* REMEMBER... The Free State Project s* * Second Annual Porcupine Freedom Festival* * is happening on* * Saturday, July 23, 2005, thru Sunday, July
Message 1 of 1
, Apr 5, 2005
The Free State Project’s Second Annual Porcupine Freedom Festival is happening on Saturday, July 23, 2005, thru Sunday, July 31, 2005 at Rogers Campground & Motel, Lancaster, New Hampshire 4/3/05: PORCFEST SPAM #3
SO NO BS: WE GOTTA TALK!
First things first:
This week’s PFS is going out to a LOT of new email lists and a LOT of
new people. The First Commandment is PorcFest Spam is...send it along
to other people you know who love liberty. The reason the PFS job is
commissioned is because the Free State Project doesn’t have any money.
So guerrilla marketing is the order of the day. Spead it around. And
for those of you who haven't seen the first two PorcFest Spams (or the
first two chapters of Supercharged Solitons, a novel of the future
about America and the Free State), you can catch them all online at
And of course for
those of you who don’t want to be on the PFS list, just reply and save
“remove,” and I’ll take you off (but you’ll be missing to good stuff
about the upcoming PorcFest!).
SPEAKERS? We have
Libertarian Party Presidential candidate Michael Badnarik (himself a
committed Porcupine) will be speaking, no doubt about his experiences
running for President, the Constitution (sorely under attack), and
other matters for which he is eminently qualified.
Also speaking will
be the founder and president of the Coalition of New Hampshire
Taxpayers (CNHT), Ed Naile (who also gave a great talk to the assembled
Porcupines at the 2004 PorcFest). Take a look at the excellent CNHT web
site at http://www.cnht.org/.
Ed said he’ll be talking about the CNHT,
“insider politics,” handling the press, and taxpayer movements all over
the Free State. Ed, by the way, led a protest on April 1st at Dartmouth
University: If the students want to vote in New Hampshire elections, he
reasoned, then New Hampshirites should have the right to vote in the
Dartmouth Trustees elections!
Then there’s Dr.
Jason Sorens, the founder of the Free State Project and ne plus ultra
of Porcupinedom. Caught at home, I asked him what he wanted to talk
about. After hemming and hawing a little, he said the FSP leadership
would probably be conferring on the subject collectively (please! not
to mention that word!). But he did allow as how “we really need to talk
about where we’ve been as a movement, where we are now, and where we’re
going.” Sounds like something every Porcupine is going to want to hear
Amanda Phillips, the
FSP President and tireless agitator for migrating Porcupines, will also
speak. But I couldn’t catch her before this PFS went out. She’ll
doubtless get back to me by next week. I’ll keep you all in the loop.
Next week I want to
talk about a specific happening at the PorcFest, the Mock Town Meeting.
Have you ever wondered how a New England town meeting really works?
Mary Gere, a member of the town of Unity’s Board of Selectmen for 8
years, is setting up just that. I understand that already some of the
selectmen in Unity are lining up to be spectators, so they can heckle
the “stand-in selectmen.” I’ll be talking to Mary this week, and will
clue everyone in to exactly what kind of learning process you can
expect on Thursday afternoon, July 28th, in the town of Unity. This is
a must-not-miss opportunity to figure out exactly how town-level
democracy really works!
You need to be a part of it! For all information about the PorcFest
2005, plus to find out how you and your family can take part, see
Join with us—every one of you—in
both attending and helping to publicize the 2nd Annual Free State
Project Porcupine Freedom Festival...aka the “PorcFest 2005.”
2. Forward this email to your own email
lists. We all have lists of friends, family, and freedom-lovers we
know, and they should all have the opportunity to plan on attending
PorcFest 2005. So when you receive this “PorcFest spam,” pass it on!
3. In 2004 the We’ll Be There List topped
out at about 177, and over 300 people attended over the course of the
2004 PorcFest. Today there are already 183 on the 2005 List, and we’re
still months away!) Check out who’s already signed up at
add yourself to the list.
6. If you have any questions, email Varrin
Swearingen, the “PFC” this year (“Porc Fest Czar”) at
or me, Tim Condon, at tim@...
(813-251-2626). Many people are helping put this incredible gathering
together, but we need you too. You canhelp out by joining our “planning
email list” at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/porcfest2005.
(See You At The Porc Fest!)
SOLITONS, Chapter 3, By Tim Condon
Frank Bennett heard the voice
of the woman he loved, his wife Linda, on the phone. "Hi Baby. Wake you
He could hear her
shifting in the bed, and visualized her smooth perfect body as she
rolled over to peer at the low-light LCD clock by their bed. "Hmm-m-m."
She yawned into the telephone. "Hell no," she murmured sarcastically.
"You know I stay up till 3:00 a.m. every morning. I just love it."
Bennett laughed, a
low private chuckle. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know I'm was leaving
now; I'll be home in about a half hour."
She was waking up
now. "Do be careful, honey. It’s late. The gangs....”
"Not to worry,” he
responded. “When I get there I'll going to kiss you right on the lips."
A low chuckle
issued from her, slightly distorted by the telephone receiver. "Which
It was Bennett's
turn to laugh. "Naughty, naughty, you have a dirty little mind,” he
said with a lewd overtone. “In the meantime, watch your back; never can
tell when the block committee might be monitoring the phones."
"It's not my back
I'm worried about," she replied with a soft emphasis on the word. "I
want you to come home and kiss me all over." She chuckled her low,
throaty laugh again, the way he so loved. "In fact, come home right now
and make love to me, my love.”
"Don't move, don't
move," he replied in mock agitation, “I’m coming...I mean I’m on my
“Be careful,” she
murmured. “I love you.”
“I will. I do.
Love you,” he said back.
leaned back in the chair again and watched the computer spew the last
of the information onto the folded paper; he smiled at his mind's
picture of the wife he loved...and loved to love. They had met four
years before, when he had taught an undergrad physics seminar at the
university. "Dancing with dunces" the course had been nicknamed by the
physics professors; it was designed for non-science majors, to round
out undergraduate knowledge with a smattering of science. She had
approached him after the very first class. "Why the hole in the
jacket?" she had boldly asked.
"My first lesson
in applied physics," he'd answered.
straight strawberry blond hair---just the opposite of the variegated
and frizzed hairstyles that had become so common---had fallen across
her shoulders and blown into her eyes the first time they went out. He
liked the fact that she was unconcerned with the fashions of the time.
It had surprised him that she was such a free-thinker, yet a journalism
major. It was well known that the professors of journalism at UM—like
most professors everywhere—frowned on independent thinking. "Stick with
the government experts," they always urged, with the unspoken warning
that the national licensing board could snatch your journalism license
at any time they wanted.
Excellence Resource for Knowledge, Oversight, Fairness, and Factuality
had been put in place with the 26th revision of the McCain-Feingold
campaign finance reform act. Not content to restrict the First
Amendment rights of non-journalists, Congress had eventually passed
licensing requirements for all journalists. The U.S. Supreme Court had
upheld the law, noting that “reasonable restrictions on heretofore
unreasonably sacrosanct activities can only be characterized as a
response to new realities not contemplated by the Founders. By
upholding the Journalistic
Excellence Resource for Knowledge, Oversight, Fairness, and Factuality
(JERKOFF), we pay tribute not only to those same
Founders, but also to the evolving standards of informational
responsibility necessary to maintain democratic processes as recognized
by the World Information Court and United Nations, as well as in our
sister regimes such as Cuba, France, Sudan, and Saudi Arabia. In so
doing we also celebrate the ongoing evolution of the words in the
living document that our Constitution must be in order to meet modern
Almost every state
had enthusiastically signed on to monitor and enforce the new licensing
statutes for journalists, and accommodations were quickly made by most
mainstream media outlets, who themselves celebrated the special
restrictions aimed at muzzling the non-mainstream media.
As usual, only the
crackpots and fanatics (as the mainstream media referred to them) in
New Hampshire had refused to cooperate. At one point Governor Nappen
had called out the state militia to back up the state police, when
Massachusetts had threatened to send its state police, highway patrol,
office of terrorist security, and state income tax police north into
the Free State to force compliance with JERKOFF. In addition, Congress
saw that billions in federal monies were withheld from New Hampshire,
but the famously resistant New Hampshirites had told the federal
government to keep its money and JERKOFF itself.
So at the
university Linda Bennett had stifled her natural curiosity and fitted
quietly into the journalism curriculum. In the end her unusual good
looks, with dark eyebrows framing striking green eyes had quickly
landed her a broadcasting job at a local Miami TV station.
ambition was not Linda's objective. The work was a means to an end: It
defeated boredom which she hated. So she was pleased and surprised when
she discovered she was never bored in Frank Bennett's presence. His
sharp-edged intellect entranced her. She would sit on the beach, arms
wrapped tightly around him, listening as he tried to explain one or
another scientific enigma he might be struggling with. And she was
shocked when she realized she had fallen in love with the man. It had
happened so quickly. She loved him for his mind, she laughingly told
her friends, but the sex, like their ability to sense and communicate
with each other without words, was extraordinary.
One evening early
in their courtship they had sat together on the beach watching the sun
sink into Biscayne Bay. As the huge red-orange orb sank slowly into the
water, they had slipped naked together into the warm bay waters. She
had clung to him, wrapping her legs around his muscular midsection.
"Will you love
me?" she had murmured into his ear. A simple question, simply asked. He
had instinctively known what she spoke of; it wasn’t the act she meant,
but rather something else, something that had been unspoken between
them. She was seeking spiritual intent. He responded simply, nodding
his head against hers, murmuring yes into her ear, for he had fallen in
love with her also. They had already instinctively known. They were
soulmates, of the same spiritual kin.
No one seemed
surprised when they married within a year. Their love broadened and
deepened, further enriching their lives with each passing day, and they
often talked at night of their careers and hopes for the future, the
children they would have and adventures they would seek. But they
waited. The time would yet be right, after he had won his doctorate and
established a permanent presence on a university faculty.
stood in the darkness of the lab, reflecting on his incredible luck
that a woman like Linda would actually love him. He knew that when he
arrived home she would undress him and massage his temples and
forehead. Then she would slip into bed beside him, and they would savor
the warmth and texture and touch of each other. He shivered
momentarily, then turned back to gaze out the dark window at the lights
streaming along the nearby Interstate.
whisper of the printer ceased, and he tore off the computer paper,
folding and thrusting it into a large inside pocket of his military
jacket. He initiated the shutdown sequence for his workstation on the
"Is that it for
the day?" the machine asked him in its mellifluous voice. He punched a
"y" on the keyboard, and the screen blanked immediately. He knew that
no one other than himself could activate the internal workstation he
had been utilizing. Not without knowing the complex sequence of
passwords and sign-on protocols he had built into the computer under
his identification code. He had also built in several more redundant
layers of security beyond those provided by the DIA specialists. He
wanted his own data to remain sacrosanct. And for good reason. If he
could make a breakthrough in the area he was researching, superpumped
solitons utilizing biologic factors, the implications would be massive,
and would reverberate throughout several scientific disciplines.
He looked again
out the window. He could feel the adrenaline building. He would travel
through the unkept, violent anarchy of Miami at 3:00 a.m. to get home.
He savored the feel of it, then strode down the hallway past the
waiting elevator, entered the stairwell and bounded down the stairs
several steps at a time. He burst out of the stairwell across from the
front security station, alarming the security guard at the monitor
desk. The guard jumped when Bennett hurtled out of the stairwell door.
"Shit!" he yelled.
It was Bennett's friend, Bill Tidwell, who had a Louisville slugger
raised halfway behind his head. “Would you knock that crap off
“Whatsamatter, Bill? You jumpy tonight?”
“Plenty of reason
to be,” said Tidwell. “You know what’s outside those doors, well as I
do.” They looked at each other in silence, then turned and peered out
the bulletproof glass doors.
“You know what, Bill?”
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