I have no judgement about this, my final post, so have decided to follow the example of one of my heroes and simply Deborah-Hill-Cone it by publishing anyway. Noting Deborah gets a small honourable mention in my closing list, with other notables and mentors, and she earned hero status by one trait: honesty - to thine own self be true. That'll feed the haters from the get-go ;)
Albeit, I know some few grokked my lengthy, rambling prose over time, many didn't, so if you want to prematurely read to the why of this being my last post, you’ll have to scroll down to the final one third and past my wise words in between: read from the paragraph before the heading This Is The Why of My Final Post – The Death Reported Herein.
This final post is not a flouncing, it's a celebration.]
More power to Hager seeking justice. He's one of the good ones.’
[Update: on 17 December, long after this post first written, the raid on Nicky has been found to be illegal; the police warrant was invalid. Good on you Nicky for holding police to account].
Search warrants are inherently obtrusive: how would any one of your staff (or you, for that matter) like to be subjected to seeing their most intimate belongings and documents poured over by total strangers for no reason at all?
Putting one word after another is a peculiar, revealing process. This post started as a simple retort, before ending up my last post - this is my last post - and any who have read closely will have suspected that Giovanni's politick isn’t the only corpse stinking up the place in this piece.
Before I go; this blog.
Circa 2015, I'm guessing as deep as we are into the tyranny of each other, many who read this, or most, won't understand the nature of the following, and that it is a purely political statement.
Addendum: my mum was, I thought, the 'strong' one in her marriage. Yet when my dad died she started to fall apart physically and in her mind. The degradation over the last month has been alarming, and my sisters are now getting her assessed at a rest home because she can't look after herself alone. Perhaps two people can live so long together, they can't learn how to live apart.
Last June my mum and dad would have been married for 60 years, had dad survived March.
That same June Mrs H and I had been married for 25 years, officially. Unofficially in our own ceremony of two we married ourselves the previous year with a significance far beyond the later state sanction - anarchy! :)
Law101 was the most depressing thing on earth, attended by people dead before their lives begun. My 'look' really didn't fit; some of those bastards were wearing suits for Christ's sake. I chose by year two to live in the rarified elite air of literature and language only. Commerce was for the engineers and the uncoordinated on the dance floor.
It doesn't seem in me to hate people; not really. Not even Giovanni.
I have learned there can be no compulsory tax state without the full submersion surveillance state. It was the end of a free world.
I hate this new rendition of the Gulag that has been voted in. I've never voted for the fucking thing.
Morality, and my private life, are not subject to majority vote. That's a prison also; why can't we ever learn to leave each other alone?
In most Western States the tax state aides funding of a government sector representing up to half the economic activity in entire economies. Combined with central banking's artificial interest rates and helicopter money thrown like confetti to pay a sick homage to that man who destroyed the West, J.M. Keynes, we have had forced on us command economies, at the price of free, capitalist ones.
Wondering if I need to revisit that 'I don't hate' clause.
This is random, I know. I believe in a life of reason, but that doesn't mean I think in straight lines.
Yeah, I bored even myself - we were all in the same boat much of the time here - with my blog's latter concentration on fourth wave feminism, but that was only because, as Germaine Greer found out, it represents a dour ending from a wrong-turn, and thus a consignment, again, again, again, of the free society to oblivion.
Or perhaps the anti-feminist feminist Camille Paglia is wiser when she says of young feminists, 'if they want to be passive wards of the state, let them'.
To all fourth wavers - Merry Christmas. I was never the enemy, indeed I am a feminist by dint of being an individualist, and seriously, you have to do way better than this.
She is stubborn as all hell.
This could be the prose of love, I think.
Wine; posted with no further comment - hattip to the Listener's best political journalist:
The evils of wowserism became a major topic for me, summed up in my post Political Subversion in a Wine Glass: Scarlett Johansson and the Context of Joy.
You bet there's a price to wowserism, as I've written many times in here - search my wowserism tag - and as I commented on Karl du Fresne's grand post about government Mother Grundy.
Looking at some of the dreadful law out of this National Government, from Look Through Companies to Collins' dreadful Anti-Money Laundering and Countering Financing of Terrorism Act, which ludicrously killed the innovative iPredict, and latterly looking at the nonsensical waste of resource of some government agency actions, I suggest we don't have to worry ourselves about climate change; we're going to drown in sea of bureaucratic stupidity long before that becomes a concern.
But it does apply to mountaineering.
If you haven't got electronic bidets with warmed toilet seats, you ain't first world, sorry.
Have you figured out how important hilarity is yet? If not, and over 50, get back to go, start over, apply more alcohol.
A nice politician is a Terminator smiling. You're probably about to get your arse kicked (and you can guarantee they've picked your pocket already).
In case you haven't read, Aussie politicians this week are using tax law to take down the rival philosophy to state fiat money known as Bitcoin.
This is my pro-euthanasia submission made to the Health Select Committee. You may want to read it.
On literature, my passion, this was the personal favourite of all the posts I wrote.
When the last human who understands individualism passes, so will pass the entirety of human art - that absolute necessity to express a Self.
A Self is so fragile it can't survive being forced to live the lives of others. Humans teach themselves this again and again but never learn.
We are not living at the peak of a Western Civilisation; we live in the collectivised wreckage of its ruins.
A market, a free one, is merely a meeting place where individuals seek each other out to resolve their complex needs and desires, without force. However its beautiful complexity of coordination is broken in every case where oaffish central planners force their ruddy great egos between the voluntary transactions of consenting adults so the tax-state can take its pound of flesh. They need to bugger off.
There is no free market left in the West, I know this because the latest free trade deal, the TPP, was negotiated by central planners and needs a zillion pages, or whatevers, to contain, regulate and bind traders with. It's bounded liberty again.
To any clients who may happen on this I may have fallen out of love with the job, but I put the appalling amount of time in required to keep up with tax law and, of course, I love ya. How couldn't I, you're all adorable. But one thing please: check your bloody emails! You all take days to answer simple queries and that does my head in.
If our money exhorted by the tax take over the years, and I do my taxes conservatively so there's been a lot of it, had been available for voluntary giving, Mrs H and I could have made a difference giving to those charities and causes with an ethos of building self-reliance and not this enslaving dependency to the big state model turning young minds to mush and taking volition from them before they've had an independent thought of their own.
I've always done my taxes conservatively because you can't beat the state and it's punishments: the state is huge and vicious. I determined long ago to live and spend none of my time enshrouded in the cold dungeons of court rooms locked up with bloody lawyers fighting a pointless war.
I am no martyr; I like my wine too much.
Ahem; and Mrs H.
Party politics was the death of sanity and the inception of public life as a meaningless, often offensive, yawn-fest. I'm going to live my life as if the Fortress of Legislation and that dreadful Arrogance of Self-Serving Altruists who crawl around on their bellies therein, don't exist.
This is my second blog, my first was hijacked; the perp is still posting using the former URL. My wish for him or her is a case of piles as big as grapes.
I know I have some regular readers; thank you for hearing me out.
[Perhaps if the urge takes me the odd time, and I feel the world needs a post from me, good old Peter might spare me an inch or two on his blog, because I can't flounce now, then come back again. That would be embarrassing.]
Related, I love reading Deborah Hill Cone's columns, and think some of the vile stuff I've seen spewed out in comments on her raw honesty have been the low point in New Zealand journalism, lately ... off track, sorry. Love some of Deborah's 30 random points.
Above all else, be kind.
The biggest word in the English language is empathy.
I so hoped we had consigned cruelty and totalitarianism to the twentieth century. Looking at the identity politick ... no. Those evils seem to be some primal impulse we can't leave behind, even after being Enlightened.
Never be cruel (Dr. Who that one).
We are all a little bit scared.
Below is the wee dude; I'm trying to teach her patience, and not to pile out of the kayak whenever she thinks something looks more interesting. I'm not getting anywhere with that.
I've just fulfilled Mr Voltaire's quotation at the start of this piece; I've bored even myself. That's the tombstone.