would be insulted at the suggestion that Cuba or the Soviet Union were communist.

In addition, the suggestion that only an altruist could orchestrate an economic system that wasn't predatory has acted as a deterrent towards serious consideration of the possibility. The idea being that it is basic human nature to subordinate others whenever possible. Absolute power corrupts absolutely and all that.

That might or might not be true.

But if it is true, then it makes sense that resources should be divided as evenly as possible between the citizens of the republic and not hoarded by the top half percent of the population like a bunch of greedy beavers. If I have the same access to resources as my neighbor, I'd bet that he could not enslave me quite so easily.

The notion that only a Jesus Christ could lead an economically balanced social system seems, to me, more ruse than reality. It seems feasible that just as there are mechanisms which regulate the functioning of any other economy, our own for example, there could be rules and regulations which govern the processes of a communist economy.

Altruism is not a necessity.

Just as heinous individuals are not required in order to manifest and maintain an economy which has proven to be as cannibalistic and exclusive as the one which governs the United States. More than anything else, the most crucial ingredient to the realization of such a system, our utopia, is the faith of the people.

At the inception of the United States, the founding fathers could not have understood the destiny of the government they were constructing, but what they did have is faith in their design. They were scientific and thorough in their approach and their intelligence is evidenced by the vastness of our government today. But the idea that theirs is the only way or even the best way, for us, is to suggest that humanity has learned nothing in the past two hundred and some odd years of civilization.

Ours is a world leaning on an outdated design. Surely, the 21st century's best thinkers should be able to come up with a system more fulfilling than the one which governs the world today.

Maybe there's a reason they haven't...

A Good Job and the Locos

2006-06-06T07:48:00.000-04:00

I have somewhere around a semester to go before I graduate from college.

During my most recent visit to my academic advisor's office, she expressed some criticism regarding the length of time I have taken to finish college.

"You've been here six years," she said. "Don't you think it's about time you move on?"

When I inquired absently about why I should be in a hurry, she became agitated. Her voice raised several octaves in earnest; intent upon convincing me that there must be something wrong with me if I don't want to graduate from college and get a "good job." I smiled and calmly explained to her that besides the fact that even the suggestion of slaving for a company incites my innate aversion to capitalism (a whole different subject entirely), the reality is that I find nothing appealing about a technical occupation. Despite my absolute confidence that I could make a living working on an assembly line or even pointing and clicking a mouse all day, to say that those possibilities just don't wet my whistle would be a gross understatement.

I'm pretty sure I'd rather be homeless.

Mental health organizations often report that an overwhelming percentage of the transient population suffer from some form of mental disorder. Based on the consumption of antidepressants and mind altering pharmaceuticals in the United States, I'd say that an overwhelming percentage of the "regular" population suffers from some form of mental disorder as well.

So I guess I'm not clear about the distinction.

In all seriousness, neither statistic is particularly surprising. Rest assured, if I have to spend nine hours a day for the next thirty years of my life working a 9 to 5, making somebody else rich, then there's no doubt in my mind that I'll soon be a regular to either the loony bin or the pharmacy along with everyone else.

God bless my academic advisor.

Greenbacks and the Butterfly Effect

2006-06-06T07:46:00.000-04:00

I'm a hop, skip and a jump from being out on the street.

I was sitting here working on my screenplay, which is sure to be the next big thing, when my landlord managed to slip a note underneath my front door unbeknownst to me.

It said: Pleas, I have to have May rent today plus the late fee and I need June rent no later than June 10th. Thanks, John.

He's an amicable guy, no doubt, but I'm broke. So I've been avoiding him like the plague hoping I could scrounge up rent before I bumped into him. Before I know it, the damn month's already past and I've only been able to muster up two hundred dollars so far.

Yesterday, I called the utility company asking for an extension on my bill. The customer service lady barked. "Sir, do you know that you haven't paid your bill since February?"

I asked her if she had confused poor for stupid and again requested an extension. She quickly acquiesced then hung up.

The incident left me wondering why she might feel inclined to highlight my inability to pay my bill in a timely fashion. I wondered-- do some people actually believe that other people are content to not be able to provide for themselves and their offspring? Is this a realistic perspective? There are at least 40 million flagrantly impoverished people in the United States. Would an intelligent person suggest that those individuals spend all their lives struggling to make ends meet voluntarily? Would any human being with an above substandard mental capacity presume that the multitude of economically deprived Americans are somehow inferior to those who are not deprived? I can't say what another person might think, but I think...

Human beings do not eagerly subject themselves to the mercy of others. If someone should observe another in a clearly subordinate position, then you can be sure that he is there against his will.

The spectrum of human behavior can be found in all people. Simply put, slovenliness does not reside in Negroes and Latinos anymore than intelligence is the domain of Asians and Caucasians. If there is a discernable pattern of inequality in the distribution of wealth then the circumstance cannot logically be considered random but must be said to have been manifested by design.

An economic system that necessitates the existence of an impoverished class is unacceptable. See your local economist for viable alternatives.

This is gonna be a hell of a week. I'm not sure how I'll get out of this one. I close this entry wondering how someone's life could be so completely derailed by a one night stand.

God bless E.M.

Let's Get This Party Started

2006-06-06T07:13:00.001-04:00

I've spent the last several hours flipping and flopping about myspace.

During the course of my browsing I noticed how many blogs one comes across all over the internet. So for kicks I thought I'd give the shit a shot and see if I could come up with anything good. For those of you who don't know, I full intend to make a living (one way or another) from writing. I've been doing it since I was six and spend quite a bit of my leisure time at a keyboard in one capacity or another. So needless to say, I'm in pretty bad shape if I can't come up with a paragraph or so of coherent, semi-entertaining material on a daily to semi-daily basis.

I light of my mountain of writing experience, I've never done this before. So I'm not exactly familiar with standard blog procedure. Not that it would likely matter if I were. But I am a talker, so I should have plenty to say, and I've enjoyed quite the eventful time here on Earth, if I do say so myself. I even wrote Oprah about it, but she didn't answer. Apparently, Kirstey Alley's home decor is a far more interesting subject.

Go figure.

But that should about do it for my first entry. I'm looking forward to it.

Be cool and stay tuned...

P.S. Happy belated birthday, Habeeb.