Death Penalty

Go Bernie go!!

Go Bernie go!!

I regularly read heartfelt reports expressing dismay at undemocratic democracies, political structures and spokespeople corrupted by greed, and corporate shadow hierarchies augmenting their version of order via puppet administrations that support “the people” in name only. There is a swift way to remedy this. Perhaps full implementation would take time as these radical recommendations would collapse the current status quo – faux populism.

For a new order the first requirement would be to do away with “parties”. There would be no corporate organs driving (they use the term directing, but driving is more apt) planning, influencing decisions around or opportunity to veto implementation of unfriendly policies. Every single politician would be independent and of equal status, whether one becomes an expert in the environment or another master’s trade (if “trading” was still necessary). Politicians would need to become paragons of virtue; something never seen today. There could be no corrupting influences, for instance. The only way to effect austere measures is via the imposition of the maximum penalty and the only way to rid our corridors of power of corruption is to implement austere measures for the furtherance of the good of humanity. Any transgression by any paragon of virtue, no matter how slight, would see the execution of the death penalty. Politicians must become divine representatives of mankind. With this honour transgression comes at a hefty price. End of corruption.

There is still some way to go, because modern day politicians bluster they are “paragons of virtue” too. So, to effect seamless change, virtue should be defined in detail. For instance, there could be no more corporate alliances. Indeed, a politician’s income would not vary, could not be swayed by corporate interests and any unaccountability would see the imposition of the death penalty to the detriment of the honorary member and equally severe punishments for those that pervert the course of honour. I know it is American tradition, but the time for soft ball is over. Playing hard ball is the only way to implement lasting change. Of course, we all know the tricks that modern politicians pull concocting convoluted affairs with extended families and corporate friends. Per new order, that style of operating would be dead in the water even if it meant a lot of dead politicians and extremely disadvantaged associated networks. I hear the sceptics hissing, “Nice try, but who’s going to enforce all this?”

Yes, agreed, today their (the corrupt corporate brotherhood of anarchy) armies are bigger than those under instruction of virtue. Nevertheless it only takes one paradigm shift of thinking to corrode the goodwill bonding negative instruments. Perhaps a better way of looking at new order would be to consider that corporate power base ever present today. That would no longer exist. Corporates would simply uphold the law, if they existed at all. For instance, with powers stripped, moguls might decide they did not wish to continue on their current courses to oblivion. Let us suppose that was so – all infrastructures were abandoned to the apparent detriment to stability of life supporting networks. No problem. There is another way that could be quickly installed by new political organs. Although, I should qualify, this would mean “nationalising” all corporate entities and their goods and chattels without compensation for the estranged parties. Therefore, I suggest that moguls would be up for new order given the right balance of power.

There would be advantages, for moguls could also become esteemed paragons of virtue of near equal status to politicians. I recently read a fine post by Anna von Reitz about theoretical enslavement of man. It focuses on how the beloved US constitution was hijacked by the corporate entity United States of America, Inc. “The Constitution of the United States of America” in 1868 reduced the “constitution” to little more than a commercial agreement (a corporate charter) between the government (whip masters) and the People (slaves). The article focuses on the plight of the native Indian populations that were reduced to displaced captives on their own land. I shall build a separate post, analysing, adding to and praising the content of Judge von Reitz’s weighty text. If only there were more like her that understood the issues facing humanity.

For this piece, I must delve back much further as the problems began not with ethnic “racially abused” slaves. Democracy was formally invented [supposedly] by the Greeks but governance wielded little power and was seen more of a chore than an advantage. The ancient Romans adapted the Greek model to being something approximating modern political organs. They had a senate, senators and one clear leader. In the eyes of the Romans, man was not born free but, rather, had to earn his liberty. Even so, many peoples were untroubled by federal governance and were allowed to roam free and establish settlements on vast tracts of unclaimed, valueless lands. The reason these lands remained unclaimed is there was no charter or deed underwriting ownership. Even so, the Roman oligarchs still tried to impose global commercial controls with the introduction of global currencies (all issued by Rome). Control the money and you have the people in your hands.

The gall of these industrialists impresses me. Anna von Reitz saw through the spider’s web. I assume most, if not everyone, has heard of the “Tales of Robin Hood” even if they have not read them (or the modern volume based on them). This in reality (and there was a very real reality obscured by the robust heartiness imbued by sentiment) was set against a backlog of “real” King Richard at the crusades fightin’ fiendish Moors (Muslims) and protectorate King John seizing common lands in favour of the Crown. These newly acquired lands needed to be coveted, so a sheriff’s department was appointed to impose order. Common survival rituals were outlawed as a consequence and, to put it bluntly, we are told by the painted texts, in not so many ways, the people had nowhere to live and next to nothing to eat. Though origins are spurious, Robin Hood’s tales, I believe, were commissioned to justify the imposition of the Magna Carta (another commercial charter – between the Crown and the people). Whilst, in its original form, it does legislate for freedom of use of [now] federal lands or “federal common lands”, charters are designed to be adapted.

Where the real tyranny (hardly noticed by Robin Hood) is clear comes at the behest of King Richard, who supposedly “knew nothing” (and if you believe that you believe pigs are made of marshmallow) of dastardly King John’s theft of common lands. Once owned by the Crown nothing, apparently, could reverse “lack of” ownership. So, brave King Richard dishes out the newly acquired booty his buddies, including, allegedly, Robin of Loxley (yep, dear old Robin Hood). These, in turn, put the prior de-facto owners to work as rent paying serfs. A new slave management structure was born – the “feudal system”. Today, with rates and other taxes, theoretically no one is free. Indeed, the only ones unaccounted for are the displaced homeless. All must be deemed an irreconcilable burden on the system in the eyes of commerce as all social services (police, health, information bureaus and so on) rely on contributions from legitimate tax payers. The unacceptably large numbers of professional people reduced to adroit poverty and fringe homelessness has become the premium nightmare of those that uphold virtues of capitalism.

Anna von Reitz argues that social security is viewed as a jump start loan for tax payers under the current system of commerce. Ghost insurance premiums accrue to stock sufficient social security funds for this enterprise. Thus, as I explain in a prior post, there are over a hundred million global charities fund raising for issues that fall outside the objectives of the social security fund. If government was, as it should be, for the people, there would be not one charity. Instead of the current, patronising, tax right offs for charitably inclined corporations, for our new order all charitable causes would be the uncapped responsibility of commerce as it is trade that assures the currents of currency. Naturally there would be a high degree of scrutiny and potential debate as to the worthiness of each charitable requirement.

I have read Lance Hart’s book on Wheelism; a revolutionary extra-terrestrial inspired mechanism of government. Though Lance only reveals the cosmetic framework, which is a form of cross species environmental contribution-ism, he does stress the importance of learned debate. This, he assures, is not the mock fanfare of our modern political theatre. Wheelism gives no opportunity for Napoleonic oligarchs to hiss vulgar diktat by proxy through rehearsed, pretty intermediaries. Their debates are lateral exchanges that perfect illuminated thought. Audiences are left agog. Ours; the chattel of modern political organs, are always dispatched far more confused by the profound inconsistency of arguments than they were at start of each monstrous charade. Hence, faux populism is all about voting the other out and nothing do with legitimately securing power. The closest any would be Caesar comes to igniting political fever is with hollow promises of glorious bribes that inevitably evaporate under the weight of commercial priority when considered by the actual exchequer.

To summarise, our new system of government would comprise independent politicians free of parties. However, expert guided departments would give room for individuals to specialise. Debate would be learned and all policies and decisions would be for the people. Commerce instruments would remain in place, though maybe temporarily, and these would exclusively fund government for the people. Other than prestige, there would be no advantage gained by running politics or a corporate entity. All laws would be based on virtue and not the result of petty crusaders whims. A high degree of latitude would be given for arguments in the new justice system. Government lobby groups would be abolished, but instruments would be available and society participation encouraged (councils). Any unheard voice would be given the right of hearing and inclusion in the fair debate mechanism. The education system would be revamped and roles of children, rules of childhood reassessed. Scientists would work for the people. Craft industries would be encouraged for those with insufficient skills and others lacking destiny drive. Everyone would receive social security from cradle to grave and everyone would feel empowered being part of society’s engine.

I am sure I have missed out lots of good ideas so I will check the comments section as, in the spirit of true democracy, this will be the first entry of many on this subject. We can discuss health, “global warming”, environment, plight of animals and the banking system and lots, lots more at your leisure. U.S. Rep. Ron Paul speaks during the Republican Leadership Conference in New OrleansYour feedback is vital as this instrument affects everyone as it will [theoretically] enhance everyone’s lives; oligarchs included. Let’s face it guys, even for you oligarchs, think how much better this world could be if we got it right!


Life on Mars – Inspired by Harry Potter

Life on Mars Revision 5 with OT4

Book cover by Andy Duong – an aspiring graphic artist


I have a real treat for my regular visitors. New faces should be equally charmed. My “short stories” section is rarely contributed to so I feel another entry has been long overdue. As an extended essay, the full version populates thirty pages of large font text – not quite enough to be classed as a “book”, but big enough to develop layered themes. At least nine separate edits saw several months invested in the finished article.

Though the expressive content is nothing like any of JK Rowling’s novels heralding the supernatural hero Harry Potter, it is as equally inventive and very “British” in character. I also had a school chum of the exact same name and the lead character is based on his memory. Here is the opening, background and suspense development section. Enticed readers will be advised of “next steps” to continue on to the exciting bits. So, without further ado here is:

Life on Mars (inspired by Harry Potter)

This tale was told over a cold winter fire. Flickering light, sweet cocoa and blackened marshmallows etched the background. We were cocooned in a swirling blackness. No tree, hill or impasse could be separated from the throbbing void. Our narrator would transport us to a brave new world of the most mystical kind. Was it truth or just fantasy? It is hard to believe but this is the saga of Steve.

By all accounts the manuscript had been the only possession of a deceased medium that had travelled the seven seas. The parchment had been cursed by witches, blessed by the Papacy and nearly eaten by a remote dragon. DigitalMysticalMikeAstropatiaWe were not sure whether that was the Asian Komodo variety or some strange, exotic creature from a mythical past. Either way, the precious work had survived and now was our narrator’s prized possession. An ominous hand written message in blood red featured on the front page:

“If only they would hear me. It is though my life has been reduced to a giant dream. I walk in dazed slumber and lie with eyes wide open riveted on…something. That fateful journey changed everything. Why oh why did it happen to me?”



Chipping Norton is an average English village situated somewhere near the historic city of Oxford. We had a pond and a green and lots of quaint old houses; some dating back to the fourteenth century. This was not the place for anything unusual to happen. Every day was an average day with matching weather. In the cold season the weather turned bad. When the hot season bothered to make an appearance some nicer days sought refuge as fond memories. We, like everyone else, enjoyed ice cream, pizza and popular television shows.

If there was a difference, it was only because we were English and naturally upheld the age old tradition of cream scones for tea on weekends. Our semblance of a cricket team had to combine with other local villages to complete a line-up. The mighty Thwackers played at Abingdon town oval on Sundays in the summertime.

The atmosphere at the village was always jovial. One general store and no public house ensured placid, cordial interactions with little ado about nothing. People would meet on the way to, back from or in the store. Kids occasionally amassed on the green or terrorised the ducks and frogs on the pond.

Our house was typical for the location. It had an expansive thatched roof and was reputedly constructed in 1512. Grounds were large so investment in a metal detector had produced eighty four coins and three bolts. There was also a cellar basement area which smelt rather dank. With it came a permanently musty odour. The metal detector picked up nothing but I felt sure there was a fortune buried somewhere.

Our sun came down and went up, days turned into months, months’ years and people eventually became old and grey. Occasional rumours or minor dramas interrupted the criss-cross circles of peoples’ lives. Nothing I had heard was remotely television worthy. As for our house, well there was me, my little sis and mum and dad, of course. I’d dropped out of university. It wasn’t for me. My plan was to make some money and travel, catch some excitement; see things that would never be seen at Chipping Norton village.

I did have a trade of sorts to fall back on as I had always been good at building things. Fortunately the local mechanic needed an offsider so I put my heart and soul into fixing machines. It is difficult to know if that is why “the event” happened. I have been racking my brains as to why they picked me, why I was chosen. Did I have any special skills? Was I of the right temperament? Could genetics have been the reason? They never told me. Well, actually, they did not tell me much. After meeting them, I realise how we like to talk.

One day, I stayed late at the workshop. This was not unusual in itself. I rarely went home at the correct time. What was there to do in Chipping Norton village? Some of my friends used to head off for Abington town, but I was not an avid boozer. In fact, I rarely partook of alcohol. All the fun I needed was at the workshop. That fateful evening I noticed a strange light shimmering in the courtyard. Perhaps “light” is the wrong word. Maybe iridescence better described it; whatever it was. A glowing blue-white gave a ghostly effect, but it was not ultra-violet. Like a poor fool, I ignored the hue and carried on with my work. Why did I not flee from there as fast and as far as my vehicle would take me?

“Why oh why?”



The fire crackled cheerily. Every now and again a slightly louder snap or pop gave the atmosphere vitality. The whiff of seasoned wood burning seemed like incense; almost medicinal.

We had finished all the marshmallows, drunk the hot, sweet cocoa. A nice bed of embers radiated extra warm. Around us was a thick soupy black that just kept closing in. Were it not for our lustrous fire we would have been swallowed up whole and indeterminate from the void. The saga of Steve was far from over. Our narrator paused, cleared his breath and continued.



Chipping Norton village had been the centre of attention two weeks before. A boisterous arts and crafts fair had passed through. It was a colourful troop that included mystics, spiritualists and even genuine gypsies. Apparently some had international reputations. One of the locals learned that our village had been cursed for its role in the inquisition, but no one really took any notice. This had come from a strange foreign woman who carried a crystal ball in a small, battered, leather suitcase. Other than that, the lead up to “the event” had shown no irregularities, no suggestions; no insight as to what was to happen. Indeed things had been more normal than normal.

I looked at my watch. Save the mysterious light, it was almost dark. I could barely make out the hour. Nine o’clock! “Well, time for a cup of tea,” I thought.

Then, an almighty crack!

What was that? It sounded like a large tree had just been felled. The ground vibrated. Not being the inquisitive type, I carried on to the small kitchenette where there was a kettle, small stove and all the essentials for tea making. Poking up on one of the shelves was even half a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. I picked up a small plate, the biscuits and placed them on the side table. The kettle had already started to hiss. That was quick. I had only just switched it on.

Outside a fog began to appear, slowly but distinctly. It was the rolling sort that shimmered in the mysterious luminance.

To the left of the kitchenette was mounted an electric wall clock. The second hand usually went “clack, clack, clack” stridently. It was so loud, in quiet moments it could be heard in the workshop.


Nothing; no hissing, no clacking, just silence. It was as though time had stood still. It’s funny, but it took a few moments for the serenity to sink in. I am sitting there, trying to read a pamphlet in the half light. So absorbed, I almost missed it; the moment time stood still. When it came to me, when I realised, it was too late. “The event” was already happening; so fast, I can barely recount.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a cleft or, at least, I thought that is what it was. The wall to my right side seemed to just open up. First a chink of that mysterious light seeped out, slowly oozing towards me like sticky treacle. The fissure widened to a shaft and then there was just light; blinding, throbbing light.



Our narrator cleared his throat again. “Can someone throw some more wood on the fire? It’s dying low.” He then rummaged in his backpack and produced a tired wooden pipe and a pouch of smoking tobacco. Clearing his throat, once more, for good measure, he proceeded to fill up the bowl, meticulously evening out any odd strand of tobacco. “You like smoking that pipe, sir?” said one of his group obscured by an orange tinted blackish fog made from the combination of the fire and the pressing outer elements.

A vague nod and silence

“Um, now where was I?”

To our left a large bat skipped by. Out of nowhere, silhouetted against the darkness it shocked the be-jeepers out of us. “What was that?” screamed one of our brethren.

“Don’t worry Alan”

The narrator pensively scanned the lack of horizon hoping to make something out of nothing, then lowered his head and began reading again.




How to finish a fine read?

I hope you all enjoyed that. If you wish to continue the full read is for sale less than the price of a BigMac ™. It will not give you heartburn and you can read it over and over. My friends at Book Tango have kindly acted as sales agents for various e-book versions. It is listed on the (Penguin Books) Book Country website here.

Testing content on a number of friends, a couple felt it was ideal as a reading tool to encourage our modern youth. It is not too long, keeps the reader engaged (even in the boring bits) and there is a “payoff” (oh boy, is there just!). In fact the only criticism was; where’s part two? So, I would be most appreciative if you would all raise awareness of the tale on social media networks, even if you chose not to read on yourselves. That isn’t too much to ask is it? Harry Potter would approve.

Though the story can be purchased through Book Tango and Amazon, it is now also available as part of a bundle, including a wonderful audio presentation by myself. Harry-Potter-and-the-Deathly-Hallows-–-Part-1-2010You will find a PayPal link and simple instructions on what to do here.

Depending on the desire of wanton readerships as expressed by numbers completing the first part of Life on Mars (inspired by Harry Potter), other parts will follow ultimately preparing more serious readers for my next large book, “A New World Order”. This, in light of the constant requests for it to be so, may be produced in print. But that is for a future time beyond the control or whims of our beloved Harry Potter.