My childhood was a tragic series of injury, insult and neglect. I know the taste of blood better than I know myself. My earliest memories are cowering from the giant of a man who adopted me while he and his wife pummeled me for offenses that very well may have been imagined. My other memories are of being mocked, teased and attacked for being adopted and therefore unloved. I was arrested hundreds of times for retaliating in the only way I knew how at that young age. I do not know the exact number of criminal charges I racked up, but it would be safe to assume it's near triple digits. The most distinct memory I have of my preteen years is being called into the kitchen with my brothers for a family meeting and being told I was going away to live with another family because I was “bad.” I remember that word. I also remember that a younger brother cried while an older brother laughed. I sat there stunned that I was always right when I assumed that they didn't really love me. Since this is a touchy subject and it's too early in the day to start drinking I will leave the subject here. Readers can accurately assume that bringing it up will result in the most thorough verbal sodomy you'll ever experience. If you gain anything after reading my posts, it will be that I do not give up even when I am doomed to failure. I will not give up on you if you push my buttons.
“Wake up”
2002-2006. I was trying to live my life after being a Ward of the State. There wasn't really any teaching me to be an adult since the government prefers to throw you in a box rather than answer questions or take the initiative and teach someone to be independent. So getting up and doing what needed to be done was a foreign concept to me. It wasn't like I was by any means indoctrinated. Looking at the current leftist based movements, I was more along the lines of that, versus where I am today. I didn't yet fully understand what was happening but knew I was being oppressed by somebody. So I lashed out at anyone I felt was stepping on me. As it is with the left, the target was misidentified and I lashed out at the wrong people. I lived in a your typical high rent-low income area in a city of about 20,000. The college students ruled everything around me so I blamed them. In retrospect, it's not like I misidentified the oppressor that poorly since a majority of those enacting and enforcing fau pax feel good legislation and preaching the suppression of individuality and free speech came from that particular university. It was just that I made the decision to retaliate without thinking. I knew they were the ones doing it but I couldn't prove it because I didn't take the time to think on it, if that makes more sense. My quality of life sputtered. Things would get better and then worse and somehow through hard work I never got anywhere but started to notice that everyone else around me seemed to be benefitting from my hard work and sacrifice even though I did not. Then it dawned on me: I was stagnating because I was feeding into the beast that was preying on me. So I stopped doing that. I stopped doing everything. I stopped caring. I stopped trying. I focused on myself and the family I was trying to build. I just said “fuck this” and did me and it seemed to work.
About 2004 I ran into some problems. It seemed when I cast out everyone deemed too problematic or perhaps too stupid to comprehend that I am not there for their benefit or amusement that the local government took notice. Something as simple as a pleasant walk to Burger King holding hands with my girlfriend turned into scrambling for cover when the local Notorious P.I.G., Officer Michael Mason, drove by in his cruiser, rolled down his window and pointed his service pistol at me while sneering. This particular event came about because I was in a car accident where I spun out in an intersection during a blizzard and a drunk driver cutting through a gas station parking lot with two children in the back seat t-boned me, spinning and nearly flipping my car. Being that I refused to get a license to exercise my right to travel and that I had cast out the troublemakers in my life, that certain P.I.G. showed up and immediately asked the other driver what had happened, took my jacket, handcuffed me and made me sit in the snowbank for nearly an hour while temperatures remained well below zero and had what appeared to be a very lively conversation with her while they drank hot coffee she bought for them both at the gas station on the other side of my snowbank. He issued me a ticket and told me he couldn't wait to do it again. I was never interviewed, asked for my version of events or given my jacket back. On the assigned court date, I told the District Attorney that I would fight the charges as I had been stuck in the intersection for nearly a minute and the fault was not mine and demanded the return of my property. His head shot straight up, he looked down his nose at me and said “you're not going to fight this.” I stood up and walked out. On the way out, the bailiff, whom I have known since I was a small child, ran behind me begging me to reconsider. I threw up my middle finger and kept walking without looking back. A local attorney whose name I still do not know pulled up along side me as I walked home and offered me a ride, the whole point being to deliver his speech about how I would not live long if I challenged the status quo. I told him I was not going to live on my knees. From that day on I was dogged constantly by police. If they saw me out and about going about my business they flipped on their lights and sirens and pursued me. They sat outside my apartment day and night. They constantly stole the little money I did have in my wallet, broke my CD player, smashed my first MP3 player, threw my bicycle in a dumpster and tried their hardest to make me late for my classes at the local Tech College. Being as poor as I am, the loss of those items still bothers me to this day. Knowing the fight had just begun I bided my time and waited. I learned to call it out when they harassed me, which drew crowds of people who would chant “fuck the police” with me and soon I unknowingly became an activist. I ended up representing myself in court several times fighting the bullshit Disorderly Conduct charges they brought against me because the public defenders I was assigned all told me I needed to cut a deal and stop fighting what is and accept it, and after a total of 12 charges had just 2 convictions. The last conviction, I was accused of some vaguely worded offense, which didn't describe any actual event, and was found guilty by the judge, as I could not afford the $12 fee for a jury trial (literally could not afford $12) and was told by the judge that verbalizing my intent to defend myself from police, even if they acted unlawfully, was offensive to him and therefore a crime. He sentenced me to a year of probation for an ordnance violation! Needless to say, I moved and through the probation system they made it next to impossible to live my life.
The tipping point
April 28, 2008 I was bringing my niece a present. Something simple, a soccer ball. I had taken all my final exams a week early so I could be home with my new baby and get something I needed desperately...sleep. My girlfriend showed up after about an hour with the baby and we began to walk from the University soccer field to my apartment to pack and go to her place when a large group of people, some with baseball bats, showed up and began circling us. On one side of me was the soccer fields, with a low waist high fence between them and us. Behind us was apartment buildings. The space we were standing in was no bigger than 8 feet across. We had about 2,000 yards between us and our vehicle. She told me to run, which was impossible. I saw one option and I took it. I gave her a push and told her to bring the car around and that I would meet her on the street and jumped the fence and grounded and pounded the guy in the middle. A crowd of around 10 or 12 turned into about 6 and then 4 by the time the police showed up. I was lying on top of an unconscious guy while two others tried to pin me down and I was trying to crush their larynxes while the other was kicking me in the head and swinging a bat around wildly. After two taser deployments these three and the cop managed to get me on my back and roll me over on my stomach and handcuff me. It turned out that the guy I knocked out was a state trooper's son, so my version of events was never sought. I was brought to court with my handcuffs chained to my waist and my waist chained to my ankles and a chain leading from that which a guard held. In the end, I was told by yet another judge, that self defense, physical or merely in thought, was illegal and sentenced to 6 months in jail or 1 year of additional probation for Battery and of course, Disorderly Conduct, bringing the total to 13 months of probation to serve. I had applied for and gotten a reduction for “good behavior and academic performance” and had 3 weeks left to complete when I was attacked. Having a new baby, I took the probation and tried to make do and live my life. But I couldn't be allowed that peace. Every holiday, birthday and family outing turned into a raid and search by police. The day before Halloween I told my probation officer I was not going to lay down and take any more human rights violations and she shrieked at me how I was just a convict, not worthy of her mercy and issued a bench warrant for my arrest. 3 days later I turned myself into a county jail far from the county I was on probation in and was told that I was only on a probation hold. I spent the next 8 months in and out of solitary confinement, the latter period as retribution because I had attempted to contact my probation officer to revoke my probation, which would have let me out of jail immediately as I had already served a few days over 6 months. 2 months later I tricked a guard into sending an inmate fax to the judge, who immediately brought me to court and released me. The judge rebuked me viciously for “playing the system” even though I had been imprisoned an additional two months without Due Process. They held onto me for another 12 hours, claiming they had a lot of “paperwork” to do. In all that time in solitary confinement I came to a realization: this all happened because I was unarmed and not defending myself. To them, it's just a job and most cops aren't willing to die for a paycheck. But me...this is my life and if it's spent in a concrete and steel box, then I am already dead and have nothing to lose if I die fighting to remain free.
Upon my exit, I armed myself and started openly carrying a firearm or weapon of some kind at all times. Police stayed far away from me, with a few rare exceptions. Being willing to kill for your Human Rights is a hard step to take. You must consider yourself to be already dead. This action set a precedent which others saw and jumped on. The Right to Carry was suddenly popular again. Naturally, the mainliner groups hated me because I was supposed to be an outcast by their standards, but people listened to me and followed me. I think the biggest reason they hated me is because for decades they had been doing nothing and as a result they had a reason to exist, and I showed up with no agenda but Liberty and carried the entire movement on my back without seeking praise or attention, not even knowing the significance of what I was doing, really. It just worked and as a result those groups don't really have a reason to exist anymore and the market is drying up. I robbed them of their profits.
Open Carry and Liberty Activism:
When your NCIC report says you will fight and are known to cause grievous bodily harm when attacked or threatened the police are not quick to approach you when 911 calls and attempts to “SWAT” you are made. They sometimes do so from behind a riot shield while you are carrying a 2 year old child and pushing a cart of groceries. But what do you do in these cases? You spit statutes, case law and Constitution out at them rapid fire and stand your ground. You play their game and beat them at it. You do not allow them to approach. You do not back down. You show them peacefully that you are perfectly willing to kill them if they assault you. You show them that you are not willing to live a slave. You spank the public servant and send them scurrying for cover. I have never once handed a weapon to a police officer in my entire life. I have a right to Bear Arms. It will not be violated.
Nearly ten years of open carry activism followed my release from jail. Through this activity, you meet many people who are good and bad. Mostly, you meet bad people. The good ones are the ones you remember. I will not name the next man, but he is a friend to Randy Weaver. He approached me one day and told me that I wasn't going far enough, that I was setting a precedent but if my aim was true Liberty, then simply carrying a weapon and embarrassing police was not going to cut it. I had to take it a step further and reclaim lost Liberties. He introduced me to the Unorganized Militia. I read for months and months on the topic and realized that I was not at all on the left or right of politics. I was firmly stuck in 1776. Through this man I met thousands of militia and because of this good man, I am where I am today. He helped me complete the final steps.
2012-2015: Hyperdrive
I laid low for a long time, setting my goals on weapons proficiency and tradecraft. I used my activism to perfect a few techniques at withdrawing from hostile and dangerous confrontations like a ghost. I got damn good at it and decided that after we nearly launched into a revolution in January 2013 and it fizzled out, a more direct approach was needed. I dropped the largely inactive groups that I was associated with and set my sights on a more visible approach. This is how I really elevated my game. In November 2013, the government let me know they were watching through a certain deputy, who attempted to run me over while I was walking home after deer hunting. It nearly came to gunfire, a standoff ensued, and they backed down because they realized that I will absolutely take a life to defend my Liberties. At this point I launched into hyperdrive.
I will not knock any specific group, though I will point out that I have already called out 97% of you supposed “Three Percenters” and “Militia” as the cowards and pussies you have continually shown yourselves to be. I will continue to do this until the time comes when you either pull your panties up and join me or you show your true colors and come for me. At that time, we will decide what must be done. You left me for dead many times. I may forgive but I will never forget.
Malheur: 2016-now
The definition of the French word “Malheur” translates roughly to 'deep misfortune' which is a somewhat fitting description of my life, yet is a topic for a future post.
As always, thank you for listening.