Slave by default

 

I want to talk a little about money. Money is the grease of trade. That’s all it is. Don’t go off on a tangent. THAT’S ALL IT IS. What is money itself? Some people equate it with gold or silver, or various jewels. And to a degree, this might be true, because these thing can not be consumed, they are pretty and stable over time. That is to say, people value these things over generations. They make a good marker.

Now let’s talk about life. What is life made of? You’re born, you grow up, you get old and die. What’s on your tombstone? The day you were born and the day you died, a length of time. Your life is made of time. That’s it. Don’t go off on a tangent, that’s it.

What is slavery? That’s when someone else lays claim to your time. They claim to own you, they feed you, clothes you, house you, educate you and exploit your talents as they please. Your time answers to them. What are you doing as a slave, well most of the work to make a city or culture function. In many cases, things that need to be done. That is to say, you’re productive. Even though you may doing things you don’t really approve of.

So… What is freedom? In this scenario, control over your own time. You own productivity, but this leaves food, clothing, housing and education and exploitation of your talents up to you. How do you built a city, a culture? Who does the work? If you want to benefit from the things that a culture brings, then you have to pitch in, and you do so by selling your time for money. By selling your talents for money. By doing so, you build a city for yourself and others and in return are paid money, you can buy food, clothing, housing and education and determine these things for yourselves. That is to say, you are your money. It represents time in your life and your freedom of self determination. (To have your time do as you want.)

So… The harder you work, the better you are at what you do, the more you’re worth by default. Where am I going with this?

You can’t eat gold. Quit thinking gold gives money value, it doesn’t. The only value the money has, is the work you put into it. If you do a days work for a piece of silver, then that piece of silver represents the time it took you to earn it. What is it worth? It’s worth whatever that piece of silver will buy. That’s the way it works.

The food, the clothing, the housing ect… whatever it is you do, that other people want. That, and that alone, gives money value. If nobody wants it, if there is nothing to buy..? Well, you can’t eat gold.

So… if someone else is spending your money, in which you have time (life) invested, if someone else is telling what you can and can’t buy, with your invested time, if someone else is telling you, you have to buy this or that. If you’re money is being spent in ways you disapprove, by people you disapprove of, how are you not a slave by default.

Now… for just a moment, think about all the fraud they have uncovered in our government. Think about the billions of dollars just stolen and spent to their desires.

Now… what does money represent? (Life) How much money can a common fellow make in a lifetime? How many collective lifetimes have they stolen and just thrown away. How much longer are you going to be a slave to the lackeys in this country?

I ask you? I put it to you…

George Henry Nichols

April 2026

Charlie Kirk - John the Baptist the Motivations

 

I've been thinking about Charlie's death and the death of John the Baptist. Perhaps the motivations were the same.

What was John the Baptist doing. He was announcing the arrival of the Lord. “Make straight the path of the Lord.” The people were excited, and listening to him and following him, because the signs of the times were ripe.

What else was he doing..? What got his head cut off..? He was calling out the sins of King Herod, who was sleeping with his bother's wife. He was calling them out publicly. He was calling out the law and the King Publicly. The King was torn between his lust for his bother's wife and God's Law. But the woman was going to have none of it. And set the King up for a fall. And there went the head of John the Baptist. Go read it, it's in the gospels. The words of the Holy Spirit are a lot better than mine.

Now the damn hippies brought up the self esteem generation. Everybody got a trophy, nobody heard no, everybody was a king or a queen. He's a good boy, she's a good girl is all we ever heard, as they rob banks and steal cars and kill each other because they are filled with self esteem, (self-importance.) Damn it, My way or the highway... I'm a girl if I say I'm a girl. Bla...bla...bla.....

What was Charlie doing..? He was preaching the word of the Lord. Not as a Priest or a pastor to a congregation, but to the public, in the public, like John the Baptist (who wasn't part of the Temple System). Chatlie was making the path of the Lord straight for these people. Understandable. The people were excited, they were listening to him, they were following him because of the good news, and the signs of times are ripe.

What else was he doing..? He was publicly calling out the law, and calling out sinners (the murders, the abortions, the riots, the beatings, the false witness), he was running them over with truth.

Think about all the little kings and queens out there we've created, the amoral little tyrants who's everything is called into question by this one man. This one man, where people are excited, and listening, and following.....and were does that leave them.

Just like John the Baptist, they had to shut him up. And anyone who follows suit is in danger. The little tyrants can't live comfortable in their sin with somebody calling them out in public...

I say we make them uncomfortable. Make straight the way of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit Amen

George Henry Nichols

September 16^th 2025

 

BARB-WIRE BILL

At dawn of day the white land lay all gruesome

like and grim,

When Bill McGee he says to me: "We've got to do it

Jim.

"We've got to make Fort Laird quick. I know the

rivers bad,

"But oh the little woman's sick .... why! don't

you savvy lad?"

And me! Well, yes, I must confess it wasn't hard to

see

Their little family group of two would soon be one of

three

And so I answered, careless-like: "Why, Bill! you don't

suppose

"I'm scared of that there 'babbling brook'? Whatever

you say --- goes."

A real live man was barb-wire Bill, with insides copper-

lined;

For "barb-wire" was the brand of "hooch" to which

he most inclined.

They knew him far; his igloos are on Kittiegazuit

strand

They knew him well, the tribes who dwell within the

Barren Land.

From Koyokuk to Kuskoquim his fame was

everywhere;

And he did love, all life above, that little Julie

Claire,

The lithe, white slave-girl he had bought for seven

hundred skins'

And taken to his wickiup to make his moccasins.

We crawled down to the river bank and feeble folk

were we,

That Julie Claire from God knows where, and Barb-wire

Bill and me.

From shore to shore we heard the roar the heaving

ice-floes make,

And loud we laughed, and launched our raft and

followed in their wake.

The river swept and seethed and leapt, and caught us

in it's stride;

And on we hurled amid a world that crashed on every

side.

With sullen din the banks caved in; the shore-ice lanced

the stream;

The naked floes like spooks arose, all jiggling and agleam.

Black anchor-ice of strange device shot upward from its

bed,

As night and day we cleft our way, and arrow like we sped.

But "Faster still!" cried Barb-wire Bill, and looked the

live-long day

In dull despair at Julie Claire, as white like death she

lay.

And sometimes he would seem to pray and sometimes

seem to curse,

And bent above, with eyes of love, yet ever she grew

worse.

And as we plunged and leapt and lunged, her face was

plucked with pain,

And I could feel his nerves of steel a-quiver at the

strain.

And in the night he griped me tight as I lay fast

asleep:

"The river's kicking like a steer .... run out the

forward sweep!

"that's Hell-gate Canyon right ahead; I know of old

its roar,

"And .... I'll be damned! the ice is jammed!

We've got to make the shore."

With one wild leap I gripped the sweep. The night was

black as sin.

The float-ice crashed and ripped and smashed, and stunned

us with its din.

And near and near, and clear and clear I heard the

canyon boom;

And swift and strong we swept along to meet our awful

doom.

And as with dread I glimpsed ahead the death that waited

there,

My only thought was of the girl, the little Julie

Claire;

And so, like demon mad with fear, I panted at the

oar,

And foot by foot, and inch by inch, we worked the raft

ashore.

The bank was staked with grinding ice, and as we scraped

and crashed,

I only knew one thing to do, and through my mind it

flashed:

Yet while I groped to find the rope, I heard Bill's savage

cry:

"That's my job lad! It's me that jumps. Ill snub

this raft of die!"

I saw him leap, I saw him creep, I saw him gain the

land;

I saw him crawl, I saw him fall, then run with rope in

hand.

And then the darkness gulped him up, and down we

dashed once more,

And nearer, nearer drew the jam, and thunder-like its

roar.

Oh God! all's lost .... from Julie Claire there

came a wail of pain,

And then --- the rope grew sudden taught, and quivered at

the strain;

It slacked and slipped, it whined and gripped, and oh, I

held my breath!

And there we hung and there we swung right in the

jaws of death.

A little strand of hempen rope, and how I watched it

there,

With all around a hell of sound, and darkness and

despair;

A little strand of hempen rope, I watched it all

alone,

And somewhere in the dark behind, I heard a woman

moan;

And somewhere in the dark ahead I heard a man cry

out,

Then silence, silence fell, and mocked my hollow

shout.

And yet once more from out the shore I heard that cry

of pain,

A moan of mortal agony, then all was still

again.

Than night was hell with all the frills, and when the

dawn broke dim,

I saw the lean and level land, but never a sign of

him.

I saw the flat and frozen shore of hideous

device,

I saw a long drawn strand of rope that vanished through

the ice.

And on that treeless, rockless shore I found my partner

--- dead.

No place there was to snub the raft, so --- he had served

instead;

And with the rope lashed round his waste, in last

defiant fight,

He'd thrown himself beneath the ice, that closed and

gripped him tight;

And there he'd held us back from death, as fast in death

he lay....

Say, boys! I'm not the pious brand, but --- I just tried

to pray.

And then I looked to Julie Claire, and sore abashed

was I,

For from the robes that covered her, I --- heard --- a ---

baby --- cry ....

Thus Love conqueror of death, and life for life was

given;

And though no saint on earth, d'ye think --- Bill's squared

himself with heaven?

ROBERT W. SERVICE