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camps Mar 2016
We hold these rainbows to be self-illuminating, that all their colors are created equal and by the minute hand of the clock, that they are well-endowed by some cheap champagne with certain extraterrestrial Lefts, that among these are Virginity, A Love For The Renaissance Period, and The Thrill Of An Increasingly Difficult Game Of Tetris. — That to see these beings, Prisms are strategically placed among the gap between the lines, deriving their telekinetic powers from the consent of those on fire, — That whenever Porcupines should quarrel among themselves about whether or not they are color blind and become destructive in these matters, it is Up to the Auroras to pick up the quill, and to begin their plan for World *******, making sure to push their celestial cousins to one side and lay little clay men on such lies and such bluntness of mannerism, as to them the Arctic ice will never melt, despite the efforts of their Most Radial Glow. Penmanship, ironically, will dictate that biting the bullet is reason enough to be declared a martyr, something that would not be exchanged for a deflated currency’s worth of low self-esteem and a heaping pile of existentialist crises; and accordingly all experience has shown that angels and men are but disposable commodities much akin to the chips left at the bottom of the bag, all while somebody is out there giving judgmental glances to passport photos. But when a mile-long trail of ants decides to pursue the scents of pharaohs, it invariably forces the same Desert to an absolute Sense of Homeland Security, and it is its right, it is its duty, to throw out the Sphinx with nothing more than a simple eviction notice, and to provide new Guards for the future of its civilization. — Such has been the heavy burden of never winning at Chess; and such is now the necessity to take the pieces and rebuild them into their former Castles. The history of Blank Maps is a testimony of those led astray by the charm of settling down and of getting three x’s in a row, all having a direct correlation to the unwavering need of an absolute Exclamation of Imagination. To prove this, just let Rainbows paint the clearest of skies.
Income is an intangible,
Taxes are an intangible,
Neither exists right now,
Only the promise of it in the future...

That's what credit is... a bet against a promise.

Which means all of nothing,
since it hasn't happened yet,
all credit is risk of one degree or another,
...based on tolerance or gumption.
If all people are, "risky,"
then all credit is risk,
none can be more credit-worthy;
less risky...

So why not turn future liabilities into income,
instead of future income into a liability?



Yeah, ...since anything that gives ordinary people power must be impossible. Jesus must not believe in individual power. The Founding Fathers must not have believed in individualism. No, ...only the state backed by a selected wealthy few should determine everyone's fate by economy.

Only a few should have it all.... opportunity for anyone else; the weak, poor, untalented, ugly, simple, ordinary, dumb, handicapped; those ones don't matter.

Just NFL players count.

Only singers and actors count.

Only bankers and doctors matter.

Jesus would agree.

Makes so much sense?
Issue tax credits against charitable work performed for charities. Issue a tradeable security valued at 50% of the hourly median wage for the hours worked so that any amount could be cashed-in at one half to market rate as a commodity. Eliminate all future income taxes by performing charitable work whilst unemployed. Reduce the costs of all service or labor by creating an alternative market for such through charities. Help the individual for a change.
The man in the middle quietly weeps as the deafening crescendo grows on…

Hoping by chance he’ll soon join the dance but knowing deep down, somehow, he is wrong?

The people who lead have more than they need insisting on evermore -till it’s gone.

And at the end of the day they’ll cry merrily and gay;

“What happened t’was a wonderful song?”
In all ancient Greek and Roman cities there was an altar in the center named, "Pity," where food, clothes and wears were left for those who had nothing.

— The End —