Archive for September, 2012

After I’m King

Yes, bless me, I’ve applied, and the people at the county office where I turned in my application said I stood a very good chance of getting it. Just think, once I get it, the government will have been shrunk to just one person, me! Talk about small government!  All citizens of my realm will have the usual rights, the ones they’re used to, but the corporations will NOT be considered citizens of the realm and so will have no rights, except the one: the right to sue and be sued.

No citizen may own mineral rights, and all natural resources will belong to the citizens of the realm, held in common, and the wealth derived therefrom will be fairly divided amongst the citizens of the realm and this may very well avoid the need for taxation.

All citizens will serve in the armed forces for 4 years upon reaching the age of 18. All education from K to PhD (or MD, LLD, etc.) will be free. All citizens will be expected to learn how to type by touch. All citizens of the realm will be provided free and unregulated access to the internet, cable TV, am/fm radio, telephone, newspapers, magazines and books, and the stock exchanges. There will be but one bank, mine and banking services will be provided to the citizens of the realm free of charge. All savings accounts will earn 6% interest per year with NO minimum balance.

Once a year, on Thanksgiving, all bankers, brokers, realtors, corporate types, and their ilk will participate in a lottery, and the winners therefrom will be slaughtered and fed to the poor of the realm, and the widows/widowers and orphan children therefrom will be indentured for a period of time not to exceed 10 years with the profit derived therefrom to be given to the poor.

Only married couples will be allowed to reproduce at the rate of one child per citizen of the realm.

Public transportation will be free. All libraries will be opened and staffed 24/365. No unmarried citizen of the realm can be a librarian. Every child will be quiet at all times, and no whining about it. Every child will receive a thorough grounding in human sexuality and how humans age starting with Kindergarten and continuing on through the 5th year of college. Child molesters will be drawn and quartered with the first offense. Zealotry of any form will be a punishable offense, with the King calling the shots.

The King (me) will publish annually an official list of acceptable names for children. ‘Ashley’ will not be on the list, ever. Nor Wilmer. The King’s first name will NOT be Wilmer. No child of the realm, whether male of female, can be named Hexene, Latrine, or Norene, etc. Twins born in the realm are NOT to be given names that have a similar sound, e.g., Monique and Unique, Irine and Urine, or Ira and Youra. Twins are NOT to be separated upon entering the public school system unless they hate each others guts. It is illegal for aging married couples to wear matching outfits, dementia notwithstanding.  It is illegal for dog owners to dress their pets in human style clothing, and it is especially egregious for a dog and its owner to wear matching outfits.

The minimum wage will be adjusted upward until single wage-earner families re-emerge. There will be ONE (1) employees union in the realm, mine, w/ me as its president, with modest, affordable dues. No strikes, i.e., if the employees feel they need something, they need but ask me for it, and as long as their request is cost effective, it will be granted.

No citizen or corporation of the realm can own media of any kind. All media is held in the public trust and is financially supported by me. Postal services are free of charge. No corporation is allowed to advertise anything. All medicine will be developed and subsequently tested by my designees. All medical treatments will be free of charge, and all medicine will be distributed free of charge. Marijuana and GHB will be taxed and regulated right along with alcohol.

The officers of any corporation found to have adulterated their dog food products with clay shall be drawn and quartered upon the first offense. GMO foods are not to be allowed, ever. Genes are not patentable in my realm.

All citizens of the realm will be issued a firearm of their choosing upon their 18th birthday, no exceptions. All citizens will be trained and drilled in the safe use of their firearms, and have achieved a grade of “Marksman” by their 19th birthday, no exceptions. All firearms and ammunition will be provided free of charge. Any citizen who intentionally shoots another citizen will have his firearm confiscated and then be ground up and fed to hogs with the first offense, no exceptions.

Crepe paper is NOT EVER to be substituted for toilet paper in public conveniences.

That about covers it. Gosh I’m going to be busy. Will there be time for madness?



A lot has been written about attachment and attachments, and almost none of it have I read. That said, I was wondering how quickly they can form and whether the “soundness”  or “intrinsic value” of an attachment is in anyway related to how quickly it had sprung to life. Behind my inquisitiveness is a suspicion, harbored by many I fear, that this relationship, if it exists at all, is an inverse one, such that a really speedy attachment is next to worthless, the more the more, love-at-first-sight notwithstanding.

Something, or rather someone, happened to me this week that’s provoked all this speculation—Sylvia. Because of my polycythemia I had to pay a visit to the Contra Costa Oncology center, the infusion room to be exact, to have blood let. It’s a rather large narrow room, one dominated by wall space as opposed to floor area, with the two longer walls populated by a generous number of comfortable recliners, each accompanied by a wheeled rack suitable for supporting bags of chemo compounds during their intravenous administration to cancer victims. Things were pretty quiet the afternoon I was there, only two of the chairs were in use, two older women, one accompanied by her husband for moral support. She had a full head of hair, and just sat there with a rather dour expression on her face waiting for the last of the poison to drip into her blood stream.

The other woman, Sylvia—for I heard a technician call her that—was alone, no moral support for her, and I wondered about that. She was an attractive, slender, sixty-something. She was bald, or so I presume, because she was wearing a red, cowboy style neckerchief  wrapped tightly around her head as a barely adequate scarf. And while I saw no hair, I saw no scalp either.

As I entered the room heading for a recliner as far removed from the other occupants as I could find, I passed her close by, and as I did, she looked up from the magazine splayed across her lap and straight into my eyes. She had that abandoned puppy at the shelter look, the kind they give you when you’ve paid them the least bit of attention, the kind that says, “Mother of God, please take me home with you.” I couldn’t help myself and greeted her as if we were long lost friends, and she quickly returned the greeting. I now know that I should’ve stopped then, if but for a moment, and taken her hand. How many opportunities does one get in one’s life to greet, however briefly, one’s glimmering girl, or failing that, to find refuge and sanctuary, or a safe harbor in a storm, all the more so when one is mad?