Truth Against the World

Sunday, February 12, 2012

"The Fox Den"

It's interesting to note that with the increasing bouts of synchronicity in my life, the amount of irony has increased as well. The starkest bit of irony would be that I have resigned from the Matrix while at the same time increased the amount of online computer time required of me. This doesn't bother me much, and that is mainly because it's winter, and what else am I going to do? Winter is definitely the time for reflection and personal psychological investigations. Winter also lends itself magnificently to the writer in us. One doesn't have to look out from a window at a beautiful spring or summer day that is begging, indeed demanding, assistance from us in our many post petroleum endeavors. During the winter one looks outside and is thankful to be inside, where it is warm. Not only are we thankful, we are aware that this is the time for guilt free planning for the year ahead. Even the most adept muddler increases his success by thinking and planning about what changes he must make in reality to continue following his (or her) bliss (I see people use "her" in place of "his" often and I'm always struck by how it reads differently...I use the male version simply as a matter of habit...not out of a sense of chauvinism).

In the month that has past I have been busy paying attention to my changing life circumstances. The 15th is the day that our POD will be picked up, and it's also the day that we will be leaving the house we have called home for the last five years. There has been a small amount of melancholy on my part in response to this move. Mostly I reside somewhere between equanimity and joy when I think about my life now, but there are times when sadness is not only desirable but healthy and needed. It seems, here again, that Winter lends itself to these emotional states of mind. "The Winter of Our Discontent" comes to mind here. John Steinbeck has long been my favorite American author, and I've read about 50% of the work he left behind. I always identified with him on a personal level. My favorite aspect of John Steinbeck are the true human idiosyncrasies that he had such a brilliant way of writing about. He was sort of like the arbiter of commentary on the condition of man in the 20th century. He wrote about everyman and his struggle. He wrote about me.

The Winter of our Discontent applies directly to my current Resignation from the Matrix. The protagonist, Ethan Allen Hawley, is every American following the dictates of the American Hologram in pursuit of the American Dream. He thinks he wants success, and in typical American fashion that means anything goes. Robbery, extortion, usury, bribe, black mail, and all other measures of moral turpitude are fair game where "success" in the American sense of the acquisitive life are concerned. The logical conclusion to a life spent absorbed in hucksterism is one of suicide and this is largely what The Winter of our Discontent is about. Ethan is saved by a talisman that his daughter sticks in his coat in place of the razor blades that were to assist him in the dispatch of his own failed huckster lifestyle. His own lack of a moral North (beyond the hologram that is) fructified into a son whom saw no dilemma in plagiarizing his way into society’s recognition. After getting an honest man deported, and taking advantage of a drunken friend to service his endless desire for more, what could he say to his son about a simple plagiarism? In perfect symbolism his son is given an accolade from society for his ethical nihilism.

Herein lies the difference between the life of following your bliss and the life of following the dictates of the Matrix. On the one hand you are true to yourself and therefore everyone else, and on the other you are the mythical embodiment of the trickster. One you can stand beside your soul and hold your head up amongst your own harshest critique, and the other you must hide and never reveal who you are lest somebody take advantage of you. One leads to happiness, joy, and equanimity, and the other leads to losing the will to live. It's important to note that the acquisitive lifestyle will always end in misery, because in servicing all of the material acquired, your life force gets siphoned out from you by inanimate objects. This while those in your life vie for your attention and time. America has no soul because it has been transferred to all of the loot we busy ourselves with jacking from whomever isn't strong enough to defend against our infectious wanting.

What is the "Matrix" exactly. I've had more time to think about this lately since I resigned from it. In many ways it's the perfect metaphor from within the Myth of the Machine (MOTM). This myth is a dying myth. It was the myth that serviced the 20th century, and the one that Steinbeck busied himself with outlining through all manner of magnificent fiction (he contributed much more than that to the American psyche, but he was living in the apex of the MOTM thinking). The 21st century needs a new Steinbeck, and one that will busy himself with writing fiction at a time when all that is left is a dying myth. What is to replace the MOTM? It seems to me that scavenging will be the default winner. John Michael Greer calls the economy of the future the "scarcity economy." By future one should understand that this is the very near future. For many Americans this has already become the way in which they live, and not by any voluntary means either. For those of us who see the future clearly, we are entering into the "scavenge economy," as I like to call it, now. It is a largely untapped economy that is literally found at the ass hole end of the empire. The American Empire is a gluttonous and inefficient digester, and so it's quite easy to find whole and undigested bits of wealth in said shit pile.

This is what it means to be a scavenger. It helps to look at the animal kingdom to glean some information about how to scavenge. Look at the Crow, the possum, or the perfect embodiment of the scavenger...the Raccoon. Raccoons are professional scavengers that grow fat amidst our gluttonous society. A raccoons life is a good life and they don't want for anything. I've watched many a raccoon help themselves to the cat food that gets left over by my outdoor cats. Urban Raccoons are a fearless lot, and I have had them walk to within a foot of me to get the cat food only slowly scampering off if I make the wrong move. They move at night and they seem to me to be overly satisfied with their place in our shit pile. However this is not the animal that I want informing me. The animal that is coming into view for me as a mentor is the Fox. This is an animal steeped in mythic lore. Yet again, here is more of that irony I was speaking of in the beginning of this essay because the fox is the mythical trickster. However this is not the same trickster as the one that keeps us from enlightenment. The evil trickster is the one Steinbeck wrote about in The Winter of our Discontent. This is the animal trickster whom gets what he needs by taking it as if by magic. In fact, the fox is amongst the magical adept of the animal kingdom and this shows up in fox lore. I must be honest and admit that I know very little about fox lore, but I intend on educating myself on the matter and reporting about it here. For now, I can simply say that the fox has introduced himself to me by way of dream epiphany.

Michael Ruppert recently found himself being ruthlessly teased by Joe Rogan when he brought up "fox magic." Indeed, fox magic is the magical path at who's gate I am standing and about to enter in earnest on the 15th when my POD is picked up. I see myself as a trickster fox as viewed by the matrix. Rather than hustling within the Matrix, all while paying homage to the corporate Bankster masters, I'll be hustling just out of reach of the Matrix. Don't misunderstand me, cause like the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar, I'll be stealthily dropping in on the Matrix when need be. I spoke of bending the rules in my resignation, and I have begun doing just that. Dumpster diving is a great place to start bending the rules. It's probably not going to get you arrested around here, but I wouldn't be surprised if it did.

The scavenge economy (black market) is booming right now. There is a lot of cash circulating in the black market because we can't afford to waste our cash on the empire any longer. We can't afford to pay ridiculous amounts of currency for things we can barter, thrift, or otherwise acquire for free. People, especially women, still have the want to shop for things. These things can be gotten for free and sold at a very fair price to gain the cash that one may find themselves in need of. All of this can be very easily done under the radar of the Matrix while also using the Matrix. This is what my wife and I are doing now. Last night, when the fox came to visit me, he gave me a nod as he scampered off back into invisibility. He imbued in me the source of his invisibility just as I presume he did with Mike Ruppert. It seems to me that the fox should be the animal mascot of our movement out of the Matrix. The fox is the perfect candidate to uncover the myth that we will write together. The myth that will service the 21st century Scavenge Economy of the Post Petroleum Human Nation. I can think of no better animal. As I've said I intend on writing more about the Fox and what kind of myth he may uncover for those like me (and likely you since you find yourself reading this). There is a business descending in my life, and it's been dubbed "The Fox Den." Good luck finding it...however if you are prepared it may find you.  

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Nutritious Imperial Garbage

thanks to Billonions

Nutritious Imperial Garbage
By Aaron McCarty
(special to Collapsenet)
I recently sent my resignation into the Matrix and subsequently I'm in the middle of moving to a new town. My wife and I are downsizing our life so as to reduce the dependance we have on the Matrix. That requires that we do a few things that at first glance seem irresponsible, degrading, and dirty. To be clear, it only appears that way when viewed through the consciousness that the matrix and American Hologram provide to you. I'm beginning to realize that the Matrix operates under an Orwellian dialectic.

Orwell made this process clear in 1984 with the crafting of double speak as defined by the New Speak Dictionary. The process of double speak is pernicious because we use language to communicate what we mean and believe in reality, and more importantly we use it to decide on what is real and what is fake. Dictionaries are an important anchor where understanding one another is concerned...especially where electronic communication such as this is concerned. In fact, the protagonist, Winston Smith, works for the "Ministry of Truth" where he spends his day re-writing published newspaper articles so as to stay congruent with the Party propaganda of the day. Double Speak makes the "Ministry of Truth" make sense to the inner party members. The Ministry of Truth is actually the Ministry of Lies. In our time, the "Ministry of Truth" is Main Stream Media (MSM). It has gotten to the point where nothing that is seen on television should be believed as true. What you see on the television should be taken as propaganda as a matter of course. The internet is hardly better and in many cases worse. With the consumer grade software that is available for image and video manipulation there is nothing digital that should be believed. I believe what I read on Collapsenet because I have vetted Michael Ruppert by reading Crossing the Rubicon and Collapse. MCR has proven his trustworthiness as a news source to me by his work.

Double Think works by degrees. In the beginning of 1984 there is a scene where a character is bragging about how short the next Newspeak Dictionary is going to be. There is no place for nuance in Newspeak. Each word removed from our language decreases the amount of nuance available for expression. If we cannot express nuance than we become much more obtuse intellectually. The process of shortening a language is designed to dumb us down. Without nuance we can't tell why we feel like shit, because we cannot express why, even to ourselves. We just know that something is off, but nobody else can explain it, so it must just be something wrong with us. This process ends with an exponential growth in bureaucratic bull shit and a nation taking nearly 2/3rd of the anti-depressant's consumed in the world. Let me repeat that, we are a nation that takes nearly 2/3rd of the anti-depressants consumed in the world. We are a nation that prescribes neuron altering frankenchemicals to children who are barely old enough to talk. Why is this considered acceptable?

I recently witnessed something so horrifying that it made my soul wretch and cough. I found myself in a local organic food store in order to acquire some very well made boxes for free (apple boxes are great if you are moving..very high quality). The manager of the store told me last week that he would save me some boxes and to come back on Wednesday, and so that's what I did. On my way out of the store with my two free apple boxes I happened across a scene that struck me as off. There was a produce employee pitching avocados into a cart as fast as he could pitch them. He had to, because my best guestimation would be that he had about 280 left to go. He looked like he was ready to kill himself (due to his status in the Matrix I'm sure). Next to the cart was another cart with four boxes full of avocados.

"Are you throwing those avocados away?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah, their too mushy. See.." as he handed me one to test for myself.

"This avocado is perfectly ripe right now...doesn't get any better than this."

"Yeah, I know, but we can't sell them like this, they want them to be like this one." He hands me an avocado from one of the boxes he's making room for. It's hard as a rock.

"This avocado won't be worth eating for at least a week!"

"I know."

"So you're just going to throw them away huh?"

"Yep, it's what they want us to do."

"Well can I have some of them then?"

"I can let you take them home but you have to promise to use them today if I let you take them"

"No problem man, I'll just go home and make a huge batch of guacamole and my family well be crappin' green for a few days." He didn't think my joke was funny.

So I opened one of my apple boxes and made to start pitching 20 or 30 avocados into it when he quickly said, "I can't let you have them for free!"

"You can't? But you are going to throw them in a dumpster?"

"I know, it's terrible, but it's what they want us to do." Alright, this is a corporate store, I get it. I'm a reasonable man. Avocados are ridiculously expensive in South Carolina this time of year (I wonder why?) and so I figure I can score some Avocados for dirt cheap. The store can at least get their money's win win.

"So can you sell them to me at a discount?"

"I'm not authorized to do that, you'll have to talk to the manager."

"Alright, thanks brother." I should have talked to the manager, but I didn't. I had my hands full with the two large apple boxes, and I had a house located in the Matrix that I had to pack up. I left the store without rescuing the Avocados, and with my head marinating in the rich metaphorical symbolism. I had just witnessed one of the most nutritious fruits on the planet being made into waste. Nothing explains this better than doublethink. How is this not doublethink? What else explains it?

This is a perfect example of the disease that America has been sickened with. Over the last week I have found myself behind shopping malls opening dumpsters in search of boxes. Go to any moving company's website and see how much money you can urinate away buying moving boxes. I've scored all of 300 dollars worth of boxes and all I needed was a packing tape dispenser and 10 dollars worth of packing tape. I opened up a dumpster behind a grocery store the other day and almost started crying. Inside the dumpster was probably 50 pounds of saran wrapped cow steaks, a clear trash bag full of broccoli, and another one full of leaf lettuce. Behind a Dollar General, I found three small balls made of petroleum with characters from the "Cars" film printed on them. They were still in the plastic wrapped and hermetically sealed petroleum container that they were displayed in. What was wrong with this 10 dollar item you ask? One of the balls needed some air. I rescued the package and my wife sold it online for 7 buck after my 20 month old toddler, Ayden Zen, had his fun with them.

We are a nation that is drowning in our own depravity. We bomb nations full of innocent people for petroleum so that we can ship avocados, raise cattle, and make our kids toys just so that we can send it all to the nations dumpster. It doesn't end there, because once all of this perfectly good food (and all other manner of petroleum) gets to the dump, it ends up contributing to the green house gases in our atmosphere. I could have grilled 50 pounds of steak, served a nice salad, and had some perfect guacamole for free. I could have fed a neighborhood with our "waste." I didn't, but next time, I will. In fact, my resignation from the Matrix has allowed me to see more clearly. I'm not afraid to be looked down upon by those still in the Matrix, as they surely will do upon seeing me peruse through a dumpster.

How much money do you think those stores would have sold nearly 300 organic avocados, 50 pounds of steak, 30 pounds of broccoli, and 10 pounds of leaf lettuce for? It would have retailed at nearly 1000 dollars. But this is not the most egregious aspect of this anecdote of mine. There are millions, probably nearly a billion, of starving people on this Earth. America is so sick that it would rather contribute to the greenhouse gasses in the atmosphere than feed the starving. If nothing else, this all could have at least been composted and used to add nutrition, health, to edible plants, and therefore people. You would have never caught me in a dumpster before I told the Matrix to dig a hole and get in it. I had too much pride. Now I see the "Zombies," as we call them here on collapsenet, as zombie robots enchanted by imperial doublethink propaganda. So what do I care if they see my ass hangin' out of a dumpster in pursuit of perfectly edible petroleum that they would have bought 12 hours before for nearly 1000 dollars. If you still have not liberated yourself from the Matrix. I promise you that you can get by without it. After all, there is an obscenely disgusting amount of wealth in our imperial dumpsters...and a lot of people have died to put it there. 

Monday, February 6, 2012

Journey Into the Den of the 1%

The Dead Lifeboat
Thanks to Dimitri Orlov for introducing me to this artist

The Soul of the 1%

Thanks to Jonas Burgert for this brilliance

While the Buddha sat beneath the Bodhi tree realizing perfect enlightenment, he was visited by Mara, the tempter. With him, Mara brought his three daughters Desire, Lust and Aversion in order to tempt the Buddha away from his coming enlightenment. This is a myth that all spiritual traditions share. In Christianity Jesus is tempted by Satan in a similar fashion. While Jesus is starving in the desert he is asked to turn stones into bread. Satan also asks him to test his god by throwing himself from the top of a temple. The final temptation is all of the kingdoms of the world. Satan takes Jesus to the highest mountain and shows him all of the kingdoms with the riches they contain and tells him that they can all be his. The common theme in this temptation myth is diversion from spiritual truth. The tempter's goal is to get the nearly liberated spiritual practitioner to become preoccupied with distraction and diversion within secular life. Anything will work so long as it keeps the individual from seeing the truth about reality clearly. Anything to keep you from following your bliss and therefore living an authentic life. There is only one requirement for complete liberation. That requirement is that you must first have faith that liberation is possible. Once you have this faith, all that's left is for you to overcome the fear that is created by your faith rubbing against the illusion. When you approach your liberation there is friction and heat from this rubbing action. It causes the tempter, who is guarding the gate beyond which is liberation, to take notice of you. Your temptations will begin.

I was reminded of this myth recently by developments in my own life. I have no illusions of grandeur. I'm no Jesus or Buddha. I'm no more important than either of them claimed to be. I'm just a man capable of spiritual enlightenment just as every man. I'm imbued with the same consciousness as the rest of humanity. I'm humbled by my own Buddha nature. It seems to me that the division between the flatlands of the Matrix and the wonderment of liberation can be witnessed by synchronicity. That is, the visible proof of the spectacular world that awaits you in your liberation, is synchronicity. This is what emerges for you when you follow your bliss. The synchronicity is always happening but we tend to not notice it. That's the tempter at work guarding the programming that's in place to control your mind. The tempter projects the American Hologram and created the American Dream. He creates the illusion of permanence in matter. He tricks us into believing that the world is fixed, deterministic, and immovable in it's misery. It's not. In fact, reality is very malleable. What the system does not want you to know is that you can change reality with your mind. Now, I realize that the last statement can be driven to absurd conclusions that are packaged and marketed to New Age Sheilaism and sold as nonsense such as "The Secret." A documentary about the supposed "law of attraction" which is nothing more than Santa Clause for gullible adults with no moral compass. This is not the type of reality bending to your will that I'm referring to. There's a big difference between getting a Lamborgini by wishing it into existence and the help that you get when you follow your bliss, or your purpose. It's not about getting things, it's about living authentically. It's not about materialism, it's about honoring your soul and the higher nature of consciousness. If you do the good work of living and supporting other sentient beings in their quest to live, then you will be helped along your way.

I've just recently decided to believe that synchronicity is a real phenomenon. Believing in synchronicity does not eradicate coincidences but it does make it tricky sometimes to figure out what is and is not synchronistic. At times it becomes complicated to decipher the meaning in the events that happen in your life. I recently submitted my resignation to the Matrix. That event was largely marked by my resigning from a career as an EMT. I'll still be working part time for a convalescent service making 11 dollars an hour to spend two days a week "granny snatchin'" as it's called in EMT jargon. I have to do that to ensure access to money because I have a toddler and a wife to care for. It's a necessary step on my way towards a permaculture existence. Resigning from the Matrix was made possible by taking an opportunity to move in with family. Next, 14 acres of pasture made itself available just behind the residence. The next day we found renters to rent our house. They want to buy it but don't have the credit and means just yet. We were prepared to walk away from the mortgage. Then right on que John Michael Greer published a blog titled "Waking Up, Walking Away," which was about doing what I had just committed to doing. It seemed everywhere I looked I was being told that I was making the right decision.
The point of what I'm doing is to walk into a life of voluntary poverty/simplicity. This is necessary behavior for me to stay true to myself. There was much psychological distress being created in my mind due to my own inaction. I knew that the Titanic was sinking and I was just paralyzed with business as usual (BAU) in action. I was too confused, afraid, and unguided to do anything meaningful about it. I would love to simply get rid of my truck and have just one vehicle between my wife and I. My wife is not ready for that level of commitment to voluntary poverty, but she is aware of my goals and she is supportive, and I think she wants something similar. She's just cautious with our forward momentum into this new lifestyle. I believe caution is probably a virtue at this juncture. My head has been full of voluntary poverty, resignation from the Matrix, and counter/permaculture thinking. I made contact with a permaculture initiative in Asheville NC, "Permaculture In Action." I had a 45 minute interview with the man responsible for the class. It was like talking to myself, only a myself with a lot of permaculture knowledge. The next day JMG published his next blog "The Myth of the Machine." I read his blog out loud to my wife and visiting mother (she had flown in to SC from SoCal for my Birthday). It's mainly about how the television and car dominate American thinking. I read that blog out loud, and then in typical American style, began packing a bag for a road trip.

The next several days presented me with a confused and contradictory synchronicity. My wife has a photography business (among other small business ventures using a camera, a keen and adept thrifting talent, and a hustling internet savy). My wife had made contacts in Hilton Head SC in the near past, and those contacts contacted her to give her money in exchange for her ability with a camera. This was our business with Hilton Head and the above mentioned road trip. Now, if you don't know about Hilton Head SC, it's probably because you aren't a millionaire golfer with a yacht. As I drove the straight line of interstate monotony, I was afforded plenty of time to begin marinating in the irony that would be the next several days. I was not on this trip to assist my wife on her business venture, nor was my mother. We were there because part of the payment for the six hours of work my wife would end up doing over the course of three nights and two days, was to have a yacht club stay comped for three nights.
Just so you aren't confused about the nature of this yacht club...I'll try to explain with a bit of detail. There was a large living room with all hard wood floors and a kitchen with everything except a stove and oven (we were in the cheap room), even the cabinets had plates, glasses, and silverware was present. There was a very nice and deep sink, a full sized refrigerator, a microwave, a regular sized coffee maker and a toaster. The counter tops were granite. There was a large screen television mounted on an antique piece of furniture with two plush chairs and a nice couch. There was a glass dining table and a glass coffee table. There was a large sliding glass door that led to the balcony that had a view of the harbor with all of the yachts. There was a full bathroom with a heated fan that blew over the toilet and tile floors. The shower was even tiled up to the ceiling in large 12X12 inch tiles. The bedroom had another large flat screen television at the foot of the king sized bed which was next to the second bathroom. The walk in closet was so big that we ended up using it for my son's room, it's where he slept in his pack and play. After walking into this "hotel" room I understood why my wife told me that I didn't need to take my sleeping mat and sleeping bag. My mother slept in the living room since the couch had a rather comfortable pull out bed. I was literally in the one percent's SC headquarters.

The people there were so rich that they couldn't help but take the 99%'s money. We had to pay $1.25 just to drive over the bridge into la de da land. Once there, we had to stop at a guard booth before we entered. Entered what? I was confused as well. "That will be five dollars to enter please" said the guard. I couldn't help but think we were in the wrong place.

"No, we're staying at the yacht wife has business there."

"Do you have a pass?" Asked the guard.  To which my wife replied from the passengers seat "there should be one, can you check."

"I have no way to check that ma'am." We later found out that this was a lie, but I didn't mind since he thought we were the 1% come to la de da it up in Hilton Head.

So I handed him the five dollars and rather incredulously asked "and what exactly are we paying to enter into?"

"You're entering into a private community. This pass will allow you to stay for the day. Have a nice day."  

After about two miles of driving away from the shack, just about the time we reached the club, I was able to pick my mouth up off of the floor board. We had to pay to get to the island and then we had to pay to simply be allowed to spend our money in this private community for the day. What was the universe trying to tell me? It would take all of the next day and night for me to relax and let go and let television. I was scared to leave the "hotel" for fear of the type of filthy rich cretins I would happen across.

The next day my wife was able to pry me out of the "hotel" room to go eat some lunch. After spending some time at the rich kids park with Ayden Zen, my 20 month old son, we made our way to the "crazy crab" to eat lunch. We got three lunch specials for the bargain price of 55 dollars. It was terrible fake food. My wife and I got blackened grouper sandwiches that had what vaguely resembled a slice of tomato on them. I removed the hideous and incompetent reproduction of a tomato slice from my plate. There were about eight fries and a small cup of slaw. The "coke" that I got to drink was not coke, it was petroleum sugar colored brown. I returned it to our drunken elderly waitress and told her it was entirely to sweet. She looked at me oddly. I asked if she had ever had that complaint before and she informed me that she had never, and that she could tell I have a sensitive palate (I once ate a ghost pepper raw...the entire thing...and did not lose sleep). Apparently I do have a sensitive palate because 100% high fructose petroleum sugar is too damn sweet for my liking. I ordered a draft beer for $3.50 that ended up clocking in at about 9 ounces of supposedly local brewed beer. I couldn't help but reflect on how it appeared that I was too good for this food, until I realized that it wasn't me cause this wasn't food. I just prefer to eat food of the real persuasion, instead of the industrially produced, proto-food look-not-a-like petroleum product that is unconvincingly sold as food for entirely too much. The next day we went to the grocery store and filled the "hotel" fridge with somewhat real food and beer. I wasn't about to get hood wigged into partaking in that petroleum fiesta artificialness again.

I spent all but a half hour in the "hotel" for the rest of the two days and nights we had left in the den of the 1%. The next day my mother and wife went "thrifting" at some rich thrift stores (which I still haven't quite rapped my mind around) and that gave me several hours to read and drink beer by myself in the "hotel" room (New Belgium's "First Snow"'s a great mass produced dark IPA that I highly recommend). I stayed on the balcony where I read and watched the tourist and rich people. I beat myself up for a while for not throwing the pair of shorts into my bag before we left the house back in normal proleville where we came from. It was a nice 72 degrees on the balcony. I got hot sitting there reading, in SC. But I don't have time to go into that. I sat there and alternated between reading and watching people from my perch. It was interesting to watch. It was mostly just old rich and retired yacht club members out la de da'ing around yachtville. Every once in a while some Japanese tourists or French tourist would appear with all manor of digital recording instruments to document their vacation with. I'm quite certain I ended up in a video or two representing the 1% . Athough I was sporting my blue tie die pajama pants. There were a handful of couples that belonged to the working, common, proletariat type class of folk. They were the "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" that Steinbeck was talking about. They were there to gawk at the yachts and dream of the day when they would have their yacht. I couldn't help the irony I felt when they would look up at me, on a yacht club "hotel" balcony. They clearly thought that I was among the 1%. Any prole could tell that I was a member, and had a yacht, because what else was I doing up there.

After a couple of days I was beginning to feel as though I was being unjustifiably judgmental about the people and their yachts. I thought maybe I should give them a chance. Maybe they don't all fit into this stereotype that they so clearly fit in to. The last night we were there my wife had to take some pictures of the Bar on the roof of the club overlooking the harbor. They were having a social with half off drinks and free heavy ordourves. I didn't want to go, but my wife really wanted me to since we had my mother to watch the Booger (my term of endearment for my son). I submitted to her will and ironed the pair of pants and button up shirt I had brought along for just such an inevitable occasion. I walked into the bar and was smacked in the face by the thick cloud of rich people condescension. They couldn't even see me because there noses were in the way. However, they could smell me, and they knew by the stank that I had clearly wandered into the wrong establishment. My wife set up her $5000 camera on it's couple hundred dollar professional tripod, and I escaped out to the large deck that overlooked the harbor so that I could breath some condescension free air. My wife finished her pictures quickly and ,without me having to say anything, she knew that we needed to leave. She is used to those types of people and events from the weddings that she has photographed. She has fun blending in and "socially experimenting" as she puts it. I, on the other hand, was just as allergic to them as they to me. I was happy to leave and I didn't even eat so much as a cube of rich free cheese.

We left the yacht club bar with the fifth story view of the harbor below to go have a romantic walk along the rich harbor. We went back to the "hotel" room so that we could each grab a First Snow for our walk. I figured, hell, this is a private community and I'm part of the 1%...who's gonna mess with us? The law is on the payroll around those parts. Sure enough a "security guard" in a police cruiser cruised by and gave us parrot heads the thumbs up over our choice of beverage (I witnessed many a rich millionaire parrot head drinkin' American Corn beer behind their thinly veiled koozies that day from my third story perch). On our walk we had the privilege of getting to watch a foursome of Senator son's and daughters (a married couple no doubt) enjoy their meal from the stern of a yacht from Martha's Vineyard. I know that because the boat told me that's where it was from in large foot high black letters located on the stern. We walked right passed them and they didn't even notice us. I think I saw that one of them caught a scent of our hillbilly asses however.

That morning my Son decided to get up at 0400 hrs. I guess he woke up in his walk in closet (I mean third room in the "hotel") and decided that he had had enough of this non-sense. It was time to go home. We got up, packed, and got the hell out of there with the sunrise. My wife and I got into an argument on the way home...about finances. What was I being told by this trip into the Den of the 1%? I believe I was being tempted by the tempter...I'll call him Mara because I'm of WASP (white anglo-saxon mother informed me what that meant) descent and I like the looks I get when I say I'm "Buddhist." Well these days I may cope to being a Druid if the right person asks. I think it was some type of esoteric temptation/test. I'm pretty sure I passed it, cause I can't wait to get up and continue packing my boxes of stuff up to take with me on my last exit from the Matrix. I can't wait to take the next trip down the road that leads to the trail that leads to the virgin forest path into the mystical Druid grove. I'm on fire with synchronistic messages and I am listening with my soul.