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My Political Essay, “Pragmatic Anarchy: Reasoned Steps Towards Human Liberation”


This essay will serve to posit to the reader, and hopefully a majority collective of liberated thinkers, that there are clear, pragmatic, practicable steps that an individual, a society or societies, and even world entire, may take to free themselves from the fetters of fascism, the tethers of tyranny, whether real or self-imposed, and which are based on inherent law, or common law, and established socio-political and even religious tenets and codes which provide a set of maxims or axioms that are, ipso facto, proof of the already-liberated man, woman, child, and humankind itself, and which can be accessed, utilized, and supplemented by the individual’s own research and establishment of a personal version of such tractates, laws, tenets, etc.

I will outlay a methodology of personal and societal liberation from so-called Draconian and fascist laws, codes, and other usurpations and subversion of the human spirit, and human rights as codified, commonly-accepted codes of conduct and laws of the land. I will include in this essay examples of codified, established human rights documents, case law examples, moral and religious tenets and codes, along with a personal viewpoint or philosophy regarding social, legal, and moral codes which help us keep a sense of “law and order,” but also keep us free from egregious assaults upon individual and societal liberties.

It should also be stated that the word “anarchy” (particularly related to its use herewith) merely denotes a social or political condition of being “absent of a ruling body,” or more specifically, according to the Oxford Dictionary, “absence of government and absolute freedom of the individual, regarded as a political ideal,” i.e. self-governing. As a political philosophy more accurately worded as anarchism, it advocates a very reasoned embrace of self-governing, anti-authoritarian societies made up of voluntary institutions, helmed by ultimately self-responsible beings. And who could not regard this as a “political ideal” in light of decades of fleecing, deception, enslavement of and outright genocide being perpetrated upon mankind? We are already living in a state of anarchy – -the “lawlessness, disorder, and chaos” (as anarchy is defined by other authoritative sources) practiced by the out-of-control, murderous junta that directs entire armies to kill; or, one could say, an international, predatory military-corporate caliphate which seems hell-bent upon total destruction of Earth’s people and resources entire, and which sits in the highest seats of political power in the world today – namely, in the G-7 and G-20 nations.

Our collective survival as a species absolutely depends upon all of us employing the methodology of pragmatic anarchy as a very viable social and political philosophy, in order to kill the vicious parasites who are killing us en masse in countless, obvious (as well as not-so-obvious) ways.

May humanity live long and be free to become itself, which is a liberated, dancing, dreaming, innovating, inventive species unhindered by despots who parade as our leaders but who constantly plot the extinction of not only human beings, but life as a whole upon Earth.



Part One: On The Human Being Becoming Him-Her-Itself

The belief in human freedom is exactly that (in the mass consciousness) – a belief, not yet a reality, for all of its representation in history and mass media as being a fait accompli and being taken for granted by society at large in the so-called democratic, developed lands or nations. The hedge upon the general bet or delusion that we are in fact, free, is the greatest impediment to an existentialist-ontological rebellion within the collective and individual human psyche and spirit, and must be obviated at once, if we are to survive the next generation as a species.

Let’s begin our delving into current-day political philosophy with a word lesson.

It should be a well-understood fact by all who live under any national flag anywhere that the word “government” literally means “mind control”. This is not “conspiracy theorist” conjecture, but an etymological verity. Broken into its constituent syllabic etymology, “to govern” is to control, and –ment comes from the root word mental – specifically from the Latin mens, meaning “mind, understanding, reason” – i.e. to control the mind, understanding, and reason. So, we can deduce from this etymological fact that anything anti-government is saying NO to mind control and the systematic control as well of reason and understanding. As the song says, “We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control”. All we need is for the obfuscations of truth, information, reason, understanding and the means to true mindfulness to be removed, and we can obviate draconian government (mind control) in a pragmatically-anarchistic way.

To me, this is one of the first (political) steps to enlightenment and liberation for anyone living under government control today. Aside from the political, there are the religious, educational, institutional, bureaucratic, social, spiritual, intellectual, and even physical areas of liberation. But if we are to see the taking of the political first steps all the way through before moving to the next steps, I would follow up the liberation of the mind through word meaning with the recission of one’s self from any government or bureaucratic “benefits, services and privileges” of licensing, registration, or any other way that an individual hands over their free and unfettered rights and property to the state and even foreign banking and bureaucratic interests who rule the United States of America and other states via subversive means like corporate holdings of the Federal Reserve. Other agencies to completely rescind one’s self from are the IRS, DMV, and anything involving the courts or banks, which are one and the same. This includes marriage license and registry, child registry through the legal trust account involving a “certificate of live birth” which they use to hypothecate the debt you will owe them over the course of a lifetime as their putative slave, or chattel.

If some of this is going over your head, then I would suggest doing some creative web searches on the aforementioned topics which you are unenlightened on; if you are nodding your head along with me, then obviously you are at least aware of this stuff, or have even done something like rescind from any ABC agency’s “benefits, services, and privileges” (which amount to nothing more than handing your power, property, and sovereignty over to some bureaucratic or pseudo-bureaucratic agency via (improperly-disclosed or non-disclosed) contract with them as a benefactor of their nanny-state “benefits”). You may begin your return to self-recognizant reserving of true rights over privileges by stating something in writing to any of such agencies as, “I did not understand at the time that I unwittingly contracted with you that I was giving up my inherent rights for your so-called program of benefits and services. I did not have proper disclosure from your agency that I would be handing over my sovereign rights in favor of your doling-out of “privileges,” which are nothing more than thievery which I have unwittingly consented to. I wish at this time to rescind from your system permanently, as I no longer wish to receive your questionable and confiscatory “benefits and services,” instead choosing a path of total sovereignty and self-responsibility which requires no agency oversight whatsoever”.

This language is but one example of many ways in many occurrences or interactions whereby one may take the “reasoned steps towards human liberation” mentioned in the title of this essay. The first step is to know what agencies to rescind from, followed by how to state your recission from their bogus programs of “benefits”. Control of knowledge equals control of reason and understanding, and this is the biggest way they control the masses, leaving us believing lies in every part of life and human action. In fact, such control or outright obscuration of human reason and understanding almost completely obviates human action, giving them their quotidian fait accompli perpetrated upon the whole of humanity as one of Hannah Arendt’s banalities of evil. It is so pervasive and invisible that one cannot even see it without knowing what it is, what to look for, and even how to look for it. This is the illuminati’s or new world order’s “mission accomplished,” some of the effects of which are the ridicule of those who do discover the truth and seek to liberate themselves and others; the policing by one human being of another, even when friends, neighbors, associates, or even spouses and other family members. Their uniformed, murderous gestapo hit-squads are just the icing on their cake of tyrannical control, for if the other modalities of human control fail, and one of the sheep breaks free of its enclosure, they can now just cut you down in a hail of bullets in a summary, de facto execution. They are criminals. Murderers, plain and simple.

So, we have a moral and ethical, as well as personal and spiritual obligation to counteract, contradict, and combat this system in whatever ways we can. We have a moral, ethical, and even civic obligation to disregard and disobey the “laws” made by these globally-syndicated madmen and criminals. And make no mistake – these are indeed certifiable madmen and criminals at the collective helm of world power, who consider anyone not in those positions of elite power to be “groundlings,” sheep, cattle, and expendable slaves which they can use and throw away for any purpose they can and will sacrifice us for. Forget any noble, patriotic notions of “fighting for freedom” and justice, or whatever excrement their jingoistic propaganda machine has fed you on. If you go to war, it is only to fight for their freedom to continue to exploit and sacrifice YOU, the aforementioned cattle – there is simply no evidence to support any argument against this absolute verity. Saying “No, I will not fight,” and “No, I will not pay taxes and feed your draconian system of barbarity,” and refusing assent or consent to their specious war machine via the tactics espoused by Gandhi, i.e. non-violent non-cooperation should be the personal and political manifesto of each and every conscientious, clear-thinking, reasoning individual in not only the developed world, but also the world entire. And once we are all leading by example, the rest who have been living their so-called lives in a state of drowsy, brainwashed stupor believing everything they are spoon-fed, will have their own epiphanies and enlightenment, and awake to the higher cause and greater reason for their lives, which surely must rise above the station of being cannon fodder or meat for their Satanic grist mill. The curtain of tyranny will finally, ineluctably be torn down, never again to be hung up by the power-mad artificers.

As a pragmatic anarchist, one needn’t kill anything or anyone – just one’s dependency on government, religion, mainstream media and medicine, and other outmoded institutionalized absurdity which can never ipso facto have your upliftment or enlightenment as part of its cruelly avaricious aims or ends. You need only throw Molotov cocktails of the mind at such entities and organized enslavement which have lorded false power and authority over the all-too gullible human race and called it “leadership”. One need only graffiti the storefronts of the representative institutions which exist in the mind to lull the unwitting into lives of maligned, abject folly via false and poisonous belief systems and doctored truth and history. One need merely embrace the ironic or juxtapositional ironies or dichotomies of positive negativity and what we could conceive of as “good and needed deaths”.

Let us consider for a moment all of the ways by which we arrive at perspective, assumption, and human wisdom.

All of human endeavor is falsehood found out (whether nixed or believed-in), assumption thwarted or carried forth, immaturity embraced or discounted, and wisdom denied or tenanted – if all goes well. But, what is well in a world which is insensible, irrational, and collectively mad?

I have a glowing image, or vision, alive within me now. It is of a belfry, its windows aglow with a sickly though persistent light. It is a belfry in the tower of Man, which is a pale mimic to a belfry in the tower of God. I see writing on an otherwise blank wall as my mind’s eye passes through the windows of this belfry, spying inside. The writing says:

God vs.

Man vs.

Nature vs. (written in a black mold stain on the wall)

Each phrase reinforcing the next and former, in an inexorably circular, cyclical whirl of confrontational conflict and tautological certitude, so fixed and centrifugal that we become dizzy, perhaps nauseous, in the existential sense, and we must look back out the window for a delicate tree branch with a spring finch or songbird upon it to regain our senses – Nature, in the end, being our only conceivable master and solace in that dizzying whorl.

From this belfry emanates a pale, cool blue light (which sometimes flashes bitter red, then flips back to its steadier, more operant blue), atop a tower as white as bone or newly-scrubbed tomb, or deep winter snow, and as solitary and distinct from the surrounding natural environs it inhabits as a craft from outer space would be. But it is strangely alluring and familiar, this tower of solitude with its palely-lit belfry hiding its graffiti-scrawled wall within – it is warm, inviting, a sentry and haven for human perception and insecurity. It is not, seemingly, gaudy or irrational (on first glance); neither is it, similarly, a rude and differentiated outgrowth of the land which it occupies. It is a distinct and separate expression upon a chthonian stage that complements it only in so far as it holds it up from collapsing and plummeting into the void. It is, we can say, an anomaly of the first order.

And this is Man’s lot and nature in regards to the particular planet, home, orb, sphere on which he resides: to be anomalous, distinct and separate from Nature per se, and decidedly not of, from, or for his blue-green promenade of endless abundance and refulgent surroundings. There is here an air of mystery to the light which radiates from atop this tower of Man’s, but he is not an oracle. This is the stray, wandering elder child, lost in the wilderness of a fickle and far-flung, non-verbal Creation. He is that which seeks, not that which is sought. He is the endlessly traversing pilgrim, never truly arriving, and propounding a very dubious “progress”. He is the end result of a concatenation of forces which have coalesced to create him, either by deliberate design, or, more likely, by eons of trial and error, and biological and experiential addition and subtraction – or, one may say, subduction. He is a symphony composed and conducted by the mad, wild, and even chaste daimonic urges and passions which exist in his mettle and fold. Many hands have been in this pie, one suspects, with ample evidence in the anthropological and metaphysical realms to support the contention. He is a soufflé, long in the oven, billowing and spilling over the top of his pan, perturbed by the frictional forces of gravity, and his false sense of proportion and measure, intrinsic make-up, and elements of unnatural, non-conformist valuation. He is vigor and protest, dominance and subservience; here is all that can be found flowering or floundering in Nature – outside the gates of Eden. He carries it all on his back – his, her, its, man, woman, child, masked, unmasked, created, conjectured, caricatured, creatured, castrated, allured, inured, redeemed, forsaken, fellaheen, verbose, vulgar, noble, heroic, and insensate – and like Sisyphus, bounds in repetitive ritual at his eternal labors.

Valor and treason also haunt this belfry in a kind of antithetical dance – as do all the other forever-married opposites of this duality of uncanny savagery. There is also music; at first serene, like a cygnet taken to first spring waters. Soft and subtle it comes to us, then which builds in tension and contrapuntal dynamism, dotted by accents which are by turns graceful, scornful, insightful, noisome, building then to a straining, boisterous, troubling, and explosive crescendo that, in the realm of music, perhaps only Beethoven has adequately captured. Some poets and painters have truly captured it; some architects; a few novelists, and perhaps only one or two philosophers have heard its lines and rendered or reproduced it. A few madmen (or women) in the streets, besotted to the bone marrow have expressed it (though in far cruder but maybe more realistic terms) – but ultimately the music of the belfry is inexpressible, in that it cannot be properly transmitted to and transplanted into the soil of its surrounding environs; its non-existent garden (or, shall we say Eden?) of “ideal development”. It was, likely, not meant to take root but in our souls, which are eternal and ethereal in substance, and which are expressed in the emotional-physical-intellectual bodies as a modus operandi of metaphysical and abstruse means and influence. Indeed, here is evoked Man’s “fallenness”; here is his ineluctable and unmendable fallacy; here is the tomorrow that at once is ever-promised, arriving, yet which never comes.

The central image of this belfry has been expressed throughout the ages accurately in the arts: it is the “ivory tower” of pejorative lore, and a frequent haven for the pragmatic-anarchistic type; it is the lighthouse guardian against rocky, unforgiving shores; it is the outpost on the utterly stupefying way, bereft of companionable answers or complementary or sympathetic characters along his cold journey. It is the tower with the light on in its topmost windows which is a hushed outcry of both loneliness and indifference. Is he to be pitied, shunned, aided, admired, or simply ignored? Does his fragile light draw like ones from across the Universe to his aid or commiseration, or is it the warning beam of a cautionary tale? Is it the simple glow of a “home fire burning” that acts as perennial sentinel to other travelers, or is it the heat and light generated by an aberration, a kind of Frankenstein-esque monstrosity which was (unwittingly or not) unleashed on an otherwise (mostly) innocent cosmos? Was he the product of a great corruption of that mostly, or ostensibly innocent cosmos, rather? Is he the ignorant stepchild of perpetually-warring factions of good and evil – they themselves the product of a Creator of dualities set forth toward a Hegelian conflict-synthesis construct – who spawned a primate race which has been the ages-long testing ground and Petri dish for some mad, gross, existential experiment? Or, is he simply the lost offspring of uncaring progenitors, having proffered this tower and belfry of abject aloneness, wherein he scratches out the preternaturally solitary rhythms of a specious scion who is subconsciously tapping out an SOS to a void he cannot or will not comprehend, to idols of artifice he cannot conceive or fathom?

No other creature on Earth celebrates the irrational and unfathomable (as well as unspeakable) with such hopeless zeal the way Man does. He cannot even collectively see the petulant, immature beast he is, enough to envisage a cure and catharsis for/from such colossal, insensate savagery as is indicative of the record and character of mankind. Poets, playwrights, painters, scientists, inventors, and even a few statesmen (Marcus Aurelius, King Solomon, and King Arthur come to mind, but there are surely more on this short list) have attempted to put their fingers on it, put their paintbrushes and pens to it in categorically anarchistic and pragmatic fashion, but, remember – this is, at last, “a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing” as the Bard of Avon said (more recent provenance showing it to actually be the work of Sir Francis Bacon, but that is another essay entirely). So, it might be asked, what is this “idiot” doing flailing about in his flatulent sea of nothingness (and thing-ness), surrounded by verdant, lush expressions of “something-ness” (in that its tautological imprimatur has meaning, purpose, life, and fulfilling endeavor)? Even tavern owners and cow-milkers have attempted to grasp it (no offense to the great tavern owners and cow-milkers – I could have said ditch-diggers and manure-carters).

In the last century, some quite anti-establishment, and “pragmatic anarchist”-type film directors and other artists have tackled the subject to moving effect – Kubrick, Tarkovsky, and Malle are the first few directors that come to my mind – and have given us as humans, beyond being mere filmgoers, a mite more than just negligibly-satisfactory exegeses on this, our eternal and most persistent conundrum of “Who Are We?” Specifically, Kubrick, in 2001: A Space Odyssey perhaps came closest to successfully penetrating and explicating the seemingly insurmountable mystery and even symbolism of human existence and destiny. When we hear those grand, plaintive notes of Also Sprach Zarathustra by Strauss, combined with those otherworldly images of man first discovering outer space, we feel the pith, grandeur, and momentousness of it in our synapses and DNA, if we are so attuned. Even the ignorant must feel something when beholding a piece of art such as 2001. Louis Malle in Black Moon (1975) hit upon it in a much more Earthly, pastoral setting, though utilizing symbolism regarding the human condition, to more muted effect. Andrei Tarkovsky in the films Stalker and Nostalghia show us slow ballets of Man vs. God and Nature which show unequivocally that we are far out of naturalistic alignment and are in existential danger because of it. All of his films are remarkable to an extraordinary degree. And, I cannot leave out Alejandro Jodorowsky and his body of anarchic, surrealist cinematic poetry; he continues to make films better than most all living and dead directors at age 86, evidenced in particular by films such as The Holy Mountain (1973), and, astoundingly, the unmade film of Dune he attempted in the 1970s, and which now has attained its own mythic status as something which would have been psychedelic, anarchic and phenomenological where concerns man’s outward, cosmic questing to a great degree. Other film directors who embody this kind of pragmatic-anarchistic métier for me include Gus Van Sant, Lars von Trier, and perhaps Chantal Akerman, all of whom seem to me “on point” germane to this study of the human condition, character, and mystery. Chantal Akerman may be the only film director searching for meaning in this regard – but only where women and the female character are solely concerned. Her camera asks, “What are women doing?” or “What are women to do?” as well as, “What is a woman?” better than any other. Jeanne Dielman, made in the mid-1970s at the height of second-wave feminism, is a “stab in the light” rather than a “shot in the dark” at what the answers to these questions might be, and the results are shocking-to-the-core of what we think of as acceptable or respectable ideas of class, lifestyle, values, social norms, etc., as the film lulls and hypnotizes us via a very bourgeois-appearing protagonist who goes about her daily, mundane business with all the joie de vivre of a postman ready for retirement. Man (or, Woman) is not at all what He (She) appears to be, says the film. S/he is a wildly rebellious flower of thorny tendrils and veiling petals, in the final analysis. His/Her belfry (and they are as separate as individual sexes as Man himself is from Nature – the feminists could rightly argue that Woman is interchangeable or synonymous with Nature, accounting for the insurmountable gulf betwixt the sexes) radiates an unknowable light that surges and dims, blinds and yet provides elucidation, but never indicates a pattern germane with or at home in Nature. I maintain that it is less our collective, conscious will that this be so, than it is the aforementioned innate, a priori corruption (aka original sin) – either in the cosmos or himself, or both – which has caused him to become so askance and astray from that which would term him/her morally innocent (him more than her, though we do have our Catherine the Greats, Elizabeth Bathorys, Lizzy Bordens, Margaret Thatchers and Hillary Clintons, too). Man has been, I contend, both created and led astray by the same demiurgic, demagogic forces which formed and laid him on this earthen ground like the out-of-place, weirdly-glowing tower that he is. One can discuss Satanic and Luciferian conspiracies and “abandonment by a deaf, uncaring God” all day long, but after the debate, will he be end up being his own rescuer, or will he end piping his lonely tune in the weirdly-lit belfry of his tower for an inconceivable eternity of “long-suffering night”? Let us hope he awakes to his pragmatic-anarchic compulsion and finds (we find our) rescue and redemption before his/our home planet is completely poisoned, denuded, destroyed, and made void of life; not one more plant, animal, woman, child, innocent suffering or perishing needlessly and unnaturally, due to his or other, darker forces’ unabashed, unashamed ignorance and arrogant skullduggery and folly.

So, in art, the force of pragmatic anarchy is a return, inevitably, to a naturalism which man has lost. It is the profound search for meanings, gestures, symbols, and expressions of man returning to Nature.

I name films of these renowned directors – as well as the medium of film in general – because it appears to be our most pragmatic-anarchic art form, in the right hands. It is a potent outlet for spellcasting upon the human heart and imagination, it being the most highly-visual medium. Humans learn and are moved primarily via visual mediums; this is why TV has been so grotesquely effective in shaping the human mind of the last sixty years, or so. Film, however, makes the leap into the mythical unlike its counterpart-in-a-box, which exudes a certain sense of limitation and novelty, however popular and effective a propaganda tool it has been.

But, why are we still so afraid of the word “anarchy,” given now what we know about its etymological reality and potency? Knowing that the word can be translated to mean ‘self-governing,” shouldn’t it then be the rallying cry of all who seek freedom, truth, and justice, and who seek to abolish the runaway junta of globalist agendas of “governance” and “law and order” which are hostile to life? I say that it must be, if we are to survive as a species. We must take rational, reasoned steps to become self-governing, self-responsible people and societies should we wish to see our grandchildren – at all.

But it is other art forms which have celebrated or expressed the pragmatic-anarchic urge – dancers, such as Nijinski and Isadora Duncan have expressed it and lived it; Buckminster Fuller and Frank Lloyd Wright broke us out of a utilitarian hell of cookie-cutter sameness and short-sighted monotony in the realm of architecture; even now quantum physicists and other scientists are helping expand humanity’s urge to self-govern, by allowing the light of higher knowledge to break through the curtain of false beliefs and misinformation. I say that the revolution of pragmatic anarchy which must sweep the world and enlighten every mind and life must take place in all areas of life: social, political, scientific, the arts, religious and spiritual, medical, legal, educational, financial, and in the workplace – where we would again see the rise of labor unions and the empowered worker, earning living wages at the bare minimum. And to say this last is to say we as a species which is in its entirety on the “endangered species list” must take control of all these areas with full individualistic oversight and input in them. no longer will we be the long-suffering cattle being fed on a diet of lies and “arbeit macht frei” as the motto that never died out with the Nazi Third Reich, along with its tenets of fascist exploitation and “power for the few” credo, but rather, we will be a truly self-liberated species, at last.

Man must make his own myths, and mythological image, instead of having it made for him by shadowy, unknown demiurgic forces who have no interest in seeing humanity liberated, or even knowledgeable or conscious of its true history and origins. We have been lulled into a (not even restful) sleep by symbol-wielding, demon-possessed overlords who enforce their imposed laws and codes of meaning, belief and “order” by means of brutal, hidden hands who foment war, chaos, pestilence, and every kind of division for the end of divide-and-conquer, Hegelian synthesis of social control. Man, then, must be his own liberator: he cannot wait for some Biblical image of dubiously-proffered, redeeming savior descending from a cloud to take his hand and lead him to Heaven. It is beyond obvious that if there were any compassionate deity watching from on high, he is a Sadistic devil who enjoys the specter of war, death, with primarily children and other innocents being the victims of this constant genocide. Non-violent non-cooperation, alas, only goes so far. Gestapo thugs in the United States will gun you down now for jaywalking, being a paraplegic, young black man, refusing their criminal orders, etc., so I would side with Jean-Peal Sartre on this point, who began advocating violence against the establishment war machine beginning in the early 1970s. I only advocate such violence as being or arising from a self-defense stance, or “fight fire with fire” ethos, in step with the framers of the Constitution and Bill of Rights.

Sartre, to expand upon my reference of him here, was the father of existentialism (though truly it was Schopenhauer, by way of Nietzsche), as well as, indirectly, my theory of pragmatic anarchy, although I maintain that he did not go far enough in his anarchist philosophy or critical theory. Perhaps it was because, as a quite specific zeitgeist, the need for “reasoned steps” had not yet reached the emergent, critical urgency in his lifetime as it now has. Fair enough – I have nothing but the highest esteem for Sartre’s brilliance as cultural critic and anarchic, philosophical theorist. He sowed the seeds, like an early prophet of the looming age which we now find ourselves enmeshed in and intrinsic part of, for the “ultimate revolution,” if you will – the one to end all fascist empires and imperialist hegemony in all its forms

The baton is passed to we, the new founders of critical theory of our age, subsequent to our predecessors who also saw and foresaw society’s principal shortcomings, agitators and pathology, and who now must rise en masse, in one voice of dissent against these brutal hands and methods of madness, to put an estoppel upon it, to use the legal term.

And with that, let us segue into more of the practical, “reasoned steps” side of this tractate, which prominently includes legal (amongst other) means to remove one’s self from “the system” successfully – or at least to the point where one can successfully argue one’s self out of, or away from the overlording tyranny dispensed by the only-revenue-seeking courts in most nations on our decaying, dying Earth.

The odd, blue light in the belfry flickers, flashes red for a time, then flashes out, the tower now completely endarkened, its silhouette a blackened mass in a dark chaos of Nature…


Part Two: Pragmatic Anarchy as Modern Concept and Context

What lights the tower of man’s peculiar existence here on Earth? And what seeks to snuff out that light?

It can be seen that the idea of pragmatic anarchy is a purely modern concept, by counteractive necessity and arising in solely contemporaneous context. It could not have been a product of the backlash against the scientific age of the 19th and 20th Centuries; nor could it have arisen even from the Rousseauian and Voltairian ideals of the Enlightenment, at the advent of Industrialism. No one even a generation ago could have conceived of anarchy as a pragmatic, reasoned, common-sense political ideology. I believe this is why it was painted in decades past as being the province of a few disaffected malcontents throwing Molotov cocktails and sporting spiky leather and mohawks, spewing epithets and espousing random chaos. Well, the lords of misrule and chaos who prop up the governments don’t like any competition, now do they?

If Thomas Paine and Sam Adams were alive today, they would surely be pragmatic anarchists. Probably, so would Mahatma Gandhi, and perhaps even Yeshua-ben-Joseph, or Jesus Christ. As a societal, humanist, and even biological imperative, its analog or diagrammatic metaphor would be healthy T-cells in an addled or compromised immune system – the T-cells of course being the pragmatic, realist, self-governing, tyranny-eschewing anarchists. To wit: those opposed to vaccination programs which are becoming steadily more Orwellian and Draconian have been labeled criminals; just as those who seek the true story behind systematic media disinformation campaigns are labeled terrorists – the so-called malcontents being, in all actuality, the equivalent of healthy T-cells devouring parasites, viruses, and pathogens which have been introduced into our collective bloodstream by nefarious, “Archontic” forces (to use the Gnostic term for usurping, demonic overlords) who are categorically opposed to human liberation for a number of reasons.

As mentioned earlier, one need not use any “on the street” violence whatsoever to fight tyrannical means and methods of perpetuating its odious stain upon the collective body politic. I said also that I side with Sartre on using violence against it as well. Both are contingencies, and both should be open to we, the people, to be able to ensure and promulgate a world free of the true potentates of violence – violence which is causal, not reactionary. I say that violence need not necessarily be used, i.e. one can withdraw one’s self from “manufactured consent” (Chomsky’s term) and legalistic, “implied consent” which the courts and judiciary use to imprison us in the land of our “guaranteed” rights and freedoms.

So, we can define pragmatic anarchy, then, as corollary of our thesis here, as “a practicable self-governance”. This idea, of a practicable self-governance, really amounts to the human individual declaring independence from the corrupt bureaucracies of the world, whatever form they may take. It is the human individual adhering to common sense, common law, self-recognizance, and self-determinism over the endless false “benefits and services” as well as the so-called privileges of government-bureaucratic  doling-out (which is well-disguised as social services, such as social security in the States, but which are simply a front for nanny-state monitoring of their property, their chattel, their children).

Our modern context for and of pragmatic anarchy is that it is simply the most immediate, potent, and efficacious antidote to the brutality and civil rights-obviating modalities of statism. It is the ideological counterpart to the “last lines of defense” such as the right to bear arms and other Bill of Rights Amendements that safeguard basic human, civil rights. It is the attendant philosophy which has been missing in the argument regarding gun-ownership rights, and all the other modes of self-defense, whether legal, physical, or otherwise. Armed with the political philosophy of pragmatic anarchy, as well as its subordinate tenets of immediate practicable application to all areas of life, one can navigate a modern world which cruelly holds his liberty hostage and demands ransom paid in endless taxes, fees, and the ticket prices for his quotidian frivolities and distractions which bribe him into the mistaken belief that he is in fact not a slave, a tenant on the birthright of his own “divine trust” of the very land which grants and perpetuates his life.

Therefore, anything which abridges or seeks to vitiate such birthrights can and will be seen as criminal, and subject to prosecution under the common law. Again, we have an ethical and moral obligation to disregard the laws of the land which have been made and ratified by criminals, and their criminal junta, or government by force, or might. In the case of these criminal governments, the people shall rise as one and say, “Might makes wrong, we shall make it right”.

When one begins the laborious but rewarding process of liberating themselves from “the system” or establishment, one witnesses the gradual way that the layers of counterfeit legitimacy fall away dramatically, like crashing shards of a malignant glacier giving way to the sea, revealing a green valley beneath its once-held sway. One sees ever-clearer how corrupt and illegitimate are the many-tentacled arms of government, corrupted to the core as it is in most places – Iceland, I will tip my hat to you as a standout paragon of what the people can collectively achieve with a sense of pragmatic anarchy under their wings – with every discarding of each layer of embedded tyranny. One gains ever-more clarity and elucidation on just how oppressed humanity has been as these layers of obfuscation slide away.  Once one shuts off and shuts out all the fake, corporate news TV shows, TV in general, and all “popular” modalities of media as they are doing this in and for their lives, an individual will gain much more in the way of individuation, as Carl Jung termed it, and a much more reasoning, Stoical, calm-center-of-the-storm tranquility (as Marcus Aurelius imparted to us), as opposed to the constant mechanistic buzz and white noise of Distractions, Inc., subsidy of Murder, Inc.

The idea and ideal of pragmatic anarchy also has its roots with Nietzsche, and his “transvaluation of all values,” as well as the fundamental eschewing of mundane social codices laid out in works such as Beyond Good and Evil, Human, All Too Human, Thus Sprach Zarathustra and The Antichrist. Germane to Nietzsche’s attempts to script Man’s liberation from stale and pernicious moral and social codices, I contend that humanity must rise up and be its own “ubermensch,” i.e. Superman, overman, or, one may say, overlord. His idea of the “will to power” was not, as was wrongly interpreted or inferred-as by the Nazis and certain literary critics or cultural pundits, some kind of call to fascism, but was, instead, a Promethean rallying cry to humankind from the “bracing heights” of Nietzsche’s transcendent perch for us to liberate ourselves. As well, his “God is dead” statement was antithetical to man-made doctrines of hate and divisiveness done in Christ and God’s name which had rendered the idea of a loving God to be dead on arrival. The phenomenological existentialists followed Nietzsche’s lead in the 20th Century by making their own calls for revaluations and re-evaluations of humankind’s aims in the areas of religious, political, and social and educational institutions. Surely, Sartre’s atheism was a product of Nietzsche’s declarations that Man had killed God, leaving the thinking, reasoning (wo)man of intellect and reason to make his/her transvaluation of all values as s/he saw fit.

To wit: take the path of least resistance, and bury your head in the sand, and wake up one day to find that that simply allowed the criminal tyrants in power to drive you to ever-dimmer and smaller areas to even have a path, to the eventual point of being painted into a corner by the gradual onset and burgeoning of totalitarian, fascist, corporate plutocracy that has taken control of every aspect of your life. Satisfied, bubble-world people? I think not! It is high time to get the whole pragmatic anarchy thing into your very bones and declare your personal independence and just say no to draconian juntas that steal your freedoms and life-force and make you pay for it! Taxation without representation has become taxation without human designation. Taxation without peace, progress, common sense, civil rights, freedoms of all types, and even sanity.

I will take the modern context of my argument back to a 1971 debate between Michel Foucault and Noam Chomsky in which Chomsky calls the state (of the United States) criminal, and calls for “federated, decentralized system of free associations” to replace the capitalist-imperialist system of the then already-corrupt and war-profiteering Nixon administration, which he called “anarcho-syndicalism”. This call by Chomsky parallels my own call for actions against the criminal state of the U.S. (forty-four years later!), as well as any state which so profligately and readily and systematically violates human and civil rights and calls such actions the needful prosecution of enemies of the state, or terrorists, as they are quite fond of labeling those who seek in earnest (and all-too often in vain) for human justice. I do also agree with Mr. Chomsky that we can go a long way and achieve more, perhaps, via acts of civil disobedience, like Gandhi’s self-styled “non-violent non-cooperation,” and also agree with him that violence as a means of a defense of social and political justice, as well as the prevention of further immoral acts by a corrupt, criminal state, cannot be completely ruled out by the proletariat, or those portions of society embedded in civil disobedience and revolt against criminal statism.

In Common Sense, Thomas Paine says, “But it is not so much the absurdity as the evil of hereditary succession which concerns mankind. Did it ensure a race of good and wise men it would have the seal of divine authority, but as it opens a door to the foolish, the wicked, and the improper, it hath in it the nature of oppression.” In saying this, he was acknowledging broken and counterfeit nature of man’s hierarchical constructs ab initio, or whereby his corruptible and corrupted state is the side that leans toward or chases the seats of power. Here again, the people find that safeguarding their freedoms is an ongoing, everyday endeavor, and straying from that vigilance for one moment is like looking away from a toddler who is roaming near to deep water. It is to succumb to the perils that surround us like vipers constantly. Surely, Common Sense was written more for posterity, and our own times in particular, than for Paine’s own time period. Here we find yet more pragmatic anarchism catalogued in historical writings that endure, fitting into a modern context. Paine also said, apropos of our current times, “Society is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter negatively by restraining our vices. The one encourages intercourse, the other creates distinctions. The first is a patron, the last a punisher.” Paine was a pragmatic anarchist, to be sure, and should be read by every 10th grader and individual in the land.


Part Three: Reasoned Steps and Practical Applications

Know the difference between “citizen,” “person,” and private individual.

Know the difference in conveyances of transport and travel, and your inherent rights therein; this area is where fascism operates the most vigorously.

Remove yourself from the book and record as subject to any king or bureaucracy, i.e. as being chattel for purposes of commerce and revenue, and declare yourself a sovereign. Basically, this means withdrawing your consent to or participation in any and all contracts with the state which exploit you as chattel, instead of guard your rights and liberties, like the IRS, DMV, and any other abusive bureaucracies.

Know and practice the difference between common law conveyance and that of admiralty or maritime law. In the former, you are a flesh and blood man or woman; in the latter, you are commercial property of the king and queen, or proxy rulers, i.e. the U.S. Corporation, or any other hegemonic government construct using you as collateral for its debt.

Get rid of “nanny state” thinking completely. This is where leftist liberals fail miserably, thinking there has to be a government teat in everyone’s mouth for anything to happen, or for human life to flourish or occur at all. Do whatever you can for yourself. If you can’t DIY, then find others in your community to help you with it, or build it. If it can’t be done either of those ways, then it probably isn’t worth doing.

Don’t wait for the government to do for you what you can do for yourself (as an adjunct to the previous tenet).

Arm yourself against ignorance – especially your own. Knowledge is the highest form of power – this is why they guard it so covetously, and feed society on lies and half-truths. Dig, research, find out for yourself the facticity of things. If all else fails, go within, where Yeshua ben Joseph told us the kingdom of Heaven lies – kingdom of knowledge that it is.

Make daily affirmations that back-up and reinforce these tenets. Say them aloud. Gird your loins and your wits alike. Guard against the slow, imperceptible incursion of hatred, jealousy and tyranny upon goodness, forthrightness, and common-sense vigilance.


[Updated 1/13/16, 12/27/15 and 12/21/15; further excerpts forthcoming, essay in its entirety to be published in book form available via Amazon]

Four New Poems From My Current Collection “Holly & Hemlock”


See through death –
– oh, there you go:
New bones prancing upon the old.
A foreign wangling of joy
The skeleton tried to recall
(Celestial trumpets peal
Like silk in elapsed ears)
“We can take care of our own here” –
The capillaries and rivulets
With Source-aerie sparkling still.

The sun on the leaves today
Could make a barn-burner cry
Or street man sing or do magic
or swim all the streams
as Heaven slowly unlocks her fire.

But high on those wood-roads
The duchess of leaves is dying
The dryads of ease are hiding,
Enshrouded by Maeve’s hair & bones.

In the stern beds of the past
Cold queens did scoff and gasp,
And lift lanterns to indoor skies
Of future-guessing eyes.
Silent fire dropping down
Still descends on amnesiac lands –
Children swimming the confused waters:
Angry sons and cloying daughters,
Wondering where to shine their light.


Fire Island

I am the King of Siam.
I am Johnny Appleseed,
making fertile the tired land.
I am all the great and forgotten poets
And I am a fire in which you cannot believe
Nor quantify; that is so.

Yet here on my island does my flame
Disappear nightly into the sea’s claim.
Twined in shadows, I may restore
Because I am ready for the moon.
I contain the world in my
Submerged heart, and in my
Laughing wilds, twinned, parlayed
On such difficult shores.

Where my sip of eternity
Was as bitter as it was alive;
Where I thank all your arms
Showing me the way
Through busy twilight
Toward the high strength
Of towering mornings.



Probed bounty had a sun
Sidled in pods of leaf –
The needed stain then splashed where
Life crawled expanses of green.
So massed was root of take, as I
Held it to my breast, life total;
And was cat-groove to what
Young table brought us through:
A sheaf of epoques where music
also swam & smiled heroic
A priori to what now defines,
But could the crimson cap truly see?
Where I walked in padded age
The archetypes spreading clichés
And romantic epiphany becoming passé?

Where a man in his currents blows
Howing a world dark in its shows
Identity of how he goes a-where
To come to this or that shore or share;
Could an electric beast sing in its times
Of things unknown he says must be?
Wilds of good could you, stepped along
In the courage of colors meant to spend us long?
The guest o’ little time
Has finally been let through…


Intifada du Jour

Stay in country – see
How wicks of wonder light up for thee!
Observe how freely the air bides
In darkening time where you need no license
Or name or rhyme. Mountebanks have fled!
Scoped in murmur riding their asses & jackals
to where warm hammers glow.
Bright regions rise and collapse
In the time it takes to breed an asp
(in the unshorn grove there is an answer)
But how do fallen seasons grow?

The stately stream is steered
by wolf-habitude (true)
In the seedy ranks we devalue.
The trustless fob, curling his lying trap
Squirms as the human fog burns off.
No Marys of “The Way”
Need virginal to be;
What’s left is churchless sanctity
& now coffins for songs like black hearts,
Gold-buckled, lay like dead soldiers
In powder-blue sarcophagi
And unfettered calm.

Somewhere sick and empty feels
A girl or planet or camel or eel
Where beheadings feed the trauma’d ground
And old shadows twine and reel.
The sour door now craves an entrant
And echoes such a child, my child –
In coming rooms like I just yelled
Across a golden canyon, and does
Grandmother-sight give bells to this wisdom?
Her private vicissitudes have branches, too.
(My naïve years having broken the ruse)
Where crescent moons stabbed thunderous sides
And calamity aches in closets denied.

A burst of woody care
wears before us the Atman that dared!
Laden with death-church flare,
My pink-fingered joy deepens the room.
Where the laughing brook washed me to center,
A home, youthful zeal trimming the
Wings of awe, amongst novel treasures.
Today, the escapes were internal measures.

Flushed down the mother-delta
Into a florid garden gone to pot
Where vision scorns power-abuse
In the battle to proffer the altar abstruse,
I opened my windows to October’s
Banners, the colors of a dying world
Just beginning: annihilate the poison
Spew on lake-cirque trek, oak-hewn
as cask arrives to ferment our libation
Of truth. Hale and home-grown are the wares
Of our eternal health, and strong are the bowers
That grow our germens’ stealth.

Love is a many-creatured thing
Solaced in a tarn of Spring;
My soft engine beats
In a relish of vigor
Where this darkness remakes me
In Quixotic rigor.

Is this the very structure of joy?
As again the axe of evil hits me
And I swing the wand ‘round
And exculpate them from the realm.
Once more, can you sense their collective
Perishing, that their shadows can stand no more,
And that only the bubbling love-light pours?
This, the place where infant gladness restores?

What good, then, if your:

Books are balanced
Insurance’s paid up
Mortgage is paid up
Vacations booked
Yard is trimmed
Taxes are paid up
Church-tithes given
Cupboards are filled
Charities are gifted
Friends gathered ‘round the punchbowl
Cubicles & homes are nice & tidy…
…if your freedom, dreams and children are lost?


chris robideaux, new poems, poetry

Dan Winter – Must Watch Video for How to Attain Immortality!

Dan Winter’s lectures are all MUST WATCH videos, in my opinion, for any human being interested in learning the true physics of optimum health, longevity, and immortality. But also, so much more, such as our true genetic history, and really how to make your body, mind, and spirit “phase conjugate” or fractal.



Song of an August Sea-Gale


Ancient intrigues spill their jars into the staggering sea;
My foaming blood bubbles up from earthen spring.
As fishermen drink away their troubles at the Sea Hag;
The crashing sea at our window serenades our wanderlust.

Tigers prowl for escape among the jetties and the capes
Donning their misty crowns, forgetting petty apes
Their vulgar homage;
A man in a darkened doorway chastises his dog
As I roll the nautical highway wearing night’s corsage.
The gull’s stark morning greeting is delicate custom,
As Ondine’s moons resound off the storm-riven cliffs
That beckoningly rumble.

You stood there, looking serious-faced at the sea,
Just like the nautical wanderers who’ve gone before thee.
But the sea hag, jealous of your beauty, turned your love
Into a watery leviathan, and now my days are spent
Wandering the whale-spouting vistas listening for your


All night the howling gale did pound and thrum
Like Thor’s hammer upon nail or human drum.
The stolid ground, though a-tremble,
cradled still the coastal vales; as all day, still
it kept on, the tempest, and sandblasted
were our faces at Neskowim, the falling branches
on the highway showing the peril, where we
put our whims at risk, though feral; and rode
the nautical ranges – the breakers spraying
fifty feet high over the precipices above…

We cut short our after-lunch drive when the
Sea-witch, angered, swept us from beach and roadway,
Now to rest back upon Arch Rock,
Arrested in our wandering ways.

All night the raging gale did our dreams assail –
Only now calming in late afternoon to assay
The land-lubbing sea-gazers who on the
Roiling whitecaps do stare, to see if the
Salty spume’s blowsy signature’s from the deep’s
Leviathans fair.

Now streaked, our window on the briny churn
With saline tears that cloud the ephemeral turn;
Now have guests of the sea-witch wandered;
Now found they rest upon the pounding surf
Unhindered. Where portly dowagers and their doggies,
Asian families and angry-looking men vie for a table,
A room, a lane in summer’s bosom to gaze from;
In these nautical nests the chaotic tides
Never given their rest or absolution.

The vestal virgins of the sea, green-blooded and free,
Scare away any threatening fang or poisoner’s glee,
That may etiolate this Neptunian estate,
Leaving stark eyes to contend with this
Thrashing torrent, wave and rock to battle it out
With the late question: which kingdom doth
Move the globe when man’s hands have
Muddied the elements up to Jove?

I go out once again to listen for your song…

Excerpt From My New Short Story, “Marianne, Not Aphrodite”

You soared around the world in your dream – that dream, the dream of the world entire. Your spirit, caught by a concatenation of sparkling towers and bridges bunched on a nearly invisible island, wavers in a thronged spur of excitement, surges through the concrete-and-steel canyons of crushing commerce and cashed-in-on dreams of solidity in an ethereal meme, and merges with a wild burn of ambitious and dazzling aspiration, though free of its game.

Your spirit’s eye slips into one of the towers’ loftier transparencies, spinning down the affluent staircase where Macbeth hath murdered sleep and Jezebel still awaits her marching orders. You float through a door and see a man. Is he fretting? Is his conscience bothering him? Is he waiting for a friend to call? Does he live alone? He pours a glass of some dark ferment and sips without joy, watches light flicker on a squarish plane a while, dozes off, then rouses himself, or is roused by his own startling dream, shades of light still flickering upon his sleep-drunken face.

He rises up from a wide couch and paces the apartment some more, then begins to notice something strange. Has he lost something? Misplaced a prized item – or items? He throws books and papers around – he is in a rage, but you cannot look way. You come closer – you can read his thoughts: Where are they? A thousand-year old Chinese bowl. My Persian silk robe? And…what the hell? Where is my Matisse? What’s happening here? Is reality slowly just blinking out? The man is losing his mind, his spirit not far behind. It has happened before. The opulence of his urban palace suggests a prominence – in the community, in occupation, or as a form of elevated deviation. Hard to be sure. He’s long since given up the healthier tricks for escaping or perfecting reality like yoga and meditation for whiskey, beer, and the occasional pill-form panoramas.

His emotions grind and stir in a red-shift cauldron. He seems so utterly alone, though surrounded by the faces in paintings, by masks, statues, books. He lives in a joyless place, filled with things that, ostensibly, could provide some measure of joy to the right mind, ego, or personality. You realize that that place is him – as each one is the heart of place they make, the space sacred or profane. You watch, spellbound, as he makes a whirlwind of his own possessions, treasures, emotion, and solidity itself, no longer “looking” for objects per se, but swinging his own daimonic or wrathful wrecking ball around his own domain. At last, he relents, exhausted. He sits in a reclining chair a while cursing himself, past lovers, old friends, those who rule with hate, those who steal with love, then at last, dozes off in the late, wee hours in the “city that never sleeps” enfolded in the heavy thoughts that compound like some sadistic math formula and never stop.

His eyes flutter open a few hours later, his head pounding with a headache that feels like an aneurysm, and his first thought is I’ve been robbed. Burglarized. Ripped off! But who could it have been? Some cat burglar, while I was sleeping? He goes to stand and the existential pain is too much to bear. He cries out. He falls to the floor, rolls around, crawls to the bathroom where he manages to stand, pry the top off of a container of something or other, down three or four of whatever it is, cry out to whatever petty little god is there to hear this, as he puts it, then prays, curses, roils, makes his way to the kitchen, feeds himself, makes some phone calls to, apparently, colleagues, associates, perhaps, friends, then sits at the kitchen table and broods, frozen, like the statue of some robust, wild animal, thickened by self-abuse instead of the heroic labors of Hercules.

Then, he sits in wait – at attention, no more booze or pills! – for the next three nights, standing watch, on patrol of this little kingdom of his, this museum away from the museums of the world he had sanctified and poured all that effort into. And so, he waited, watching, no hard stuff to numb his consciousness and leave him, evidently, open to such cat burglary and violations of trust.

That’s it! he thinks. Someone who knew me or my ex-wife at the MOMA, who knows my ways, tendencies, vulnerabilities. Ah, I will get you! I know you will be back, because you know of my self-pity and negation…you don’t think I deserve such anthropological delicacies and masterful strokes! Well, ha ha ha, I’ve got you now! I will wait, and while I wait at night when you cat burglar creeps crawl out of your crypts, I will look for my pilfered items on the street or black market, and I will make you wish you’d never been born into this sorry world!

And so he hits the streets of Manhattan – second hand art shops, galleries, pawn shops, art dealers, friends, acquaintances, former colleagues…

“Sorry, we don’t know anything. Can’t help you. Good luck” seems to be the consensus. He is hapless. He wanders down Fifth Avenue and into the Park and watches a group of pre-teens playing games. He envies their endless energy.

You followed him all day through the busy, dizzy streets and his muted flurry of activity and quest of recovery. He arrives back home, grabs a cold beer of some esoteric label or other, and as the plucky, hoppy concoction ameliorates the dry throb of thirst deep in his bones, blood, and being, he thinks, Maybe it was Martha. Would she? She very well could hire someone out, maybe. Cat burglar for hire? Married five years, and all that trust, respect, and adoration down the proverbial tubes?

He couldn’t resist drinking the rest of the lager-style beer down in one misery-extinguishing quaff. A buzz wafted quickly to his head as he ambled through the wreckage of the night before strewn about his quarters. He rifles through another shelf, pulls a black disc out of a large envelope of some kind and impales it on a metal needle, drops an arm upon it and turns the sound way up. It is some kind of jazz – frantic, throbbing, jaunty.

The next night comes, and there is nothing. Then, night number three. His senses are sharp: he is ready. He can almost feel the burglar preparing to come for him now. Some blues albums. A couple of “art films” on IFC. Some sketches of the demons he sometimes sees in his bedroom doorway upon waking. He hasn’t slept much in days. He is preternaturally exhausted, but he keeps watching the window he is sure the crafty burglar will return through.

He is nodding out a bit, now. He catches himself. He has his pistol in his hand, has turned all the lights off, feigning a sleeping household, but remaining awake, on a small couch across from the window that sits ten stories up on a fire escape.

And then, there the awaited bandit is: a sleek, black figure, stealthier than the midnight wind, quietly lifting the window and entering the room. He watches in rapt surveillance for a few more seconds, letting the tiptoeing, hated figure get further in and away from their escape route, then – he leaps up and hits the lights.

“Aha!” he exclaims. “I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch!”

He jumps on the thief, grabbing him forcibly around the neck, wrestling him to the ground, and getting little to no resistance, as he is a large man and the thief is rather wiry thin and small of stature.

“You bastard! You stole valuable things from me, and I will make you pay!” he shouts at the thief with unabashed hostility, pushing the gun to his temple and pulling off the thief’s mask. To his great surprise, it is not some scrawny little worm as he’d thought “him,” but instead a stunningly beautiful young woman with long, silky brown hair who is revealed to him. She gives him a shy, sheepish look, like “You got me”. The man is stunned on many levels, and simply gazes dumbfounded at the girl for a tense moment, wondering what on Earth could motivate such a gorgeous creature to violate him so.

“Why have you done this to me?” he asks her. She is unresponsive, caught.


This is 1,400 words of what will likely be a 10,000+ word story, or even a short novella. Feedback appreciated, and thanks for reading.

My Novel, “Thespia’s Abandon,” a Romantic Thriller, Available Now On Amazon!

Released in April 2014, and available only on Kindle and Nook until now – my romantic thriller and slice of Hollywood satire is now available in paperback format through Amazon. Concerning a group of people who converge in Los Angeles and Hollywood, Thespia’s Abandon tells the story of an A-list actress and screenwriter who come to realize they are controlled by forces of darkness operating through one of the biggest movie studios in Tinsel Town – Zion – but, with the help of friends in the right places (a poet-revolutionary, new age author and his clairvoyant wife, and a “star-child” from outer space), overcome the odds stacked against them, managing to topple the evil “Emperor of Hollywood” and his political controllers in an apocalyptic climax you’ll have to read to believe.

Thanks for reading!Thespia's Cover1