Mortgage Interest is Economically and Morally Wrong.

The hot button topic at the moment might be fifty-year mortgages (which is a terrible idea), but here's the real issue… 

Mortgages should all be at 0% interest. Why? Lenders are taking on no risk when lending for residential real estate. No risk means no interest. There is no scenario where a lender doesn't make money (or at least break even) on residential property, even if a borrower stops paying their note. The property can be reclaimed through eviction, assets taken as collateral, and eventually the property is sold again. Any potential losses due to damage, acts of god, etc., can all be recouped through insurance claims and litigation. 

Think about it for a moment -- the value of land and permanent on-site buildings will never not retain their value, or at bare minimum have their lost value show cause for being recouped via other means. At its core, real estate is a fundamental store of wealth and tracks the natural rate of inflation in an economy. As inflation rises and falls, so too will the value of real estate. Considering that loans front-load their interest, it takes a number of years before a borrower actually begins paying a decent percentage into their borrowed principal. If anything, mortgage interest actually works to promote unnatural inflation within an economy as it expeditiously devalues the buying power of the dollar against a real estate loan. 

But Jared, what about the 2008 stock market crisis linked to mortgage-backed securities? Well, that crisis was not caused on its own by a flood of borrowers defaulting on their home loans. Sure, folks default on loans all the time, but this situation was different. In the case of real estate, the lender simply reclaims the property in question and evicts the borrower. Nothing is lost and the lender keeps any profit from the front-loaded interest on the loan. Nay, the 2008 crisis was caused by gamblers (for lack of a better term) in our stock market using bundled sub-prime loans as collateral to essentially short the whole financial system – they bet on those bundled loans to fail and sold them anyway… knowing that they would do just that. Those mortgages, of which the majority were adjustable-rate loans provided to low-income borrowers without variance in their finances to account for fluctuating interest rates, were bound to be defaulted upon eventually BECAUSE of the mortgage interest. Had those loans been provided at 0% interest, most of the borrowers would have never defaulted, meaning the crisis would have never happened. The gamblers in question played both sides of the system and made a ton of cash in the process, all at the cost of private individuals and the economy at large. 

The 2008 crisis was rigged from the start because of the interest charged on the mortgages, you see. Interest on a mortgage allows lenders, and subsequently investors that have a financial stake in seeing those lenders succeed or fail, to essentially commit legalized theft. Meanwhile, there is no recourse for the common person to participate in the real estate market without submitting themselves to this mechanism of theft.

Ultimately, mortgage interest acts as a deceptive means (one of many, I might add) to keep people economically controlled and prevents all members of society from participating equally in the real estate market. That's a much larger topic for another discussion, though.

Your Moment Will Come.

Hello, everyone. Today is All Hallows' Eve, the most ethereal night of the year when the curtain between worlds is all but parted. While still maintaining a bit of the spooky flair that comes naturally this time of year, I want to share some information that's also rather uplifting.

Upon the release of the Universal classic Frankenstein in 1931, the rather unknown Boris Karloff skyrocketed to stardom. Sure, he'd been acting for a while, but he was normally relegated to playing bit parts, gangsters, or background characters with zero name billing. Portraying the Monster was the moment he'd been waiting for, and he left it all on the silver screen. There's a reason his portrayal is so celebrated -- it's just that damn good.

Boris portrayed the Monster at the age of 43 years old. In Hollywood years, he might as well have been a dinosaur.

Following the release of Frankenstein, Boris portrayed the Monster twice more in two really wonderful films. He also led an extremely successful career following that, including starring roles in The Mummy (my personal favorite), The Black Cat, The Invisible Ray, and The Raven just to name a few. Karloff practically worked up until the day he died at the age of 81 in 1969. So much success, and all because he was willing to do something few other actors would do -- take a chance on a role that forced him to sit in make-up for over four hours a day!

My point is this...

You never know when you will find your purpose. Boris Karloff was middle-aged and struggling just to be noticed when he became Frankenstein's Monster. By all accounts, he should have been forgotten. And yet, because Boris was so good at what he did, he took a throw-away role in a monster movie (at the time, they were considered very low-brow content) and gave it literally all he had to give. Karloff became legendary with one job in one movie; work he probably didn't even give a second thought to after the film was in the can.

Your purpose in life can come at any time. You never know when the torch is going to be passed to you, but it will come. You could be 15. You could be 25. You could be 43 like Karloff. You might even be 70. Your purpose will be revealed to you when the time is right. All you have to do is recognize it when you see it.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Death Rides a Tractor.

I often find myself in discussions about how wonderful it must be to live on a farm. And yet, I routinely bite my tongue, make some half-hearted agreeing response, and put on a fake smile. They have no earthly idea how well acquainted I am with death and the inexplicable black cloud that has followed me for six years now. Having a farm is the hardest thing I've ever done as an adult, and I tolerate my existence most days.

The reaper practically has a seat at my dinner table.

In the past four years, all five of my barn cats have either mysteriously disappeared or died under suspicious circumstances. Four of them were brothers -- Scrapper, Nomad, Smudge, and Splash. They were sweet, hand-raised, and loved attention. They didn't bother anyone. They didn't prowl on other people's property. They were neutered while kittens and couldn't contribute to a wildly out-of-control pet population (of which their mother Karen, a very sweet gal totally abandoned by one of our neighbors WHILE PREGNANT, is another barn cat that CHOSE US to care for her). We invested time, resources, money, and most importantly love into those four brothers. Splash was the last one left... but he's also missing now and I fear the worst. A precedent has been set. My gut tells me he's not coming back.

The other missing cat is Kiki, who was an absolute sweetheart that melted the ice around my heart for cats. For the longest while, I was heavily adverse to cats because I'm allergic to them. Kiki changed me in a way that cannot be explained; she made me a cat person. I get cats and I think they get me... and I owe that to Kiki.

I'd chalk one loss up to an accident. Sure, accidents happen and I accept that. Or, perhaps one could have been killed by a wild animal. That's a possibility, though I doubt it because we have two very large Great Pyrenees that patrol this property and have successfully kept even the coyotes at bay since their arrival. We owe Nibbler and Sherlock a lot for their dutiful protection.

Two cats go missing? Okay, that's atypical but could still be marked up to chance.

Three?
Four?
FIVE CATS?!

No, something is going on. Someone around our farm is either kidnapping or outright murdering our barn cats. Kiki, Smudge, Nomad, and Splash simply vanished without a trace. We found Scrapper dead in the floor of our barn, with no explanation as to how or why he passed away. He had no physical trauma. It just doesn't make any sense. There are holes in my heart and I don't have any answers. Resolution isn't something I can have.

Pile on top of that two very beloved dogs that passed away in their old age in 2020 and 2021 -- Mellow and Echo are still with me in spirit and they're on my mind every day. Along with them are two of our dear goats that passed from absolute one-in-a-million situations; Clover had an inexplicable THIRTEEN knots in her bowels from severe intestinal torsion and Mozzarella got one of the rarest forms of cancer an animal can get (the local university vet hospital had never even seen it before). Add to that the number of stillborn baby goats that I've lost count of. Even the death of some of our ducks has hit us. The loss just never seems to end.

I have (and still do) loved every one of these animals. They mean the world to me. Not being able to protect them has beat me down in ways that I never thought possible. Most days I run through the motions, trying to find ways to distract myself from the crushing nature of my reality. It's been hard (and I mean HARD), and I've not talked about it except with my closest loved ones. If not for the love and care that my family has provided, I don't know if I'd still be here today writing this.

So no, having a farm isn't all sunflowers and watermelons; it's a lot of heartbreak and disappointment, tears and blood. With death, I am undesirably comfortable. His skeletal visage seems to rear his head every few months to remind me of my own mortality.

Hug your furry loved ones tonight. Tell them you love them.

REAL-TIME EDIT: As I was about to publish this blog, one of my outdoor security cameras triggered. There was Splash, meandering behind my house. I can tell he's a bit skittish and somewhat afraid of everything at the moment, which adds credence to my theory that SOMETHING is going on around here to my animals. Maybe Splash hadn't used up all of his nine lives yet, though. Thank goodness he came back.

Even in the darkest of days, the bright eyes of a cat sit glowing in the distance as two small specks of hope.

1861 to Present.

One of the greatest lies children are taught in school is that the American Civil War ended in April of 1865. The Civil War never ended; it just changed fronts. It's not about the color of your skin, the flag you fly, or the way you talk. The war is about one thing -- the evil people up top trying to control everybody else at the bottom.

The Civil War is ongoing and you're living it today. Think about how far you've come in this fight, and yet you're still standing. People are trying to destroy your kids sense of humanity, or worse yet kidnap them. You're taxed to death by a government that doesn't give a crap about you. The car in your driveway is long past its expiration date. The roof needs fixed, your child needs braces, and there's a raging fire just beyond the ridge. Shady people in rooms from countries we'll never see or hear are spying on us all day and night. Our elders rot away over nonsensical rules in dingy hospital beds and nursing homes. Our babies wind up in trash bags like discarded chewing gum.

I'm not sure how much more the People can take, but we've already taken so much... and I bet we can take more. We're strong. We're hard-headed. We're survivors. There's a reason America hasn't yet caved to the twisted clandestine bastards at the top. We're a bunch of stubborn, ornery outcasts that come from Forefathers who simply had enough; from slaves who braved a vast ocean and a life of great uncertainty; from immigrants who didn’t speak a lick of English but wanted a better life for their family. Do you know how much power your ancestors grant you? Through your veins pumps the blood of kings and queens, warriors and valkyries, preachers and prophets, long-distance runners and sea-fairing sailors, farmers and bakers, and especially mothers and fathers.

You are so damn powerful… and you don’t even realize it. You know who does realize this truth, though? Those life-sucking fiends that have been trying to take everything from you since 1861 and beyond. They understand just how powerful the common man and woman are, so they use subversion and trickery to divide and conquer us. I’m not sure if most of the People will ever see through the ruse, but I know a lot of them do already. Until my last breath, I’m not going to stop ringing the alarm bell.

You shouldn’t stop either. Look at how far you’ve already come. The nameless puppet-masters have thrown everything and the kitchen sink at you and me… but we’re still here.

And the Civil War rages on, 1861 to Present.

"Spirit of America" -- Norman Rockwell, 1974

Being a Conflicted Southerner.

 

I heard Tom Petty's 'Southern Accents' on the radio today for the first time in what must be decades. It's always stirred a strange feeling in me. To be perfectly honest, it makes me reflect upon a topic that's very personal. I've never discussed this openly before.

I've always been very conflicted about being a Southerner. There have been times in my life where I was ashamed of being from the South. I thought I was too good for the culture, to put it bluntly. At other times of my life, I've wanted to be more Southern, but knew I just didn't fit in with the other country boys. I was a spare tire in the bed of their proverbial truck.

I've never been one for driving four wheelers and getting dirty; for going to country and western bars or being altogether rebellious. I can't understand the thrill of riding a horse. I'm too afraid to drive a motorcycle and I'm not a very good fisherman. You wouldn't catch me dead picking tobacco and I don't like southern summers. Being outside isn't something I like most days, as I'd rather be playing a game or reading a book inside. I suck at camping. I don't talk to the big man upstairs very often because I'm not sure anyone is listening... and if they are, I'm not sure they care.

I'm about about as un-Southern as someone could be. And yet, here I am wearing this mask of a culture I'm not really a part of. I can't take it off.

Sometimes I'm embarrassed by my Southern Virginia / Carolina accent. I don't pronounce words that rhyme with 'oil' correctly. My cadence is slow and paced with my breathing. When I get the slightest bit frustrated, my voice gets louder and the accent becomes bolder. I'm not very proud of how I sound. That's probably why I prefer to write and stay silent.

And yet, I'm proud of where my family and ancestors come from. They're hard working people that went through a lot with very little to show for it. Whether from the Carolinas, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, or Tennessee... they all lived hard, sincere lives that exemplify what the highest ideal of being a Southerner represents. Southerners are genuine, caring, and loyal to a fault. They'll feed a stranger and always know how to make friends.

I'm not sure if there's a point to all this, but being Southern isn't something I've ever done very well. I just hope my ancestors wouldn't be disappointed in me.

Do You Want the Matrix? This is How You Wind Up in the Matrix!

With all of the panic that the Coronavirus has brought to our society, I got to thinking about the future. What would happen if people continued to become further isolated? Here's what came to mind.

2021: The Coronavirus pandemic finally wanes, but a new viral outbreak is on the horizon. Society has come to exist in a constant state of anxiety.

2025: People are getting used to rarely leaving their homes. The bulk of grocery sales are delivered to customers’ doors. All forms of entertainment have rapidly become centralized on the internet.

2030: The vast majority of people work from home. They no longer trek to offices to do the same work that could be done remotely. Social gatherings are held online via webcasting.

2035: The world has gone through multiple pandemic events since 2020. People are more isolated than ever before. The days of eating at restaurants and going to the movies are long gone. Family members go years without seeing each other in person.

2040: Our society has fully diverged into two separate classes – the Internals and the Externals. Most people are Internals, almost never leaving their homes but for the rarest of circumstances. The Externals do manual labor and are seen as filthy deviants.

2045: Technology allows the Internals to completely enter a virtual reality where they can be outside and touch other human beings. The Externals maintain the infrastructure that keeps the Internals happy, but they choose to remain in the real world.

2050: The Singularity has come to pass. Computers are sentient. The Internals never leave an artificially intelligent virtual reality thanks to robotic cocoons that process their waste and feed them via nutrient tubes. The Externals have zero contact with the Internals.

2055: The Virtual Reality Framework (VRF) harvests genetic data from the Internals to procreate new users. Homes and businesses have been techno-morphed into storage warehouses. The Externals have retreated from the cities and established farming communities that operate with only the most basic of technology.

2060: Large portions of the globe are covered by non-descript metallic blocks housing billions upon billions of Internals. Robot drones maintain the sentient VRF. Many Internals are not even aware that they’re existing in a simulation. The Externals largely ignore the metallic structures, viewing them as a proverbial No Man’s Land.

2065: The VRF determines that life on Earth is finite for the Internal species. It begins calculating a path off this planet and into the stars. The Externals have established their own rural society, existing much like humanity did following World War I.

2070: The VRF has probed the solar system and determined that a successful base station could be established on Europa to house an Internal population. There are enough basic elemental resources there to maintain its robot warehouses. The Externals begin to confront robotic drones that are amassing natural resources.

2075: War between the VRF drones and the Externals erupts. Giant machines of death crush the External resistance forces. What’s left of humanity retreats into the ground.

2080: Planet Earth has been fully harvested of its raw precious metal supply. Multiple motherships across the globe launch into space, bound for Europa with all the Internals. The Externals struggle to survive, having been reduced to a fraction of their population size.

2085: The VRF has been on Europa for roughly 18 months. The Internals are completely unaware that they’ve left Earth. The Externals live in rustic villages. The rely upon wood and bones to make tools.

2090: The lack of precious metals keeps the Externals from advancing further than simple farming villages. The VRF has become a distant memory for most.

2095: The VRF has successfully techno-formed Europa. It has harvested enough raw material to transform the entire moon into a deep-space starship. The Internals base their entire economy on the trade of hemp, bamboo, and produce.

2100: The VRF leaves the solar system, bound for Proxima Centauri B. Thanks to advances in technology, the VRF calculates an approximate travel time of 4,300 years. The Externals reach a cap on societal expansion, being that there are no metals on earth to allow further advancement.

Don't Let the Coronavirus Panic Control You.

This is madness.

With the COVID-19 / Coronavirus pandemic event that currently has a death-grip on the collective consciousness of the United States, it seems like everything is shutting down or being canceled. Schools, private businesses, government offices, movie theaters, restaurants, sporting events, concerts; I could go on and on. On top of that, people are unnecessarily panic shopping. I went into a Kroger on Sunday to pick up some routine things. What did I see? Tons of shoppers in total panic mode, buying up lunch meat, bread, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, eggs, tuna fish, soup, chicken, and potatoes (and ignoring important items like flour, sugar, yeast, and fresh produce). All this fear is over a head and chest cold that, by and large, might make you sick for a week to ten days.

Short of being a person over age 65, or someone with a weak immune system, this is a routine cold like any other that you shouldn’t be terribly afraid of contracting. It’s no worse than the seasonal flu, bronchitis, or a severe sinus infection. Does the flu kill some people? Sure. Does it kill healthy thirty-year old people? Typically, not. How many Americans did influenza kill in the 2018-2019 flu season? 34,200. How many people have died from COVID-19? 70. Of that 70, most were senior citizens or people with already-weakened immune systems. If the Coronavirus hadn’t of killed them, influenza potentially would have.

The panic that we’re now experiencing has become a form of entertainment. With media outlets wielding COVID-19 like a carrot on a stick, they’re enticing and badgering the public into doing drastic and wholly unwarranted things. This behavior is no different than when meteorologists spend hours trying to “prepare” the public for an oncoming hurricane or blizzard. It’s disaster porn, for lack of a better phrase. The Coronavirus has become a purposeful media sensation. Deep down, most people crave danger and excitement. Accordingly, the Coronavirus feeds that primitive internal desire to feel something perilous.

Who is next to hop on the “I’m Closed Because of the Coronavirus” bandwagon? Let’s face it – that’s all this has become … a bandwagon event.

“Oh, we better say we’re closing next so the public believes we’re socially conscious and responsible.”

You want to be a responsible entity? Carry on and do your job. Quit trying to score “woke” points. Winston Churchill is unquestionably rolling in his grave over this nonsense.

I want to make one concept clear before I continue; I’m not saying that you shouldn’t take routine precautions. And yet, employ the same safety measures that you would with any other cold bug. You should already be washing your hands regularly, as well as not coughing or sneezing onto other people. If you’re already minding your hygiene, then great! You don’t need to do anything else.

The erroneously generated panic of COVID-19 is far worse than the virus itself. Because people are clamoring in fear and doing their best impression of Chicken Little, the stock market has taken a massive hit. Three years of solid gains that brought the American economy roaring back to life have been wiped out over some complete knee-jerk rubbish.

In situations like this, I look to Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings for guidance:

“When your opponent is hurrying recklessly, you must act contrarily and keep calm. You must not be influenced by the opponent.”

Stop letting other people influence your decisions. Be calm in your approach. Think with reason. Totally withdrawing from reality is not going to beat this virus. Coronaviruses have existed in previous forms in the past, and they will continue to exist in new forms in the future. So, what’s different this time around? The media told you to be panicked.

You must not be influenced by the opponent.

Do you understand who your opponent is now? Maybe you’re not ready for that answer… but you should be. More importantly, why is the enemy making you panic and what are they covering up?