Withdrawing Consent

I have two passions in life. Writing fiction and politics. While this is predominately a blog on writing, sometimes I'm not going to be able to keep politics from getting involved.


This is going to be one of those posts.


The Supreme Court's ruling today fundamentally changed my view of democracy. I think that I had a naive hope we would see some curb of the growing power of our government. That maybe, just maybe, 9 people in robes would and a document 200 years old would draw a line against what 'elected' officials can and cannot do.


I found out that it wasn't so. Nine people who are intricately connected with the two other branches they are supposed to limit cannot effectively do that job. Government, no matter what kind or where, cannot help but to grow larger. Today we saw that. It is as fundamental Newton's Laws of Physics; there is no escaping it. A lot of people are asking what to do? Mainly people that consider themselves conservatives or libertarians. They're thinking voting for Romney and every other Republican candidate will fix this problem--will allow us to roll back the law. 


I won't harp on the fact that the other alternative to Obama actually instituted the law Obamacare  was modeled after. Or that the Republicans came up with the individual mandate law in the 90's, with the extremely conservative think tank, The Heritage Foundation.


What's the point in the roll back? The highest court in the land has stated that, through taxation, the government can force commerce. There's no going back from that, no overturning. It's only a matter of time until another 'fundamental right' must be improved on by the government. There is no shrinking government, not with a democracy, or a republic. It will only expand.


So what to do?


I'm withdrawing my consent. I will no longer vote. I will no longer support any branch of the government or any entity of the government. I am no longer consenting to this system, and if it continues above me, it is only as an illegitimate abomination that has no right over me. I will pay taxes, but the bare minimum possible to avoid having my liberty taken. If you don't withdraw consent, if you continue thinking your vote counts or something will change--you're only perpetuating this system that, as the past two hundred years show us, will only continue to violate property rights in increasing numbers. I do not care who either party puts up there; I realize all are working for the same underlying premise--to increase their own power and to do that they must violate property rights of others. Those that continue voting, continue supporting this doomed process and are hoping for a different result, are naive and only reinforcing the idea that these government politicians have any power over you.


Withdraw your consent.

Sometimes It's a Grind

Writing teaches you something, maybe not ever single day, but most of them. 


At the least, it's a constant reminder that nothing that matters is going to come easy to you. Today was an exercise in grinding, which is defined as: 

staying "on the grind" means to work hard, always be hustling, or otherwise engaged in money-making or woman-procuring activities. I would add to this substantial definition that is also lacks fun or entertainment, as you have to constantly be doing it. I didn't want to finish today, at the hour mark, I would have rather plucked my eye lashes out, one by one. My eyelids are still there though, and I got done with the hour. Was the writing good? Yeah, I think so--I put my maximum effort into it, even though I would have rather been watching porn or something other equally stimulating activity. And that's the point, isn't it? That even when something inside of you is saying put the pen down, drop the basketball, or whatever else your passion may be--you stay there and you finish.  John D. Rockefeller found his first job by simple grinding. 6 days a week, for ten hours a day, he walked to every business in his town. He asked to speak to the top man at the business, was denied, and then went on to tell whoever the hell was standing in front of him that he was an accountant and wanted work. He did this for six weeks. Six. Fucking. Weeks. 60 hour weeks.  When he ran out of businesses, the joker went right back to the first business he started at. There was no shame, no relenting--but I imagine there were times when thought it was fruitless, you know, maybe on that sixth week an hour before he found his job. Bet he was wondering just what in the hell he was doing outside, in a full suit, no less, and asking the same people he had already seen for work. I'm not John D. Rockefeller, and neither are you. That doesn't mean we can't learn a thing or two from him. 2 more hours closer to my goal.

Alcohol, Saving and Destroying Mankind

It's not that I don't fully understand the consequences of my actions before I do them, I just don't really care most of the time. Ehh, that's not it either. I care, just not as much as I care about getting drunk and having a good time on the weekends. 

Normally this limits my productivity to 6 days per week, as if I'm drinking, it's one night a week. This past weekend though, one night apparently wasn't enough for me. Apparently I needed two, and then two days of doing absolutely nothing besides watching the entire 8th season of The Office, and then restarting it from Season 1 (by the way, the show is like practically two different shows at this point. Only the names of the characters are the same.) So, all of that is to say since last Friday I've put in about three hours to the goal. I know, I'm a fail. Worry about yourself, joker.

Seriously though, I know most people my age surely drink once a week--unless you're some kind of religious freak or health freak or anything else that doesn't fit in with my notion of all rational souls drinking once a week. I wonder if it bothers anyone else, the basic stopping of productivity the next day. It bothers me, a lot, actually. That's the major thing that stops me from drinking more, knowing that the next day I will do nothing. I don't care as much about the feeling horrible, I can deal with that--it's just feeling horrible always leads to doing NOTHING. 

On a happier note, my novel is currently at 64k words. That's roughly 250-260 pages. I think I have another 10k left, which should put me at a solid 300. Then last edits and tying up stuff. If I stop drinking the entire weekend I should be able to have this thing out in the fall, latest by December.

On Creating

Put in about two hours today.

The past two days I've been working on a scene in my novel in which the character is shown the beginning of the universe. It's unlike anything I've ever written, and I think I realized for the first time the power that actually comes with true creation. There's no doubt that creation relies on everything you've known, seen, or been told since the moment you were born--but even so, you're allowed to do whatever you want with it. In my head, and on paper, I created a universe these past two days. It might sound silly, but to an artist, or anyone that creates; the only way I can truly describe it is heavy. 

A little like magic, too. 

Stephen King has talked about shit like that for years, and I kinda thought the guy was a bit cooky and a much greater writer than I could ever be--so maybe there was magic when he sat down and penned his shit, but for me it plugging away at keys and dreading the keyboard as much as I loved it.

King is still cooky and has probably pissed out better books than I'll ever dream of creating, but I felt that fucking magic he was talking about these past two days. It felt good. At the risk of sounding a bit Stalinesque, it felt powerful.

Creation, for me, and I hope for others, is the greatest feeling in the world.

Sorry, but I'm not sorry about the lack of funny in this one. Just heaviness.

A Beginning

I've been reading about The Ten Thousand Hour Rule for years. I've been writing for years, maybe not in the deliberate practice style of The Ten Thousand Hour Rule, but hell, I enjoyed it. One of my classmates told me about an MBA graduate who read Gladwell's book, quit his job, and started golfing. My first thought was that guy is incredibly dumb, followed by he has balls so big it must be tough to sit down. That was like six months ago, last week, a synapse in my brain fired and I thought about looking the guy up. www.thedanplan.com I have no idea if he had an MBA, or if that was just something my idiot friend was making up, but I do know he's doing it. He doesn't have a picture of his balls up on the website, but I imagine they're humongous. Elephantitus type shit. So this is my attempt at the same thing, only a different avenue. I love writing--telling stories and just getting my thoughts out. So I'm going to do it, put ten thousand hours of deliberate practice in while updating this the entire time. Today, I put in 2 hours. 9,998 hours left.