[The Following post is by TDV Correspondent Justin O'Connell]
Recently, I took a trip to Las Vegas for business. It was my first flight in two years, when I expatriated from the United States to Brazil on a three-month Visa, no savings, no job, no place to live, et cetera. If I had only known about the Dollar Vigilante in those days.
This occasion was simply a jaunt of leisure. But, leisure I would certainly not find in a U.S. airport. After I interacted with a machine in order to receive my boarding pass and cough up one last extra travel surcharge, I stood spaced out in line awaiting my TSA treatment. I have not been in an airport since the introduction of the naked body scanner, but then I saw it, reducing travelers to a totally blind and unconscious state of obedience. You can’t miss it. There stood a man in the scanner, holding his arms out and enthusiastically moving in every which direction so the government could get a good profile. He seemed like a child in a playground. What a fool, I thought. But, the hairs on my neck were up and my blood was flowing.
For a frayed second, I stood still. Did I have options? What was to happen after I declined the scan? I hoped the gulag is in San Diego, my hometown, and not Montana. I really like the weather here. Oh, Jesus!
But, then I noticed right there next to me the line where there was no naked body scanner. I swiftly realigned myself behind a German national who seemed familiar with the protocols.
After about three attempts going in-and-out of the metal detector, I finally made it through the strict instructions of taking off your shoes, taking off your belt – um, sir, is there a laptop in this? – and then taking out my laptop.
So, yes, I made it through. After which, I spoke with the German:
“Woher kommst du?” I asked.
“Aus Munchen.”
“Schoen. Das war einbisshen hektisch, oder?”
“Ja Ja, ein komisches Land.”
“Herzlich Wilkommen in die USA,” I welcomed him, although he was departing for England.
“Oh, I am used to this. I am German.”
I remembered that my girlfriend and I had discussed my calling as soon as I landed in Las Vegas. I had assumed airport security in this the war-of-terror-by-the-ruling-class-on-the-people was dangerous enough, and I called her to check in.
She answered:
“Hi, SV. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything is just fine. I wanted to call and say that I am once again dressed and ready to get on the plane. I just thought I would let you know I made it past security. I am dressed again and well.”
She rolled her eyes over the phone. I know it.
The Monty Python sketch that is air travel was not over. I boarded the plane and strolled to my assigned seat where, I soon discovered, somebody was already seated. I took that as a hint and let the anarchy spread by osmosis. I went and sat in a seat to which I was not assigned.
The flight attendant was on me like a kindergarten teacher on a student not coloring between the lines.
“Is this your assigned seat?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why are you in this one?”
“Because somebody is in mine.”
“Let me see your boarding pass.”
She hustled to the seat where I was assigned and came back swiftly.
“Your seat is now open,” she said.
As I strolled to my assigned seat and I uttered to someone that this was like kindergarten. He replied:
“No shit.”
So, granted, perhaps I was a bit uppity. After all, the prospect of getting out of the office for even just a couple of days was like alcohol to a sober bloodstream.
I sat down and got to chatting with the occupant of the aisle seat in my row. He asked what I was into.
“I am Silver Vigilante,” I replied.
“What got you into that?” He asked.
“I started noticing the world was a rigged chess game, man. This ain’t no checkers. This is sophisticated manipulation of all things everywhere, all the time, eventually, and all at once.”
“What do you mean,” he asked.
“I mean that what is up is down. The new freedom is neo-slavery. The banks steal what they want, magic what they want. It’s a fraud – the entire system.”
“Well, it’s not a fraud.”
“How so?” I asked.
Quietude. Finally. I could enjoy the view outside of my window seat. He finally answered:
“Well, like when the economy goes bad, precious metals just go up, but that’s like just for now. When things get better they’ll like go down and stuff.”
“Well, why are the precious metals up now?”
“Because the economy is bad.”
“No, the precious metals have gone up because those pieces of paper in your wallet if you’re one of the few remaining humans who actually uses cash and not credit have been printed in the quadrillions by illuminist banking powers through the Federal Reserve which has this country and the world by the balls – excuse my French. They’re just gonna print this stuff until we are immersed in the dense fog of fiat oblivion.”
“Well, that’s like just what they do is print when the economy is bad because they need money.”
“Yeah, need money? The ruling class has quadrillions. What do you and I have?”
A shrug.
Totally scrambled in dollar oblivion – no concept of money, no concept of economy, no concept of fairness. Just treading water while the movers-and-shakers in this world steal the future for all it is worth.
At least I had spoken my mind. I have no choice at this point. Of all things to fear in this world, my own mortality must not be one of them. Rather, the domination and submission of what I am – an antenna of the natural world – is much more frightening. I will remain outraged with my ear to the ground.
Justin O'Connell studied History and German Language at Linfield College in McMinnville, Oregon, where, in his spare time, he researched current events and their relationship to history. In his studies he has found that societies have been managed by philosophically-kindred ruling classes seeking persistently a singular, total order across the planet. Justin does not believe in government as a medium for human relationships, preferring instead the race of human ideas stemming from a diverse, vibrant culture. Currently, he is a proponent of physical silver as a means of wealth preservation and disobedience to the financial system, and lives in southern California. He writes at the Dollar Vigilante inspired site, Silver Vigilante.
