The Experience: Beasts Of Burden; Din of Inequity

The Grind Of The Mind 

There becomes a process of routine by which one has to adapt  to psychologically maintain semblance of order and the sense of progression and sanity simultaneously: you can not continuously be reminded that, in all reality, you live on the street, even if it is inside an aluminum-sided, wooden framed living space where your heat and electricity do work, it still has 6 wheels and a license plate,its still an RV .


You still reside in a vehicle..though it has beds, a dining area, an operable stove that runs on propane and functional bathroom with a working shower stall. It still has a steering wheel connected to the motor. This is our 'home'...


But it's still a vehicle.


 We live on the streets in our vehicle. A 'motorhome', yes..but this not a vacation in the wilderness. It is a family residing in a vehicle that has to wrestle with parking safely at night, keeping fuel levels up enough to run the generator, which powers the coach  lights and water pump on the daily. Propane levels have to be monitored for the stove operation as well, so that we can actually cook food. There is even a  refrigerator on board, but works intermittently. Fresh foods bought or donated are consumed almost the same day to prevent spoilage and food poisoning


Another tenant of this reality: I am still unemployed. Joblessness happens, but an extended period of time and trying: sending, on average 2-5 resumes out per day for 4 months with no offer of work, shades your optimism, coupled with the compacted (and not entirely safe) living situation. Having to don a suit for interviews (when the opportunity actually occurs) becomes a challenge, because as one attempts presentability:  you have to carry on as though your a million bucks..when your bank account is -$75.00, and you live in a vehicle..


and you have been battling illness for a month and a half. And you still have to interview, make casual conversion with the Director of the Security department who is monitoring your every response to check for any 'chinks' in your personality that could disturb the ebb and flow of his department by hiring you. The game face has to stay intact, even though you have constant congestion, and you have been deaf in one ear for nearly 2 and a half weeks, because the intensity of the congestion , as you have discovered  from a previous visit to the clinic , has pulled down your eardrum over the bone in your left ear.


Yep, carrying on like your ready to rock, yet you have to strain just to listen and respond on cue..because your deaf in one ear: your illness is having an extended holiday using your immune system as a swimming pool and spa, largely because the weather-proofing in your RV (which you live in with your family), is about as well-insulated during cold nights as an empty soda can, Your never really 'rested' at all, just rebooted without the luxury of completely unplugging to benefit capacity to recover. Water, caffeine, nicotine, sudafed and amoxicillan become an actual augment to your diet just to function.


All this combined turned an already doggedly difficult circumstance in to a grind that at times, tested the very fibers of my own sanity. The symptoms of which where not going away quickly, and finding respite from this addled state became somewhat of a battle against a sort of mental claustrophobia: I couldn't escape my physical, and couldn't find that 'quiet spacing' mentally. 


Pushing forward became monumental. Yet, there I was in mid March conducting an interview with a hotel Director who needed someone with experience, as the plethora of applicants (totaling 75 by his account) did not possess what he was looking for in this single job opening he was seeking to fill quickly. From what I was starting to gather  over this 45 minutes of questioning and casual conversation, he had made up his mind.


But it would take nearly two more weeks, and second interview with Human Resources to find out.


There is a quiet but alarming pathos that can develop when your homeless. It can overtake you without warning, and the longer the displacement, without any concrete evidence of progression that is palpable enough which to draw hope from can occur. It can create complacency, unhealthy acceptance of kestasis, materializing itself as a sense of 'comfortable' compliance and resignation..


You become used to it.


The 'New' School: A 'Different' Corruption

The children had spent 2-3 years of their collective development being home-schooled, as the Los Angeles School system was absolutely without meaningful academic compassing, and had placed focus on numbers to retain its funding per child per school rather than render meaningful education that enhances knowledge. Since 2007, American schools have seen a rise of lay-offs, school closures, pension raiding and being a tool for both local and national political posturing by both 'parties'. this toxic cocktail had resulted in the schools themselves in L.A. turn into nothing more than wherehouses for funding: fiscal favoritism based  on how many families ask for meal assistance through school lunch programs , which for a school, turns into a sort of ancillary revenue stream to bolster funding from local, state, and federal sources. Clearing state mandated levels of academic performance through standardize testing has become the primary revenue generator. The school system has been reduced to nothing more than a self-interested institution more concerned with its survival through these means rather than maintaining focus on meaningful curriculum and enrichment.


It has literally become a factory of 'shit in, shit out' for children, a place where mounds of homework is stuffed down the throats of students; and parroting information is more the goal  for clearing yearly state mandated testing every May, rather than developing skills children need to manage their academic lives and improve their cognizance skills. 


Having to home school them in a stable environment since our displacement was no longer feasible; they had to return to a brick-and-mortar school until we could find permanent residence. My wife and I also needed time during the day where focus on elevation out of this displacement could be given more attention.


My wife and I had enrolled at them Monarch Academy: a school directly serving the need of San Diego area homeless children in March. The school was a gold mine, as it not only provided a proper school structure for our children, but also three meals a day for students, and meals to homeless parents twice a week. They also provided 'shopping days ' assigned to each class every six weeks, where the children 'shop' for clothes (all new, unsold inventory donated by local business and individuals). Provided, also, was the option for children to shower at school as well. Toiletries and towels were regularly donated for their use.


The day before my children were to start, my son had expressed excitement about returning to school, in the hopes making new friends, and my daughter was extremely anxietal: worried she would not make any. It appeared, at first glance, that my son seem to also be given a sort of 'reward' for all the challenges he had faced  being patient and strong: he had been enrolled just in time for an opportunity a curious-minded lover of the outdoors could only possibly dream of:


An all-expenses paid field trip with his new class to a wildlife research facility stationed on Catalina Island. All his outdoor explorations and exploits seemingly to culminate at this well-suited apex...


My son had never been away from 'home'; from us. There were controversial feelings that resided within my wife and I. For two months, it had been just the 4 of us, which had brought a closeness that still resides to this day, and suddenly, there was this spectacular thing my son was being given. My wife was not comfortable with setting him out under these unusual cirmstances. I had reservations, so I asked him what he thought. His answer?


"I want to go!"


And off he went: his first day of school he was on a bus bound for Long Beach: himself and about 20 other homeless children from his class all crowding into the chartered bus in the evaporating night sky giving way to early morning; chattering loudly as kids do knowing a repreive from the mundanity of scholastic routine was upon them. To honor this auspicious occasion, we elected to bring the 'home' with us to give him a proper send-off. We pulled the 25-foot beast around the corner to an adjacent parking lot, opened the side door , handed him his back which was meticulous put together for him the night before and walked him to the loading area in front of the school.


As my son took his seat in the middle of the bus, I remember the promise I made to him: that I would land this job I was currently interviewing for.


'Dad..get that job..get us a home..I want to come back to that. I think you're going to get it.' 


While this was going through my mind, and my wife's emotions began to overtake her seeing her only son leave the sanctity of family for the first time, the celebratory air of pre-dawn was ripped by an obnoxious voice belonging to a frail and obtuse looking young lad wide-striding toward the bus as if to announce his presence to all within earshot..


'I'm sexy and I know it!', his lanky, spastic frame bouncing nervously by us, then  disappearing into the bus itself. He then suddenly stopped at the presence of my son's new  teacher, Dana Harwood, whom was standing mid isle, and I studied passively for a minute. She then directed him to take charge of the other students. The boy then turned around and stared at my son with an odd look of immediate disdain.


As the bus departed in that moment, my wife turn toward me asking "Do you think that kid is going to be a problem for our son?." It was a question that would unveil itself in the coming months, and expose yet another force of corruption: that being one of the psychopathy of 'celebrity'.


A very complex relationship in regards to Monarch Academy and its charity-based status.


This relationship, as  I would soon witness directly , compromises  the safety and welfare of these students for the sake of such 'public relations'. The evil being the allowance of violent behavior of a few students that damages the majority, who are already damaged, to continue.. so that certain senior administartors can have the opportunity to be portrayed as heros on talk shows and cry accordingly ..all for dramatic effect, and shameless self-promotion and advancement. This is the dark side of a 501(c) school which draws 45% to 60% of its operating costs from public and private donations; dependent on its public persona as a safe haven for families displaced. The nuance being between that of  the most unique sanctuary for at-risk children in the U.S. who have the genuine need so that their education is not completely compromised, yet being a repository for ego and manipulation through certain 'poster' children who are exploited for the goal of profit in the form of donations...


An April 2012 episode of Ellen Degeneres featuring Joel Garcia, Monarch Academy Principal, whom is being awarded for his 'heroic efforts'. It is unfortunate his 'heroism' did not lend itself to providing my son a safe environment to attend this school, and was more focused in preserving certain 'poster children' to continue this type of public relations and adulation  unabated.  Amazing how even the slightest bit of celebrity can corrupt one. But , at least the 'crying' is convincing..perchance Mr. Garcia should've been an actor..


As in all adversity, the weight of the emotional  outcome is decided by the parents. I would see in these controversial and strange three months a strength emanate from both my children that will shape thier very character for years to come. The return to public school life would be a hard transition for both, in particular my son, beyond the expected 'norm' of pre-adolescence.


These are 'the days', spectacular in the unbelievable harshness and bare exposure to elements both in the physical and the mental ; the reality of being 'in  battle', as we are still ultimately 'alone'..it was redifining all of us. Quietly.

The Longest Days & The Haze of Survival

The Experience: Part II

 

The Kids Are Alright

In the days since our displacement and being relegated to living in a motor-home since January, the one astonishing element that has been the highlight between the stress and strain of maintaining and dwelling within the RV, hunting for parking spaces at night and keeping it properly fueled for generator/hot water use coupled with attempting to get ourselves elevation via employment and public assistance, is our children's resulting adaptation to this transition..

They have been having the time of their lives.

In California, before you can register your children for school, you have to have a physical address in which to enroll them, which is kinda hard to do if your 'address' is on wheels that has to move periodically to avoid problems with law enforcement, residential-dwelling metro-sexual whiners who complain of your unsightly rig in their pristine and manicured neighborhoods, and avoiding other RV'ers who are known registered sex offenders parking near you (more on that one later). Making adjustments and readjustments as part of our learning curve for survival in this situation had become a full-time job in itself for my wife and I. The children have been the benefactors in one major way:

This has been one elongated camping trip, replete with day-trips to the beach to hunt  rock-dwelling  hermit crabs as temporary pets, ride bikes , make sand castles, explore local aquatic life , play with lizards and do the things they were never allowed in West Hollywood: just be kids. Because of delays, bureaucratic hiccups and a need to be more efficient with our situation, the children were allowed to roam a little farther and longer than they ever had, and have benefited also in one important aspect that neither public nor home-schooling could teach: the art of creativity and exploration of the world around them. It was also building character.

After settling in San Diego to regroup and re-plan our next course of action, my son said to me one day in February  'Dad, I notice when things get stressful with you and mom, you tend to get calm. I am going to start doing that' 

It was a comment out of nowhere..but made me stop and think. I had struggled with getting our generator working in the start of this chaos, but did so..knowing nothing of how it operates. I had to change the flare pipe on the propane tank so we could actually cook food utilizing the RV propane-driven stove. I also had to learn on the fly how the waste and water tanks on the vehicle can be regulated to determine when its time to fill or empty, and my wife and I had to learn where the dump sites were located. We also had to break the trend of augmenting our living arrangements by shopping for Hotels when these issues were being handled. It is a full-time operation to live in this manner: it is nothing romantic nor to be embellished upon. It is a one-day-at-a-time type of stasis, and is by no means mundane, especially for a family.
 
There are times I have been so aggravated at the limitations it presents that I grow quiet..and just deal with it as it comes. Things like weather, safe areas to park and dealing directly with life on the street are enhanced in as far as their impact on us daily. I have learned to just be calm, even in the face of being hassled by the police over complaints of our mere presence in a particular neighborhood, dealing with dodgy and nefarious people who want to get into your business either due from their insanity, loneliness, or both. My son has seen his Dad protect our 'home' from the elements , mechanical issues, and confronting (or dodging) people who are not 'all there.'
 
My son said further during this conversation

"I am going to be fearless, but cautious like you. It seems to be the best way when it gets stressful'' 

Conversely, my youngest Daughter made an observation around this time with regards to some ongoing disconnect between of ourselves and other family members whom have not been entirely understanding and morally supportive:

"Dad, it seems like nobody in the family is really acting like family. Nobody will help us except us."

"What do you mean, sweetie?" I asked.


"Well, I noticed you and Mom try to explain things to*(our older adult sister), but all she does is yell at us, or  try to tell us what to do, or tell you what you're doing wrong." 

This was honest disclosure and evaluation on her part, un-coached and non-partisan, as she had watched her mother and I receive some very harsh words from their eldest sister upon our arrival to San Diego permanently in January. It was unexpected, as this person had been our biggest unconditional advocate until the reality of the complexity of our current stasis literally visited her front door.

 It was too much for her to witness, and the eldest elected to pontificate her 'disapproval', rather than see the exact nature: she began the practice of 'telling', not 'asking': purporting her superior 'wisdom' of a situation she herself did not endure, being single with a steady government job with no one else to account for other than herself..


 "How do you feel about that?" I asked

"It hurts. We are on our own." She replied in matter-of-factly; with a hint of anger registering in her 10-year-old  tone. 

The anger being that purely of defense over her parents. When all this began, my children assumed roles driven by their innate characters: my son assisting with leading the 'exploration' and to help maintain the peace within or four-wheeled home, helping Dad with loading and unloading various things such as groceries to placement of clean clothes in assigned bags kept in limited interior closet space at the rear of the RV, and acting as co-pilot, being my eyes when I have to lane-change or exit off the roads, while my Daughter assume the role of assistant to the 'executive' in running day-to-day cooking, cleaning and organizing the space alongside her mother.


She also assume the role of the family defender, making us aware of any unsavory person or activity while out on the road that could pose a threat or problem. Even if the 'problem' was members in the family.

As her father, I had made it regular practice to allow our children to express themselves at will; allowing for honest perspective and expression of feelings irrespective of how it might possibly wound my wife and I's somewhat-fragile self image of ourselves, being homeless and jobless. My children's emotional well-being is first and foremost, beyond whatever inferiority, debasing self-imagery that was in my psyche, imposed or self-imposed, real or imagined. 

I'm grown; they're not. I still have set strong examples and facilitate healthy development  for them, whether we reside in a mansion, an apartment or an RV.

I'm still 'Dad', and 'Dad'  must come through. That never stops..and shouldn't


"Is that O.K. with you..that we just do this on our own, sweetie?" I asked, wanting truth, not comfort in her response


She paused, looked upward toward the car ceiling for a moment, as we were taking a break  in the parking lot from doing some much-needed linen cleaning  at the local laundromat, The Beast parked nearby;  a look of deep assessment came over her face ..


"Yeah, we need to take care of ourselves..Hey Dad, does that make her selfish?"


Now I paused; a response with an unanticipated question..the defender wanted answers.  The defender was making correlation between the ill treatment we've received and a 'character flaw' that might be associated with it.

My response had to be measured. It was not in me to attempt turning one child against another due to some unforeseeable events and behavior. I was still reeling from  our most recent falling out (late February), and some of the cruel diatribes that came from my daughters eldest sister. I had raised this eldest Daughter like my own unconditionally, and watching my wife, her Mother, be severely hurt by the her sudden lack of of discernible compassion was jarring. We were helping ourselves as best we could, and 'judgement' was being 'passed' at our expense, the reasons unknown to us at that time. I had absolutely disowned her for it..


The defender had bore witness to all of it


I responded: "Unfortunately..Yes. But do  you understand what I mean by that?"


Without  pause or prompting, she stated with great resonance and clarity, " Because she could help us, but doesn't want to. She doesn't ask us anything or check to see if we're O.K. She just gets angry and tells us what to do...

Yeah..that's selfish. Very selfish. I would never do that if my family needed help"

My wife and I have to be doing something right.

In  saying this, things get dicey out on the streets living in a 25 ft caravan...


Outliers in The Shadows of The Unknown

I woke up one morning and found our car's trunk had been broken into, my family's dirty laundry which was being temporarily stored in the trunk was scattered throughout the sidewalk, and we were fortunate nothing was taken. During this same time (March) I actually had two job interviews in one week..and  little money to get gas to attend both, but manage to pull it off...

Things like a simple shower, internet connection and charging up our only cellphone all become milestones of challenges when  your self-relying on an RV generator that takes it fuel directly from the main gas tank to operate the engine of the vehicle for your water  and internal electricity, and a separate propane tank which delivers hot-water and fuel for cooking: conservation of resources takes on a new meaning. 

Also, what you don't know sometimes, can absolutely shock you when you're ignorant of what is really in your environment.

In late January, I was stopped by the San Diego Police Department as my right break light was out while we were en route to another motel for a few days. After giving him the prerequisite ID and registration, the officer then asked my un-showered and sleepless personage to step out of the vehicle, and it wasn't to issue me a ticket or further check my registration..
 
"Excuse me for asking, Mr. Shoen, but are you and your family living out of this vehicle?" asked Officer  'Jay', a polite, young man who looked fresh from the academy.
 
"Yes" I answered, knowing at moment my instincts were confirmed: I wasn't going to be cited for anything. His approach suggested something above just a routine stop for him. he was going outside normal protocol. 

Jay then began, "I stopped you today, Mr. Shoen because I have been monitoring your RV for the last week. I did note you have your children with you and you've been staying along this street. I wanted to advise you that where you have been parking overnight,  is two blocks from a parole office, and there is no school within a 2,000  yard radius..."

He then paused slightly; as if finding the proper means to get his point as concise and direct without being startling,


"Where you're at has the highest rate of registered sex offenders in the County. There has been a recent crackdown on folks living in RV's either because  they're parolees violating the terms of their parole or tweekers getting high and dealing Crystal Meth. "

I just wanted to let you know its not safe to be here."

With that , he passed me some contact information where we could get assistance with food, gas and other subsidized services offered for homeless families. As he sped off and genuinely wished me good will, I was only not gobsmacked at what I had learned about what we had been surrounded by in the spot we chose as a consistent parking spot, but also came to the realization I had met, for the first time, a cop who was actually performing the job in the way that all officers are suppose to be:  public safety and security alongside straightforward law enforcement. Hence why they are called 'peace officers'. What Jay demonstrated was tactical public safety: observing a situation that was  outside his normal scope and protocol, performed surveillance as to ascertain what the exact nature of the situation is, and then act upon in context without needlessly causing further harm through over-zealous assumption and action.


That is proper law enforcement.


My wife and I being so grateful, took this information to heart and never returned to that seemingly quiet street. It did answer a curious question as to why their were so many RV's concentrated in one area, however. Sounds asinine, but when one is new to these circumstances, you don't to consider such dynamics at length: such outliers are not something we have been exposed to, so it was never focused upon nor considered.

It is impossible to get an 'answer' that is helpful, when you don't know enough to ask the right 'question.'


This dynamic revisited us, literally, during a routine shopping trip two weeks later in a Ralph's parking lot. My children had , several days before, buried one of their many arthropods they had collected in one of the planted islands in the parking lot and had place a marker so as to visit their deceased friend when ever we happened to stop there. On this visit they did just that while my wife and I began loading up the RV cabinets and fridge , having to go near a Winnebago parked nearby the grave. 

What seemed like two minutes, my wife and I were suddenly visited by a mid-sized man wearing all black, with a badge dangling from his neck on a silver chain standing at our open side door leading into the living area of the coach

"Hi-sorry to bother you. I'm Parole Officer Jameson. Uh.. Are you guys planning on staying here tonight ?"

"Uh no..just doing shopping", my wife quickly answered, startled by his sudden appearance

"Are you guys planning on leaving soon?" He asked, speaking in a lowered monotone approach, like a man trying to have a private conversation in a reverberating locker room, as to avoid opportunistic eavesdropping.


"What's going on, Officer?" I quickly asked

I was getting irritated: As part of our daily routine, timing had become essential. Living in an RV with children means coordination and movement have to be swift, as things like traffic, parking, and organizing your vehicle for continued habitability all have be done with planning, focus and deliberation: we still had to travel to the local RV dump sight, fill the water tank with fresh water, dump waste-water, get the kids fed and showered, and then finally obtain  safe parking for the eve, and this seemingly vague yet intrusive manner of this Officer was getting to me, as he was not being clear as to why he was inquiring of our intent in the first place.


"The reason I'm asking is I noticed that your kids were near that RV over there", The area where he pointed to was the near the 'grave sight' the kids had created the week before. I explained to to him this, to which the look on his face went from stark concern to relief. 

Jameson then continued "..I just want to you know that the guy in that Winnebago  over there is a convicted child molester.."

This the moment I knew that this all had to come to a close..and soon. We could not carry on this way, languishing and focused just on efficiency of survival anymore... it was time to take some major steps in elevation. The streets will not continue to provide these 'messages' of forewarning: moving up and beyond mere survival had to be enacted. Now

Within days of this encounter,  my wife had located a school specifically geared toward homeless children in San Diego and enrolled them, as to help continue their education on some semblance of normalcy; the homeschool dynamic needing elimination , so  my wife and I could start getting some form of plan enacted to get off this cycle...away from these dark outliers that could cause severe harm without warning if we stay out here too long..

And this also would begin with a phone call I would make to a VA assistance program that could aid in providing financial assistance with deposit for a place.. and a follow-up job interview I had to nail..

 

(Stay Tuned)

Corruption: 'American Idol' on a Electorial Scale

 The Corporate Talent Show:  Your 'Party' Isn't One


There is a continuing sad devotion to the hologram mirage of 'Party',  still pervasive even in this mediocre election cycle. I have often made the statement with great frequency since 2009,  that millions of Americans will come out during the General Election on November 6th 2012 and cast their 'vote', believing quite adamantly they're exercising their right to 'choose.'

 It is kabuki theater at best, as well as a den of inequity for those who are in the 7%, and really the only solution is for the last two groups who've offered resistance to collectively join forces: The Tea Party and OWS

As further evidence elections haven't any basis for being a true exercise in democracy, one only needs to take a close look at Mitt Romney, as it is not due to his being Mormon, nor being a 'Republican' (these two items have no importance in as far as the exact nature
 of this reality). It lies in his shareholder role through his company, BAIN Corporation, which is a product and direct beneficiary by legacy  via  the 1999 repeal of Glass Steagall , being further aided through  deregulation of oversight of the toxic Credit Default Swaps in the financial sector,  re-solidified  by the 2010 ruling of Citizens Group vs. FEC.  

As being an advisory and business strategy company, Romney's corporation has only one soluble purpose: to make paper, whether having a client company readjust its workforce
 to help it render itself profitable, or help foreclose a client company through asset and stock liquidation. Most telling was his unintentionally honest disclosure as to his position about Corporations achieving 'person-hood' through the 2010 Supreme Court decision, during a stump speech in Iowa back in January. In response to a question involving Corporations lack of legal accountability in their practices posed by a member of the audience, he gleefully interjected

"Aaah..wait, wait..Corporations are 'people' too, my friends!"

BAIN's sole purpose is generate revenue: They don't 'make' nor manufacture anything, nor add employment opportunities and incentives for innovation of any kind.  Whether clients gain some revenue through their services, or completely lose their asses, BAIN's sole purpose is to just make money.

Either way. 

Without skill, work ethic, imagination or talent, and with all the incentive and Constitutional right recently bestowed them to continue 'doing business' in this manner at the detriment of the working class and the modern economy.

Just. Make. Paper.

This has been the modus operandi of the American financial sector since the 1980's, which was accelerated through the Clinton Administration under then-Chairman of the Federal Reserve, Allen "let-the-markets-decide' Greenspan ( a best friend of Ayn Rand). After Brooksley Born's  career was summarily detonated into oblivion by Greenspan and  fellow  consort Larry Summers, by 1999, the self-starting, highly educated and ethically imperial Ms. Born was sent  packing after trying to do something that was counterproductive to higher revenue within the financial sector:

Attempt regulation and monitoring of those exotic CDO's and 'black box' derivatives.

The CFTC has been a joke ever since, as they have become Wall Streets little bitch, which they slap round at will (even sending some of their former colleagues to work for them, just to make sure the 'bitch' stays' in line'..). As there is absolutely no rules or oversight of any concrete measure, the money manipulation goes on without interruption, fully sanctioned, supported (and even duplicated) by President Obama, a product himself of corporate lobbying and malfeasance, as he has recently started his own superPAC for his re-election campaign, allegedly as a protest to Romney's sizable campaign superPAC, under the caveat of  "if you can't beat 'em, join  'em": duplicating the 'evil deeds' as a metaphor of the unfairness of utilizing these non-regulated lobbyist borne entities. A message insincere due to his personal ties with Jamie Dimon, CEO of JPMorganChase

Both men committing the same acts of greed, narcissism and self promoting and preservation in many respects, much  akin to their Corporate contemporaries and backers.

Politicians, through the support of lobbyists, can virtually 'buy' their way in to office by proxy,  any real contenders outside the corporate lobbyist system is summarily marginalized, and what remains in  the General Elections every 4 years since Nixon boils down to Product 'A' verses 'Product B' (and  sometimes 'Product C'): a 'choice' that isn't one. 

And that is exactly what is suppose to happen, as corporations such as the massive 
Pharmaceutical  and financial sectors create and own this process. The American voter is a hapless consumerist spectator believing itself sincerely engaged in a fair Democratic process , doing their 'patriotic duty', and, in the end, it is left more akin to a nationally televised talent show than it is determining a new direction for the nation by the will of the people. It has morphed into an elongated competition replete with its sponsors , (the conglomerate mainstream media), and coordinated by multinational Corporations themselves.

The designation of 'party' thus becomes further meaningless, as lobbyist will throw money at the candidate most likely to win and that will push legislation in favor of their practices, irrespective of whether they deem themselves "liberal', "Democrat' , 'Progressive',  'Conservative', 'Republican' or 'Nationalist'.
 
The associated nomenclature is used as a divisive distraction to impart derision among the masses, as they will divide themselves accordingly along 'party lines'.  It is within this derision that the US has perpetually fucked itself since 1970, as for every candidate that has been elected , working wages among the lower to middle class never rose, and the revenue of the affluent kept expanding without contest. conjecture and (in latter years) oversight.

This corrosive, disdainful and corrupted process was fully sanctioned by the American public. During the last 'expansion', many of us were too busy getting careers , making money, and, especially during the 80's, existing on credit over-extension going beyond our means to acquire 'The American Dream'. 

 We, as a culture, have been willfully participatory in this confluence so long as we had what we wanted, so long as  none of this ever-expanding greed and corruption of our Democratic system was visible from our backyards. All for an illusion that would sink many of us into joblessness, homelessness, and poverty.

We are every bit to blame for its current outcome through blind patronage. When one becomes fat, dumb and happy, it is hard to shift gears when your suddenly dumped in the street. A direct result of a financial system that has decided that very jobs they help to inflate are no longer profitable, and by deregulation have decided to further continue building their own wealth at the expense of the rest of us..Creating nothing, manufacturing nothing, and aiding in no innovation of any stripe..

Just. Make. Paper.

And we helped them by getting chubby off our own materialism and greed alongside sanctioning theirs. We've participated and supported, honoring psychopathy as desirable if the individual attains incredible wealth through paper chasing and graft masquerading as 'good business acumen'. 

And now, not only are we as a society out of the 'game room' between the Federal Government and Corporations, they have showed us the door while driving their foot in our collective asses. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being wealthy a la Bill Gates or even being a media icon such as Oprah Winfrey. 

There is something demonstratively amiss when the wealth is willfully attained by fucking private investors and institutions out of there money through unethical and deliberate misinformation and advise, and, to those ends, hedging bets against them to score a larger amount of profit for yourself via a complicated fee structure. 

There is something insidious happening when such institutions are still pulling down revenue when their own clients' portfolios tank, and there is no regulatory control to circumvent such insider trading the precipitates the process, making only a small group of exceptionally wealthy more wealthier at the expense of an entire nation's GDP. Further, it is not a 'democratic process' when said institutions can outright  confluence an election dynamic by moving billions of dollars without proper accounting or reporting of  such funds, and able to do it with great frequency to enhance, even, to a certain degree, control the outcome.

So, self-describing 'democrats', 'republicans', 'independents'  I have some seriously bad news for you: this election cycle means nothing so long as the lobbyist system, coupled with the crooked financial sector's insatiable greed doesn't become absolved and regulated. 

By proxy, all the candidates and all the elected glitterati are all ready bought and paid for Corporate products;  'products' of an illusionary system of 'democracy' that , at one time, any regular working man (or woman) had the chance to run for office, irregardless of what was in their pockets, and despite their background, could achieve election. The 'common man'
now is shut out; one has to be a schill for lobbyists if one expects to advance their political agenda. There is no 'will of the people' anymore, and as such, your 'party' hasn't any real or meaningful vision....

Because your 'party' does not exist.

The only party is the one currently making billions of dollars, not creating, not innovating nor expanding the economy or adding value and service to sectors that are increasing in working opportunity...

They're just making paper, running the 'talent show'...and the U.S. legislative process.







Below is an individual who forsaw what was to become the New Age of Corruption. The last true representative of the people from the district he once represented. There are too few of his kind left..watch.

The Experience:

Diary Of  Our Great Unknown- Part I




Escape From L.A.

After what seemed an eternity, we have manged to escape L.A. on January 8th . We had left the city to regroup. 8 years of hard work, stability, and connection-building has stopped for now, the upside being the energy shifted immediately to one of more clarity and conviction. Our determination to move forward in this vast and new Unknown Territory become more solidified. This needed to happen in a hurry for the sake our mindset, and our stasis, particularly for our children. As West Hollywood was currently experiencing a group of arsonists lighting random cars afire over the week of our departure, it was sign to stay away, and a sign that we would end up ignoring for a brief time when we would return over potential and legitimate opportunity..and we would almost lose our new 'home' in the process...

Acts Of Kindness; Unexpected Realities

On January 5th, my wife and I "pulled the trigger", we purchased an RV. It was a decision that we both were a bit leery of, as neither of us have ever done this before. The other limited options weren't as nearly reasonable: stay in a Hotel and continuously lose what little savings we have, or apply for emergency housing..which in Southern California could take up to a year to retrieve. We don't plan on being 'displacement careerists'  The RV itself was one hell of a fine, but more striking was the gentleman we bought it from.

Steve from Long Beach.

My wife and I went to his home to look at the old  and sturdy vehicle, repleat with its own little 'quirks': some charming, some needing a fix here, a replace there. Steve was a charismatic and friendly chap who took the time to show the complete repair history of the vehicle and how all the components, such as the generator and the propane heater all functioned. And when asked to show us one more time, was delighted to do so. As he was a friendly enough fellow, a conversational exchange began between ourselves and he...

Steve is a single parent who had recently lost his job as a crane operator at the Long Beach Shipyards due to sudden and unexpected seizures of which, according to him, he had no history of. On medical disability leave provided by his company, Steve felt they were working on finding a way to release him altogether, as the nature of his condition was potentially dangerous not only to himself, but to his coworkers on the ground. The seizure that got him unemployed happened while he was 3 stories high..in the middle of a routine unload from a cargo ship to the dock. He was fortunate in that moment that neither he nor anyone else was hurt or killed in the process.

As he was living with his mother, Steve needed to consolidate he and his girlfriends items to get some needed cash together so that he could regroup, and figure out what to do next. One of which was their RV they shared. Steve made no excuses for his present stasis, and seemed willing to offer us a solid deal on the RV, repeating that he would work us to consider a good price. The online ad had stated the price at $2500 originally, and he communicated this was negotiable.

"I sense that you guys are good people, so I wanna work with you", he said repeatedly while my wife and I were assessing what we offer in payment that was reasonable for the situation. I have often heard people state this, and have learned not to trust it instinctively: it's usually an indication they may be hiding a serious problem with the item they're trying to off-load. As I am thinking this, I notice my son had climbed the ladder accessing the top the RV exterior roof to have a look. Then my daughter followed suit. Something had happened in that moment: my children had embraced the potential of this New Reality for the first time since the uncertainty began, by daring to go up the top of this Old Beast. More striking, is that my son has vertigo and there he was, too fascinated and curious to mind his fear...

My wife and I agreed amongst ourselves the most we could really do was $1900. I decided to be the one to approach him, knowing he might balk.

"Well, Steve'" I said hesitantly "..Uh how low are you willing to go, sir..?"
Without pause "can't go lower than $1600. Now, I'm willing to through in some stuff..but that would be the best I could do."  The RV was ours..and off we went to complete our move.

Whether the suddenly willingness to drastically lower the price of this fully loaded  three-bed, 6 wheeled motor-home was an truly an act of kindness or desperation one can speculate as they please. Sure, we have had to fix a thing here and a replace an item there as we go could be perceived as  dodgy off-load on his part with us as the role of the 'suckers', but since then , this Old Beast has housed all of us competently since that time.

 I would also figure out later that both he and his only daughter were also living in the Caravan prior to our purchase of it. I would see evidence (from my own experience and conversation with him) that Steve was also doing crystal meth, and had done jail time for distribution and use of this killer substance back in the 90's.

Despite all this, I will call it an act of kindness from someone who was just as desperate as ourselves to survive and and carry forward as we.

Another act of meaningful charity has been from my counterpart in New Zealand, who, upon reading my lead article conveyed that if I needed an ear he would be there. 'I'm here for you bro'.

How is this charity, you ask? Because sometimes one does not need to be judged for one's circumstances..sometimes you just want to someone to see, listen & understand. The gentleman who wrote me this is Simon, a fellow musician and inventor whom I have had a working and personal repoire with for about 4 years, and whom I have never met in person. I hadn't spoken to him for a little over a year, yet there he was, without condition nor agenda...

Ready to listen..to lend an ear. He won't know until he reads this how meaningful that is at this time.


Another friend of mine Carl, put it simply: "Think of it as being a 21st Century Nomad", and, further referencing the movie Fight Club's initial message that " you're being stripped of all of the useless bullshit and being allowed to simplify. Many people are afraid of letting go; of being that 'nomad', because of the sheer freedom it brings" I agree: the 'beauty' in this circumstance is the simplicity and the freedom, indeed. But it also without structure..we are completely responsible for ourselves at this level of  simple sustenance, and it is without guarantee as there is no structure nor safety net or creature comforts to define our existence. Exhilarating yet unnerving at times. Also appreciated is his insight as well..

Driving around a caravan in SoCal  and living out of it, I have noticed that folks, especially around the  metropolitan corporate centers tend to look upon my family and I with great disdain and disgust: as if we are some low-lying, shiftless and classless feral family just trolling around with no ambition for employment or want in desiring fixed and permanent shelter.

The most judgmental, and non-extant group, however, has been those who call themselves 'family.' These people have given the most toxic and irresponsible rhetoric I have received on my situation, doing so without asking one simple question "how are you, and your wife and children doing ?" Instead it has been a din of pontificating, condescending, self-serving pompous diatribe, lending pseudo-advice, empty quotes of encouragement and reference and recommendation without fully knowing  the situation at hand, nor being directly in contact with it. As I always known, it is easy to render pious, angry and arrogant advice when you yourself sit from a safe place. It is easy to try to quantify  noxious (and even psychotic) rhetoric when you yourself do not have to face such challenges, and do not wish to 'see' the damage you not only cause the person with your moronic egocentric input, but also using this situation to extol such  righteous false indignation when your own 'garden' needs 'tending': Your home has its own issues, but yet you waste that energy on me and my family to 'stick it' to us, to achieve some personal sense of superiority. To this I say two things: Please continue to go your own way, and one invitation worthy of your 'input':

To 'see' without judgement is a remarkable gift, especially to those on the receiving end. It is better than money..and overpriced, crappy IKEA furniture... : )



A Comedy of Errors
Sometimes when your experiencing a plethora of change in a short space of time, several things happen: Firstly, you often forget what day it is, as everyday is different and feels like a week. Your reduced to living one day at a time, taking each hour and each new dynamic as it occurs. Secondly, 'mental mistakes' occur with greater frequency, as the speed of change doesn't allow spacing to think in a 'slowed-down', and sometimes measured  way.


 My wife and I, between the homeschooling and the day-to-day operations of our new lives had spent a good week getting our new caravan prepped and habitable while co-existing simultaneously in nearby hotels that were RV friendly. San Diego, Calif has proven to be the best place to be 'in transition' as there a rather liberal attitude in having Carvans parked on city streets for extended periods of time. Los Angeles being far more congested and corporate is vastly intolerant, and local parking enforcement demons are always at the ready to drop a ticket on your ass at any moment.


So while in San Diego, I had been having problems with onboard generator not shutting-off properly, and was in the middle of updating some worn-out components when I received a call from a prospective employer. They were advising that I had been selected for a job interview on January 20th at 4:00 pm. This was great news: The problem is that the interview was back in Los Angeles, and the interview was being held in the most congested area of L.A. at the highest point of traffic volume; A friday afternoon.


When the day arrived, I and my family hit the road to L.A. at exactly 12:09 pm. Money was a little short but we knew we could stay a couple nights in L.A. in the RV, and it would be the first time that all of us would actually sleep in The Beast, not just periodic moments of cleaning, clearing and arranging. The roads were clear, right up until we hit Downtown L.A. I being the hot-blooded Male that I am thought it good idea to park the best at a local park in West Hollywood, so as to allow time to get in my 'booth' and change into my 'superman' suite. Yes, feeling high and mighty, indeed. The problem was my wife had wanted to continue a little further down Santa Monica Blvd closer in proximity to the interview site, which, of course, made sense. As she is very intuitive and observant, she had felt it wouldn't be advantageous to settle at that particular park. It didn't look right, nor feel right to her.. 


But I am 'superman', dammit. I 'know'! Leader of my family...I know what is best! Yes! After swiftly get into my gear in space the size of a small paintbox, we continued on in our car straight for the interview. My wife, rightly displeased with my decision of parking, the reminded me something important "go in there and give the performance of your life., Act like you can't come home until you landed this job." She was referencing time when were in similar straights, and I landed $500 worth of prize money in a singing contest at a Christmas party in '03. That situation began a turning point that lead to our stability. This of a similar stripe, except far more being at stake.

The interview went exceptionally well (as they all have). A full 40 full minutes being asked poigniant questions about my working past, I felt I had delivered strongly, although being under duress from having to 'fast forward' my way up there from San Diego. In the hours after the interview on that day, all hell broke loose. Upon returning to the spot in which we parked The Beast, I noticed a parking ticket tucked neatly under the windshield wiper. Upon seeing this, we decided to attempt to find another spot in which to settle in for the night. After driving all day, my wife and I were a bit 'fully baked, and ready to serve' mentally. The decision had come to head west toward Santa Monica to regroup, and settle for the evening. With my wife leading us in  our car, and me behind the wheel of the Caravan, we were on our way..


Until, on the first right turn made,  the Caravan died: in the second lane on Santa Monica Blvd. Completely out of gas, turning the rush hour hubris into a make-shift parking lot, repleat with bitchy metrosexuals leaning on their horns and botoxed barbies acting as if this was the worst inconvenience ever created on this patch of road their over-indulged self-entitled plastic asses have ever endured. The Beast wouldn't start, and the animated mannequins of WeHo were using us to practice thier dramatic acting inflections, rehearsing their best appearance of indignation and pure anger for full effect..just in case Jerry Bruckheimer happened to be driving by


The Beast wasn't moving..and my wife and I were getting more panicked, and  speaking more quietly as a result, so as not to panic our children. She then came with an idea that anyone who hasn't been there before would say was completely without reasonable sanity: taking the 1000 lb compact car and pushing the 2.5 ton RV off the road to a neighboring corner away from traffic. My wife had grown up in the Mariana Islands, and had seen her father do something quite similar when she was a child on several occasions. I quickly set the The beast in neutral, and my wife took our little compact and lined up the bumper with the rear of the RV..and pushed it. 3 and half blocks, right back to the park area we originally started. With The Beast parked halfway on the residential street, we began scrambling to get gas with the reserve tank we had the car. As my wife was set to run off to nearest station and get this canister filled while I watched over the RV, an 'agency' showed up whom I didn't want to have any further contact with after what occurred to me in January 2011..


A West Hollywood Sheriff: a diminutive, cranky deputy whose last desirable errand on a Friday night was to deal with some yahoo who can't read his gas gauge correctly on his goddamn Caravan dash. My son immediately saw the emergency lights atop the sheriff's unit come on.., and had that look of nervousness. I immediately walked to the officer and told him what was happening.


"You gotta clear this street, it's not safe." he stated flatly, irritation heavy in his voice,  using to express it by stating the obvious
"I just need fuel, Sheriff. It's out" , I responded with thin breath, partly of having to push the RV a little further by hand to clear the street with his help, and the other at the sheer stress of having law enforcement right in front of me.


My head was spinning a bit, then the conversation turned a direction that made me almost lose my water..


"You sure this thing doesn't need to be towed ?" , he responded. The sound of this twisted my stomach in further knots: having The Beast towed meant loss of of our only shelter, and with little money, there would be no way to recover it. My wife returned with the canister, which we both filled nervously: spilling petrol over our hands and shoes trying to line it up with the vertical fill entry while the Sherriff watched from his vehicle.


The sheriff seemed itchy to possess the Caravan via having it towed, as it still occupied a good portion of the small street we sat in. "If you can't get this thing started soon, it'll have to get towed, man, It's parked illegally and is creating congestion on the street.", he said , almost mechanically, losing his patience exponentially.  


After several tries, The Beast finally turned over and we went immediately to the next gas station. I declared at that moment we should get out of West Hollywood immediately, while my wife wanted to stop by a nearby Ralph's Supermarket to pick up just a few items and to catch our breath. 


When we got there, we elected to to go to the roof parking area of the store, as it would be easier for me to manipulate the Caravan in an out quickly from the upper structure. This was a good idea at around 7 pm at night, except for one issue: a metal clearance bar strung on chains at the lot's entry communicated to my 'blind' eye a noted allowable height of 8' 2" per vehicle. The Beast is 11 feet tall...


When I completed my clumsy entrance through this sign, the metal bar clunking and banging the top of the vehicle, I noted that the exterior access latter had come clean of the top, and was dangling from the back of the vehicle when I finally parked. It had to be abandoned and taken right there and then in the poorly-lit area of the roof lot. When we left, I noted the same Sheriff we had dealt with earlier completing his pass through the main car lot below. It was time to get out of West Hollywood, and not return.


It was time for me to pay closer attention to the nuances of this situation, and mind the details from this point forward..or, through our collective inattention, potentially lose our only home of the moment. Humorous to some degree, yet sobering. 


We eventually stayed the next two nights in Venice near the beach..and I would learn later I wouldn't get the job I  interviewed for: the only reason we came back, and nearly lost the rest of what we had...


To this date (February 23rd), we have not gone back. The L.A. 'experiment' is over. 

Today:The First Day of My New Reality

A Hell-Bound Journey through Marginalization by The Dark Forces of Psychopathy, and the Evil Of Incompetent Self-Interest..with No Conclusion


KC Shoen


As I have just completed the set-up of this particular blog, it finally happened: Pinned to my door by the Sheriff's Department was the 'Notice'. After scrambling and fighting to get some stability after a horrible loss in court against the lascivious landlord who trampled all over me and my family in November, violating our rights and serving a retaliatory eviction when we tried to stop him from invading our privacy, the notice to vacate has come today (January 3) 


This is the current end-game of the marginalization I have personally been subject to which began curiously on January 28th of last year. Within this past year, I have watched rather helplessly everything I have worked hard to maintain and foster simply taken.


Evil Incompetence


It started when I was wrongfully arrested on my way home from work one morning. While getting a routine ticket for making an illegal left turn just down the street from my house, the officer discovered I had a Failure to Appear, an FTA for a court date which I had already appeared, and had addressed my traffic issues with. It was discovered that a clerical error which involved the court clerk’s office not properly logging my appearance at the time, was the genesis. Although I had proof, the court still took $3317 from my pocket, and charged me twice for the same infraction: the very one I had taken care of and cleared.


Never having been in jail, it was startling how things within our corrupted system can turn on so many simply by the incompetence of a few, or one: it can disrupt your life without warning, and traumatize yourself and your family in ways and means unforeseen. It gives a sobering picture to those who are wrongfully convicted, incarcerated and even on death row.

It is also sanctioned evil, and as like incest; constantly inbreeding and multiplying within itself.

Sanctioned Self-Interest

Later in May, I was released suddenly from my job as an Assistant Hotel Security Manager by the Hotel owner, a 'trust-fund baby' whom had inherited the executive control of her late fathers multi-million dollar fortune. Her reason? I had ‘creepy vibes’. Two years of exemplary service to this establishment as contract security, both full and part time ended on a whim.

A simple whim. There was no ‘run-in’, or hostile situation, no misinterpretation of a controversial event that I was involved in that prompted this sudden turnaround. There wasn’t any sign of trouble or politics. She just simply wanted me gone in that moment...

on a simple whim.

And so I was. Being a contractor (non-employee status) I had no recourse. But rather than be embittered, I pressed on, maintaining positive contacts with the people I worked directly with and for. I looked ahead.

I still maintained my other Hotel Security position, as I had two jobs up until this point. This one at a Hotel in Hollywood which had famous musicians, producers and investors as its primary clientele. This was important because I was attempting (as I still am now) to get my music and label off the ground. I was getting contacts, yet performing my job at high capacity and not allowing distraction. I kept my 'eyes on the prize'. This, I felt, was my opportunity to potentially make something happen…

Until I was marginalized again. On a whim.

It was exactly 3:59 am in the early hours on June 24^th,  when, in of course of my routine patrols I encountered three young people making unauthorized passage to the pool area of the Hotel. I politely stopped them, and asked if they were guests. 

All hell broke loose. 

One young man berated him for dare asking of his status with the Hotel (as was my job to do so), even calling me racist. The second individual that was with him made physical contact with me, so as to impeded my following them as they were yelling and screaming all through the exterior walkway within the Hotel, surrounded by large, fully-occupied Villas. I contacted the Manger On Duty and my partner for back up immediately, but they were too busy valeting vehicles and delivering room service to assist, as that was far more important than to put themselves at risk in giving me assistance in this hostile situation. 

I spent 9 minutes, an eternity it seemed, with this vociferous display of pugilistic vulgarity, all the while remaining calm and collected. When ‘help’ finally arrived, it was all but done. The matter had calmed enough, although the original gentleman of whom I asked his identity of the group remained vulgar, calling me a ‘disrespectful bitch’. 

I learned, only afterwards, his name was Trey Songz, and his anger  came from my not recognizing his minor stature as an R&B singer who utilizes auto tune competently.

In the coming days, after a thorough investigation by the General Manager, it was found I handled the situation was stunning resolve and patience. I was even lauded; the only thing he wanted done differently was next time to run and get a senior manager on duty to handle something of that stripe, as to make it easier on security staff when dealing with such unusual behavior from a ‘V.I.P’.  I agreed to that willfully, and was actually appreciative of his support.

The other senior managers, however, were not happy. the next three months would pass, and each one would take every opportunity to let me know it in some way. Utilizing their positions  in the Hotel as leverage, they would tell me I was too aggressive, I am not very good in dealing with stressful situations and I was in possession of some imaginary anger issue.

After taking three months of this, I was frustrated, and attempted to express it constructively. After doing so, I was then accused of making imaginary threats to the Manager On Duty, whom, during my tenure, I actually revered quite sincerely. I was suspended for about a week, and after successfully disproving all the petty claims against me through witnesses and even camera reviews of different areas of the Hotel, they rewarded me:

With termination.

Correction: with myself and the company ‘parting ways’ as was termed by the Director of Human Resources. As he had no grounds for such disciplinary termination, he had only that as a reason. I accepted the quasi-layoff with dignity and composure knowing full well that this was by the very managers who then colluded with the General Manager to make this happen. My only main supporter in the room was the Director of Security, who summed up the situation brilliantly on that warm afternoon on September 6^th 

“I’m sorry KC, but I am only one vote.”

I went from 2 jobs to 0 inside of three and a half short, mean months.

Psychopathy Loves Company

I continued to move on, attempting to find full-time work and merely survive until the next opportunity. I turned my focus toward my children and their homeschooling alongside my wife. Spirits were still good. I had inadvertently discovered an investor website that actively accepts, promotes and allows solicitation to investor groups for capital in various businesses. It was quite a find. 

I began to work feverishly in late September, submitting my business plan, executive summary and pitch . At the very moment I had the necessary components needed for submission, my wife and I were experiencing problems with the landlord: a routine maintenance issue in our apartment had devolved to the landlord getting forceful with us and violating our privacy, bullying us, proffering misdirection as to what he intended to fix, and maliciously threatening us. When we lodged a formal complaint, he lodged an eviction. 

With the help of a skilled lawyer whom is a friend of the family, we received expert advice, got our evidence in order and  prepared to launch a cross-complaint against the landlord who had willfully tried to trample all over us and our privacy, and use the eviction process as a means of retaliation and harm. We had dotted all of our ‘I’s, crossed all of our ‘t’s with every intention in defending our rights. Our attorney, who couldn’t be there at trial itself, as he lives in another part of the state, coached us well. All paperwork in relation to our cross-complaint had been accepted by the clerk’s office with no issue.

And, this time, my wife and I were marginalized by the Judge herself.

Seems the Judge and the Attorney for the landlord colluded together on that morning of December 16th. She claimed that you can not lodge such a complaint in an eviction proceeding. The Judge also would not hear of the retaliation we suffered, in effect neutering our case. 

For a solid hour and a half we battled in vein in that empty court room. Though we manage to turn the landlord into a pretzel on the stand during our cross-examination, and tie up the his attorney through argument, it had been pre-determined by both the Judge and the colluding attorney, who know each other by first name, that we were going to be evicted anyway..and fined without having our case heard as it should been heard. They were going through the motions to its inevitable outcome: pre-ordained before we had a chance to open our mouths.

My attorney’s jaw hit the floor when he heard the news. He is gearing up right as we speak, ready to rip their asses anew. I and my family, however, needed to gear down,seek shelter, and keep looking for work to survive…

I have been wrongfully incarcerated, wrongly terminated twice, and now, alongside my wife and children, wrongfully evicted. 

All in eleven months.

Marginalization: Complete

In this case and context, moral victories don’t mean shit. Period. It’s an illusion, especially when you lose everything you’re not supposed to. Moral victories are those who have not experienced true corruption and evil that deprives them of their right to just ‘be’.

It would be easier if I knew I was, in all or part, the cause of this: it would mean I have the opportunity to control and correct it by looking at it with an objective eye, without ego or arrogance. In none of these situations did I or my wife cause these events to take place. It was caused for us.

It is interesting how the resistance against corporate malfeasance and government corruption is taking shape. The failed realization in these movements is the lack of forward acknowledgement that this corruption is in every sector: from the mightiest and greediest CEO to the lowliest manager, clerk, Judge and boon dock Sheriff. No company, corporation nor civil institution is without this extraneous psychopathy, corruption and nefarious incompetence. It is the majority.

It reminds me of “Always Out-numbered, Always Out-gunned” with Laurence Fishburne without the happy ending. I am Socrates Fortlowe minus the criminal past, but with all the resistance. I am being punished perpetually, and I haven’t been given the opportunity of a 'first fuck up'.

I am being punished, in great part, for just ‘being’.

My story is not unique: there are many others, but it doesn’t take from the cold solitude in being currently in this state. There is no ‘company’ loving ‘misery’ that is expressively exclusive to you. You are alone.

Devolution

To portray the ‘victim’ belies the seriousness of the situation and its context: it is deeper than that. It is an acknowledgement that I have been marginalized, pure and simple. According to my environment and the incredible events that have taken place, it has been ‘communicated’ that, to my environment, I and my family are nothing, and can be disposed of accordingly with no recourse. We are non-entities, and can be discarded.

Terrifying. It is not self-pity that I state this: it is the exact nature of where conditions currently stand.

There is no justice, no recourse, and no compassion: in my case, it has been a façade. 

I have applied for 130+ jobs in multiple cities. Aside from a few rejections and several extensive interviews: nothing. I have 'shopped' my business prospectus  to a total of 12 investor groups since September..

Nothing.

On December 30, I launched an e-mail blast to all 26 of the bands and Artist I had sought out and featured on my radio show in 2009, enlisting their help to simply get the word out about the label, to help generate traction for it, and possibly encourage investors to see the tangible viability of the label. I even asked for their response in how they felt about it. If investment was procured, I could then offer contracts and aid in their success as they would aid in mine..

To date, not ONE has responded.

From Here..

I will be homeless soon (January 8th, 2012); possibly living out of an RV ( a Caravan, for you European and folks Down Under who might be reading this). I have no income, no source of revenue, no investment, and no home.


But that's not the worst of it...


Nobody really gives a shit: about me , my family, my situation. Not a goddamn one that I have known or have had contact with. No employer, no band or Artist I have dealt with, no Judge, Sheriff, Teacher, Welfare Case Worker, or self-described 'motivator' or 'guru', or self-identified 'friend'.


No Fucking Body...


But I am not the only one. In my situation, and in the era of Corporate Malfeasance, governmental corruption and overall narcissistic psychopathy and greed that is pervasive in this culture, the same of which, has helped to level our economy and damage our interests overseas can trust me on this: no one gives a fuck about you either.


Be glad that many of you are not on this end. Those that are know that what I am stating is the exact nature of this beast. That completely frozen feeling at the sudden realization of your stasis and station at that precise moment..


You. Are. Alone.