Tag Archives: Adam Smith


I bare all,


In utter astonishment,

Witness to the perversion of the Social Contract,

As the triumph of the Leviathan nears completion,

In stark contrast and direct defiance to the true principles,

Derived from Smith’s Wealth of Nations,

Where the enemies of the state,

And thus the collective will,

Have become the protectorates of the powers and principalities,

That are duty and law bound to defend the collective good,

Through perversion and perseverance the rally cry,

Of an insidious few has been to create acquiescence to austerity,

To steadily demoralize, propagandize, enslave and imprison,

First minds, then souls and if necessary bodies,

Creating a complex labyrinth of infinitely repeating concentric circles,

Invisible shackles to the dollar, yen or rouble incarcerated,

A paradigm shift that so deftly reasoned Mill;

They grow richer, as it were in their sleep, without working, risking, or economizing.”

The sleeping portion…
While at every step the lower classes,

Indeed the collective masses,

Work through sickness and in health,

Racing to the grave,

Fraught with imaginary numbers,

On very real papers, screens and servers,

Signed on the dotted line,

Outwitted by armies of sleek and savvy salesman,

Protected by officers of the law and court,

Sycophants, dilettantes and auctioned off representatives,

Creating you,

Debt slaves from the moment you are born,

Intergenerational tyranny mandated through force of law,

While the sleeping portion ever spreads,

Greedily held in tight fists,

Repeatedly demanding yet more pounds of flesh,

From an already and quickly increasing emaciated people,

Robin Hood in reverse,

Stealing from the tired, poor, huddled masses,


Through systems and institutions supposedly for your benefit,

Without regard or recompense for the extinction level event approaching,

Privatize, Privatize, Privatize…

I beseech you,

Do not hear these solemn words,

Let them pass through your mind,

Believing for a moment that this outcry,

Is anything new but indeed,

A story retold,

A crime of centuries,

Committed by those who by sleep command an ever greater share,

Of your blood, sweat and tears,

Of your efforts,

Of your short life,

Committed by those who through inheritance or iniquity,

Have come to gain rights without responsibilities,

Have time and again fought tooth and nail,

panem et circenses,

Through bread and circuses,

Inadequate education,
Devoid of the gymnasium principles,

That freed us from the shadows,

Delivered us from the cave,
Disinformation, deliberately dedicated to disillusion,

Creating a permeable apathy that serves them while you sweat

And again while they sleep.

Let this not be revelation,

But instead eureka,

For what is true in the USA, is just as true, if not more,

In the lower developed economies,

Where the sleeping portion increases through manipulation,

Lies, deceit and theft,

Under the guise of improving impoverished communities,

With scraps from the golden plate,

Of a limited few in Ivory towers,
Who as masters with invisible strings,

(to you),

For their strings are the bought and paid for slaves,

Leaders who can be corrupted celebrating the slow pace of progress,

And their minions,


Concerned with convincing completely the fallacy of

The so called trickle down economics,

Whereby trickle is the key word,

Urine trickles too,

While the lifeblood of the sleeping portion,

Soars above your every breath,

Right to the nearest tower,

For remittance to the corrupters.

I too know why the caged bird sings,

And proverbially the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,

For as I sit in the white walls of my own incarceration,

I sing mightily,

Standing opposed to the obvious oppression,

Longing for the succession of the minds, souls and bodies,

Of those teeming huddled masses,

To unite,

In overwhelming universal before its too late outcry,

Demanding the changes,

For without the trickle will become less,

The upstream torrent to Ivory towers of glass, cement and steel more,

And the scraps will no longer be familiar,

More empire of dirt,

Less tasty throwaway morsel,

Of the sleeping portions.

In what would they have been wronged if society had, from the beginning, reserved the right of taxing the spontaneous increase of rent, to the highest amount required by financial exigencies?”
John Stuart Mill



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Good Sender Hunting


Since my birth I have shirked convention,

I am FAR from conventional,

I guess some of you might call me a pain in the ass,

Especially those that never did nor could get me,

But if we are calling spades, let us call this spade what it really is;

I have at various points of my life worked as a video clerk,

A flyer guy for a start up Pastry store,

A Customer Service agent at a utility call centre,

I have owned and operated two consulting firms both far ahead of their time,

With a partner who still luckily adores me,

Started a Philanthropy,

G O O D P E O P L E… cause that is what we are, right?

I have worked as a trash compactor service repairman,

A private investigator,

A Club promoter

And have I left anything out,

Chef and even an Online Retail General Manager

Oh yeah, not to mention…


…a political operative at all levels of the democratic process in Canada

and around the world!


Since my birth I have shirked convention,

Why should I try to fit my square

Into your circle?


I have been everything to everybody and ultimately,

Nothing to myself,

I have done enough to survive,

Knowing that at some point survival would come in handy,

And it has,

Just look at me now,

Life is my oyster,

Despite and in spite of all my pain,

Twice lost children

And all I could do was cry,

Three times lost love,

And all I could do was cry…
But I march on,

Press on,


Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

I have attended the best schools and the best universities,

None of which knew what to do with me,

I have spit up the mental vomit that was required of me,

And still feel the putrid bile in my throat,

And then some,

All in an effort to get a piece of paper,

That said I was educated,

An empty promise from our schools I assure you.



Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

I have whacked my head against the wall many times, too many to count,

I have thrown shit against the wall and tried to see

What might stick?

And it never did,

And so I wonder;


Since my birth, I have shirked convention,

On many a whim I can quote Plato,

Aristotle and NWA in the same paragraph,

Drawing conclusions and making assumptions that few could ever see,

Nor dare to,

Lacking the conviction to think for themselves,

I can remember the first time I was called a liar,

I mean truly a liar,

By a librarian,

Because I had read 100 books in a summer,

I was so surprised that a woman of letters,

A woman I had been taught to respect,

Would have so little faith in an inquiring mind,

To belittle her thought

I asked her to flip any book to a page,

So I could demonstrate to her,

What a great mind looked like,

Needless to say she never questioned me again,

Though I still feel this great mind is in need of more,

Do you understand?

Can you?


I have studied the classics,

All of them,

Not in school,

Not in a classroom setting and not because I have to,

I studied them looking for that piece of me

that might somehow make sense of my life,

Great reads to be sure,

Great mind developed in tow,

Inspiring great minds as well,

May I inspire you?


Though I still seek the answers,

Do you know where I could look?

Do you know where I should look?


I have read, thought about and drawn my own conclusions,

On Smith, Hobbes and Locke,

Coming to Rousseau and knowing that I do think,

And that is the only thing that I can be certain of,

Well that and I can write,





Dickens has entranced me,

Falling into two cities like they were equal but separate parts of my brain,

Bipolar hemispheres that are in constant duel,

Black dog howling,

Virginia Woolf crying,

Churchill smoking a Churchill,

Hemingway with a shotgun in his mouth,

Shelley, Tennyson, and Mohammad have wooed me,

I have had my eyes opened, by Cohen, Kissinger, and Machiavelli,

I have consumed with great interest Dante,

The Divine Comedy is right,

Funny I cannot peg which circle of hell I belong to,

Tragedy though seemingly my path,

Though I can tell which of the seven deadly sins I have committed,

I have been victim to the giants of the literary world,

Been the willing passenger to the other shirkers of convention;

Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Wolfe, and Mailer,

I have stood on the edge with Dylan both Bob and Thomas,

Also looking at religion with an open heart and mind,

Though drawing conclusions that so few people like,




Poe has hugged me,

I have been beat up by Shakespeare,

Enthralled by Bronte and Austin,

I have consumed mass amounts of Vodka,

Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy counted amongst my mental friends,

Despite their constant battles,

Rasputin always wins;


I have read the Bible, The Koran, Torah, and Bhagavad-Gita,

In search of an answer that never comes,

Will it ever,

Perhaps in the end?

I have had conversations with Rabindranath and Flaubert,

Contemplated the nature of life with Darwin,

And questioned it with Kafka and Rushdie,

I have dreamed with Cervantes and Balzac

(damn Absinthe almost made me sane)

While William Golding laughed from the corner;

As he chuckled; “Piggy, piggy, piggy,”

All I heard was “Sender, Sender, Sender…”


I need not respond as George Bernard Shaw sent him packing,

Embraced by Chaucer and held in place,

At every step of the way,

By a system that had no concept of what to do with me,

But I have survived,


For all the haters,


Those who have doubted me.


I have been told that my brain is too big to fail,

Kind of like American Banks,

Save that I have no need of a government bailout,

For the government has failed me too,

At every step of the way,

Corrupt for them,

Corrupted by them,

To the point of personal destruction.


Good Sender Hunting,

Is now where I am?


And I am hunting,

For you, wherever you are,

I am hunting,

Looking for the freedom of expression that is guaranteed me,

The peace, order, and good government that we profess,

The ability to find meaningful work,

To inspire,

To uplift,

To inform and bring joy,

To study as I please,

To write as I please,

To find a way to survive in this world,

That has no use for me,

Except these words,

And in the end my soul friends have always been words,

On a page,

Written by men and women in a far off land and time,

Wondering if I would have hit the same wall,

Thrown the same shit,

And suffered the same sacrifice,

In the name of survival,

In their ages,

Or would I be celebrated like sages?


Good Sender Hunting,

but my life no movie,

though if it were surely a tragedy


And all I want,

Is to have a place,

That I can call home,

Is it here, now, with you? Figurative!


Not more nor less than I need to survive and thrive,

One word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time;



For I am not in control of the many parts of me,

That led me to this page,

These words,

This continent,

This country,

This city,

These kids…


I am a maverick,

A modern renaissance man in search of civilization’s enlightenment,

Have any of you seen it,

Heard it,

Felt it,

Can you point me in the write (intentioned) direction?

Because really,

I am lost,

And hunting

definitely an original,

For Sender.

Will you help me?

Because I really like apples…



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