My Daughter Lives in Hattiesburg, MS
August 30, 2005:
Hurricane Katrina has devastated Mississippi and Louisiana. My daughter Kristina and her family live in Petal, a suburb of Hattiesburg, and the news from there isn't good. Living as I must, there's not a damned thing I can do. I haven't even the money I'd need to drive there, and couldn't get there if I could drive. Roads are littered with fallen trees and building debris. Knight Errant can't even go to the aid of his daughter. How do I feel? Nothing. Numb. It's been that way for a long time. When you're running before the government's hounds, you haven't time for anything but survival. You tell yourself there'll be time for all that once the war is over. Except the war is never over when the U.S. is your enemy. I couldn't, for instance, do anything when first one wife, then a second, went to another man for everything women need (in the U.S., of course, that's mostly money). I couldn't get to a son's wedding (I was recovering from being rammed by a car, so stiff and sore—eyes swollen shut, too—that's I could barely move). I missed my youngest son's graduation party (made the graduation, but fell asleep in the stands—drove for fourteen hours to get there), too. Cops stopped me three times on that trip alone. Every time a family event occurred, the kind a normal father would attend, I was recovering from a bullet wound, from having been run down by a car, or the latest seizure of everything I owned. No car. No money. I was living off the fields, the lakes and rivers. So I lost my family. Another tax. Oh, I still know who they are. I even know where a couple of them are, like Krissie. But my family all seemed to kind of forget about me, too. Too dangerous, I guess. IRS takes your money and property right off the bat, and the U.S. version of Americans have different priorities than the citizens of most other places. When my family heard stories like those I tell in my books or here on the website, stories about other people who were viciously devastated (What's the difference between a hurricane and a government agency? Check with the survivors of Ruby Ridge or Waco—not much, in other words) by "Internal Revenue" collection, they did what they had to do, I guess. They got numb, too. Still, they were always on my mind . . . Like Krissie.
In the Land of the Free.
Hurricane Katrina has devastated Mississippi and Louisiana. My daughter Kristina and her family live in Petal, a suburb of Hattiesburg, and the news from there isn't good. Living as I must, there's not a damned thing I can do. I haven't even the money I'd need to drive there, and couldn't get there if I could drive. Roads are littered with fallen trees and building debris. Knight Errant can't even go to the aid of his daughter. How do I feel? Nothing. Numb. It's been that way for a long time. When you're running before the government's hounds, you haven't time for anything but survival. You tell yourself there'll be time for all that once the war is over. Except the war is never over when the U.S. is your enemy. I couldn't, for instance, do anything when first one wife, then a second, went to another man for everything women need (in the U.S., of course, that's mostly money). I couldn't get to a son's wedding (I was recovering from being rammed by a car, so stiff and sore—eyes swollen shut, too—that's I could barely move). I missed my youngest son's graduation party (made the graduation, but fell asleep in the stands—drove for fourteen hours to get there), too. Cops stopped me three times on that trip alone. Every time a family event occurred, the kind a normal father would attend, I was recovering from a bullet wound, from having been run down by a car, or the latest seizure of everything I owned. No car. No money. I was living off the fields, the lakes and rivers. So I lost my family. Another tax. Oh, I still know who they are. I even know where a couple of them are, like Krissie. But my family all seemed to kind of forget about me, too. Too dangerous, I guess. IRS takes your money and property right off the bat, and the U.S. version of Americans have different priorities than the citizens of most other places. When my family heard stories like those I tell in my books or here on the website, stories about other people who were viciously devastated (What's the difference between a hurricane and a government agency? Check with the survivors of Ruby Ridge or Waco—not much, in other words) by "Internal Revenue" collection, they did what they had to do, I guess. They got numb, too. Still, they were always on my mind . . . Like Krissie.
In the Land of the Free.
posted by Judo Knight-Errant at 8:08 AM
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