Written by Abdun Nur

Chapter Three

The Vagrant

“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum.” Noam Chomsky (Controlled opposition)

“Why don’t you get a job; ya lazy arse?” Said the fattest of a jeering group of men in their mid-twenties, as they stopped to verbally abuse the homeless man huddled under a thick blanket in the street; a blanket that was his only defence against the cold night.

The homeless man considered the group, then his expression changed, becoming resolved, he was angry at life, because the scars of his short life covered his body, mind and soul, he’d lived horrors most couldn’t imagine, and so he feared little, and he understood much of the real nature of the modern world. “So I can be like you, and spend half my waking life taking orders from someone else, simply to gain certificates of debt created by a private corporation, through a monopoly granted from the owners of another corporation. A global corporate monopoly system who’s owners believe humanity are their property?

So, I can have over two thirds of the meager product of my labours stolen from me, through direct tax, and indirect taxation, fees, fines, penalties, duties, and imposed purchases such as insurance, that the dominant corporation inflicts through the threat of violence?

So, I can make products engineered to wear out as quickly as possible beyond the warranty period, or offer services that have little value or benefit, often services that are detrimental to health or well-being?

So, I can pay a mortgage, or be extorted for rent for a home I don’t have time to enjoy, or utilize well?

So, in the small amount of free time, I’m allowed as an economic slave, I can relax in front of a television, placed in pride of place in the main room of the house, that parades and implants the banal, obscene, untrue and contrived into the mind?

So, after working in a job I hate, watching the clock day after day, I can, as a special treat, go out on the town once a week, if I’m lucky, to get drunk with other economic slaves, where the cost of the poisons required to dull the senses and make ugly women attractive, is so heavily taxed it turns a cheap drink into a luxury item?

Get a job?

Grow a brain halfwit.” The homeless man replied.

“Says the guy sleeping on the pavement.” The fat man mocked, as his friends chuckled.

“Do you know the difference between you and me?” The homeless man asked.

“What’s that?” The fat man retorted as he and his friends began to walk on.

“I inner stand, but outwardly, always seek to establish reciprocation, while you only understand, and crawl in subjugation.” The homeless man replied, the fat man looked bemused, giving a disinterested face and turned away.

As the group wandered off, the homeless man picked his book up again and continued to read.

He was wearing a thick winter duffel coat with a hood, and his blankets were wrapped in a sheet of plastic to protect against the rain, he liked this spot as the street-light illuminated the doorway he was using as a bedroom.

Later in the evening a group of drunken girls wander by and noticed him. “What you reading?” An unhealthily thin girl asked, dressed for summer in the middle of a very cold late autumn night, her face thick with make-up.

“Ray Mears, hunter gatherer and survival book, wild food foraging. I got it from the library.” He said with a smile.

“How is it?” She asked sarcastically.

“I’ve read better.” He replied looking at her wearied.

“That’s what you need to do, go off to the woods, instead of laying in the street like a garbage heap.” She told him as the group all laughed.

He sighed. “Yes it could be possible, the woods may be better.

I’m in poverty of want, while you girls have the far greater poverties of life. Within you, you externally reflect a poverty of love, compassion and empathy, and that poverty makes, want, a positive virtue.

You must dress yourselves up as whores simply to attract brainless drunkards to your beds, week after week, freezing in the winter air just to show the goods to your customers.

You’ve a poverty of the soul, tricked from birth you’ve been conditioned to perceive yourself, and present yourself, in a way that demonstrates society has distorted your abilities to reason, simply to conform to the stereotype of your culture, you wear the costumes, the face paint, the attitude, and the ignorance demanded.” He replied.

“You calling me a whore?” She said aggressively, with an angered expression.

“You wish to indulge in violence?

You violate your own bodies daily; violating the body of another is then an easy extension.

The mundane violence you eagerly indulge in, of toxic food, poisoned drink, and noxious air, is a violation of the covenant between you and your body.

Violence is the answer when you cannot face the reality of your own persona. You wish to threaten violence to restrict my free speech?” He replied in a polite tone.

“Come on Sandra.” Her friends said dragging her away down the street.

He went back to his book.

It was a dangerous place to be, on the weekends, especially when the pubs emptied, the drunks seek out the weak to vent their frustrations of a life un-lived, a forced sufferance of existence, with passion and growth negated.

He put his book away and snuggled down to sleep for the night.

He never slept well, his mind often filled with night terrors as it relived his past traumas, but he’d been asleep for a couple of hours when someone kicked his leg hard and he awoke. “Oye, scum bag, what ya doing laying in the street.” A semi-literate drunk stood over him aggressively.

“I was sleeping.” He replied startled looking up at him trying not to show concern or fear.

“Well not anymore. Now you’re getting kicked into the sewer with all the other turds.” The drunk said antagonistically as he began the act of inflicting a powerful kick, stopping short when a group of men appeared around the corner, unnerving the cowardly drunk a little and preventing the kick from arriving.

“What you up to?” A very large man with the group called out to the violent drunk in a loud, deep, guttural voice.

“Just talking with my friend here.” The drunk replied wiping his nose with his hand.

“He was assaulting me, and will continue when you leave if you allow him.” The homeless man pleaded.

“Go on before you get hurt.” The large man threatened the drunk, who hurried away furtively.

“Thank you.” The homeless man said.

“What you doing sleeping rough, it’s brass monkey weather?” The large man asked.

“I’m, as all homeless souls, a victim of circumstance my friend.” He replied.

“I’ll tell you what, you come along with us, I’ll sort you out, what’s your name?” He asked.

“Seisyll.” He answered.

“That’s an odd name, sounds like a girl’s name?” The large man said.

“It’s an ancient Celtic name, my father was an archaeologist, and he specialized in the Celtic period.” Sill replied.

“Well, Sill, get your stuff, let’s go.” The large friendly man, who now towered over Seisyll, said encouragingly. Sill looked up, from his view point, the man, who must have stood at least six foot six, looked like a mythical giant.

“Where’d we be going?” Seisyll asked suspiciously continuing to lay under his bedding. Sill was the furthest thing from trusting, he trusted no one, and suspected everyone.

“I’ve a little business I use guys like you for certain jobs, I’ve a place you can bunk down.” He told him.

“What sort of business are ya in?” Seisyll asked.

“I’m a promoter.” Replied the large man.

“What’s it you promote?” He asked.

“You ask a lot of questions. I promote fights, dog fights, badger fights, and cage fights with no rules, so your job would be taking bets and paying out winners, I need intelligent guys that I can trust with my money.” He replied.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll have to decline your offer, thank you. Your business is unhealthy for all involved, man and beast, but you know that, gambling is an enslaving addiction, a disease upon the mind of its victims, and you’re the enabler, the enticer and showman leading them through the gates of ruin and destitution, upon the spectacle of the suffering of others.

But, thank you for running off the violent coward.

Offering me a devil’s bargain was no generous act. How miserable my situation now; it would be considerably more perilous as a bookies whore.” Seisyll replied with a small apologetic smile, realising he was poking the tiger.

“Suit yourself.” The giant answered looking down at him a little confused. And the group walked on. “What an arse-hole, some people just can’t be helped.” He commented to his friends as they walked off.

As the group of men walked away, Seisyll sighed with relief, he lived a perilous life but his tongue made it even more so, he spoke when he should be silent and he reproached himself, but he knew he couldn’t help it, his feelings just poured out.

It began to rain. He pulled the blankets and plastic cover in around him and snuggled deeply into his coverings listening to the rain and wind beating down as he drifted off to sleep.

He slept undisturbed for a few hours until a man walking his dog awoke him at around 8am. “Don’t forget, if you take this you’re promising me that you’ll use the money to make yourself an honest man.” The stranger said, holding out a five-pound note.

Seisyll stared up at him a little dazed; he didn’t reach for the money. “I see, and previously I was a dishonest man, this five-pound note will transform my life then?” Seisyll said condescendingly and a little annoyed at been woken and insulted.

“You live on the street. I’m offering you help! What sort of attitude is that?” The man replied a little taken aback as he straightened up.

“You’ve judged and convicted me in your mind before knowing anything about me, other than I’m homeless.

Would you allow me the same luxury; may I judge you on superficial impressions?” Seisyll asked with a sleepy insincere smile.

“Are you one of those care in the communities?

Mental illness everywhere. Common these days?

The government shut the psych-wards down and booted you all out, to sleep in doorways.” The man said, putting his five-pounds back in his wallet.

“Please allow me to be as judgmental towards you, as you’re being towards myself.

You’ve an expensive pedigree dog, nice clothes, high-priced shoes; I’d say a middle class man. Have ya ever experienced poverty, abandonment or the horrors of destitution, you ever suffer physical or sexual abuse, you ever been betrayed at a primal level, betrayal upon your very soul?” Seisyll asked.

“No. I didn’t mean to insult you.” The middle aged man replied feeling he’d been a bit of a dick towards him without any real cause.

Seisyll persisted “No.

You support the system, you vote, pay taxes, fill out forms on demand, and follow all the regulations and dictates of the State Corporation. You don’t realize what that makes you, because you don’t grasp consent, community, or free will.” Seisyll continued.

“I’m an honest man, and I was only trying to help you, which seems to have been a mistake.”

“Please let me explain.” Seisyll pleaded.

The man stood staring down without replying as Seisyll continued. “I would guess you’re three things, a monarchist, a statist, and a religionist, either Catholic or Church of England.

You willingly support these repressive and controlling hierarchical institutions, because you’ve been born into them, never really grasping where these systems came from, what their real purpose is, or how they function.” Seisyll lectured, waking up a bit now, the cold morning air gusting onto his rapidly cooling face.

“I disagree these institutions are the only thing holding society together, without them it would be anarchy.” The man replied.

“Anarchy is what?

Chaos?

I’d prefer chaos to slavery. In any event anarchy isn’t chaos, but in the ancient past was a model of community; one few have been exposed to, all the structures of any anarchic model are simply ones free of all hierarchies.” Seisyll explained.

“Well I’ve no interest in your rantings man. Have a nice day.” The man replied, tugging his dog’s lead, which forced his dog to face the right direction.

“The vicarious slave would sooner die than hear truth, I know, take your five-pounds and leave then, feel no conscience at waking me for no reason.” Seisyll answered turning and snugging into his bedding as he closed his eyes.

“I’m not a slave, I’m a lawyer. You people make me laugh, lazy, drug addicted and filthy, littering the streets like human excrement, I felt sorry for you laying in the street wet and filthy, but you seem to be content, living in your own filth.” The indignant lawyer replied.

“That’s rich, a lawyer, a man who whores himself for the Crown corporation at the expense of those who pay him. You’re paid to betray and exploit. I may be filthy physically, but you’re filthy morally.

You’re a vicarious slave. You look at your masters as if you lived their lives, and worship them. The monarchist worships a psychopathic Monarch whose roots grew from genocide, national slavery and extortion racketeering. Which is the case of every soulless psychopath that imposed their vile hierarchy. Nothing has changed since the despicable psychopath Leyasu Tokugawa, Japans first Shogun famously said. ‘Give the peasants neither life nor death.’ That’s the nature of the slavery of imposed hierarchies.

You worship Government whose roots grew from the establishment and protection of usury, elitist monopolies, and a desire by those owners to dominate the masses, maintained through corporate policy, imposed with a monopoly on violence over the land slaves, on behalf of the psychopathic landlords.

And finally, religion, whose roots grew from the fear of death, the ignorance of reality and the lies of psychopaths.” Seisyll replied with fire in his eyes still closed snuggled into his bedding.

“I defend people; I do not prosecute them.” The lawyer responded annoyed.

“You’ve sworn an oath to the Crown Corporation, the monarch, and all your clients are being persecuted by the Crown Corporation, how can a man sworn under oath to one side defend the other?” Seisyll asked.

The lawyer looked down at Seisyll, feeling torn, wanting to walk away, but feeling he should defend himself, otherwise the tramp would think he’d won. “I work within the legal structure; I do my best for those I represent.” The lawyer replied.

“A free man has inherent power, a slave has granted rights, you defend enslaved souls by ‘re’-presenting them as legal fictions of incorporated ships.” Seisyll added with his eyes still closed.

“Ships?

What nonsense!” The lawyer replied.

“Citizen-ship is the corporate vessel.

A free man, has free will to consent or refuse any bargain, a slave has no choice.

Consent is the difference between sex and rape, one is consensual, the other a submission; or the difference between a gift and robbery; or between volunteering and slavery. To be forced to submit is an act of aggression.

Therefore, the most violent act any soul could commit against their neighbour would be to impose, vote or facilitate a re-presentative upon them.

Not only being represented in law but representatives in voting is an act of aggression, because it strips away consent and imposes submission. Enforcement by statist representatives of corporate policy is an act of violence against the body and the inherent nature of the soul. The re-presenting of a soul as a constructed legal fiction by a third party who pays no price for being wrong, incompetent or deceptive is an act of moral corruption.” Seisyll replied.

“You seem badly informed about the nature of the legal system sir.” The lawyer replied coldly.

“The legal system is based exclusively upon constructed legal fictions, imposed through violence, intimidation, kidnap and imprisonment.

To persuade a soul requires reason, to coerce a soul demands fear, and violence generates fear. Inherently unprovoked violence stands against the concept of all true freedom, which means violence is injurious physical force; action that causes fear of physical violence if conformity is not submitted to; or treatment that forces conformity, or prevents free access, passage, use or expression.” Seisyll concluded.

The man looked a little stunned, frowning. “So” Continued Seisyll. “I’m an honest man, while you’re a statist, a voter, a man who violently oppressors me and all those around you to the monopolies, extortion’s, hoardings and subjugation’s of your masters will.

You’re a monarchist, a man who thinks a family of slavers, murderers and thieves should be revered, worshiped, be above accountability and rewarded in perpetuity.

You’re a religionist; a man who believes the delusional fantasies of ancient psychopaths should be given reverence and protection, allowing the perpetuation of primitive lies in the name of tradition, to be given pomp and circumstance to indoctrination’s, instilled into each new generation as ritualistic investments, forming the religious flock of unquestioning sheep who may then be fleeced annually, and fattened up for the slaughter at their shepherd’s demand.” Seisyll opened his eyes and looked up at the lawyer and smiled.

“I’ll keep my money; you keep your filth.” The man answered and walked off tugging at his dog’s chain.

“Thank you.” Seisyll called after him cheerfully.

He decided he might as well get up. The street was getting busier now. He began to pack up his bed and get ready to start the day; he was bending down engrossed in his efforts to get ready to leave when he heard a voice behind him. “You cannot sleep on the street boy.” He turned around and two costumed policy enforcers stood looking down.

The rain had stopped while he’d slept but threatened imminently to begin again, the day was deeply over cast with a gusty breeze.

“What boy?

Nothing to say?

Are you able to communicate or are the drugs messing you up?” The fatter of the two policemen said slowly as if he were talking to a moron.

Seisyll lifted his head up and looked at them. “Sorry, I’m leaving, I’ll be gone in a couple of minutes. I’m heading out of the city. OK?”

“Good, don’t let me catch you sleeping in doorways again, you’ve been warned.” At which the two men wondered off slowly chatting between themselves.

He stood and looked up at the sky for a long time thinking what he should do. “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” He said quietly to himself.

“I’ll follow the road to nowhere and see where it leads.” Seisyll mumbled.

Seisyll headed out of town in the rain. He walked all day along the road leading out of the city and into the wilds of Scotland, the rain poured on and off, it was a miserable day, but he felt he’d run out of options, what existed for him in that city he didn’t want to be a part of. He just walked on and on, he’d the idea of foraging for food in the wild, using the guidance of the Ray Mears book he’d borrowed from the library.

He’d escaped his abusers, an evil family, and powerful, he dare not claim anything from the State, so, he had no family to ask for help.

As it got dark he found a bridge to sleep under, the uproar of the traffic quickly became background noise, which soon he no longer noticed as he read his book.

He walked for the next three days, until he reached a small village. It was mid-morning as he slowly walked along the high street, his feet were blistered and sore, so he walked slowly, he peered into the shop windows feeling hungry, he’d been using the foraging book to find food from nature, but he’d found it difficult to find enough to keep himself going, maybe it was a bad time of year to forage, so he looked longingly at the various food products the shops displayed.

The convenience stores window, towards the far end of the village instantly caught his attention. He studied the many cards displayed on the inside of the glass, reading to see what was on offer. Then he read an ad for an odd job man, so decided to go into the shop. The shop keeper told Sill he’d have to ring up about the job, the number was on the card, this wasn’t possible for Sill, who hadn’t a single penny in the world; but after some pleading, the lady in the shop gave him directions to Gwen’s house, which she did more to get Sill to leave than to help him, as she could see her other customers were distressed by Sill’s body odour; this motivated her minor betrayal of trust, and she wrote the directions onto a scrap of paper for him and handed it over, relieved to be rid of him.

It’d been a week since Gwen’s family had visited and life for Gwen had fallen back into the old routine, it was early afternoon and the sky was dark and foreboding, the fire filled her living room with its welcoming light and heat, while its music created a gentle and cosy atmosphere, perfect for her to work. The peaceful ambiance was disturbed with another knock at the door.

The old woman frowned, she was in total meditative immersion working studiously at her painting, with her mind in complete focus at her task, and to then be suddenly torn from her tranquillity was frustrating.

Recently she’d been plagued by some kid who’d been knocking on her door then vanishing when she answered, her first thought was of this, which was now to her a source of great annoyance. She put down her brushes and slowly walked to the door, flicking on the outside light as she got to the end of the hallway, she sighed as she placed her hand on the door handle.

She opened the door and a small thin man in his early twenties stood there, looking grubby and unkempt. “Hello.” He smiled. “Sorry to disturb you, I came as soon as I saw the ad, I didn’t want to waste any time in asking. I saw your ad in the village shop window for an odd job man, and would like to apply for the job.” He smiled again.

The young man smelled unpleasant and looked like a tramp. Gwen looked him up and down for a few seconds, not believing what she saw. “It’s impossible?” She mumbled out loud looking stunned, she just stared at him aghast.

“Sorry?” Seisyll asked feeling puzzled by her demeanour.

Gwen stared trance like, “I don’t believe it!” She said quietly. “Would you come in a moment I’ve something to show you.”

Gwen lead the young man into the front room, and asked him to stand in front of the canvas she was presently working on. Seisyll stood and looked at the painting, now he was equally stunned.

“How did you paint me?” Seisyll asked quietly.

“I have no idea; it was simply a face I invented. Your face.” Gwen replied.

They both stood in silence looking at the picture. “It’s a painting of deprivation, hardship, poverty and want.

Do you want to hear the story of this painting?” Gwen asked.

“Sure.” Seisyll answered quietly, continuing to stare at the painting.

Gwen walked over to the bookcase and picked up a book that was already out sat on the shelf at the bottom of the bookcase, she walked back over to Sill, who was still staring at the painting, opening the book she began to read.

“There lived a man, he’d no home, he’d no money, he’d no bed to call his own, he’d no family to look to, he’d no place to go for friendship, in the world he was alone. People tended to avoid him, were even abusive, simply because of how he was dressed, he never begged for anything from anyone, he never grifted or deceived, he was at heart a good soul; and how he arrived at such a point of poverty was through the abuses of usury.

Unlike the majority he knew what usury was, he knew its power, its enslaving nature, its rationales and its origins, and for his suffering he’d refused its offers, the problems he faced were due to his refusal to be a party to any avoidable form of usury, but within a usury system to refuse usury leads to poverty.

Usury is an ancient scourge, it has been given many names, the Arabs call it riba, the Jews call it ribbit, the word may alter for different languages but the nature it describes always remains the same. Those who profit from practices of usury, if unchallenged, will quickly dominate all souls through monopolies and debt, when they dominate few will understand usury, because when understood it’s true horrors are exposed.

You see usury is not trade; that simple statement baffles any mind invested in the abuses of usury, if they cared to ponder upon it.

The homeless tramp travelled the land, he avoided the big cities, and preferred to forage in nature for the most part, fishing and trapping, and gathering what he found. He was deep down worried about his bleak future.

It’d been two years since he abandoned all connections to the usury systems, he was an obstinate man, so strong his views on usury he would rather starve to death, than to yield, to indulge however slightly in what he viewed as a behaviour equal to, or worse than, the cold blooded murder of another innocent soul; to him, his integrity was supreme.

He did visit rural towns from time to time; he loved to travel the land, to stare in wonder at the magnificence of nature, to drink the clear fresh waters of the mountains, to eat the bounty that laid in abundance upon the earth. But he would not murder large animals, so for his clothes he was forced to exchange his labours where providence would allow, for clothes, blankets and what small previsions he needed each winter.

He arrived at a town he’d never visited before, and looked on its public notice boards for job offers, sure enough he found someone looking for their garden clearing and trees cutting back.

He rang the number and was given the address, which he walked to and knocked at the door, it was always a nerve-racking time, and not everyone reacted well to him when they opened the door.

The door opened and a young woman in her early twenties stared at him. “Yes.” She says in an unfriendly tone.

“Hello, you posted an ad on the public notice board, we, talked on the phone. You’re looking for someone to do some yard work for you. Please forgive how I look, I’m very studious and although I may appear outwardly dishevelled, I’m an honest soul.” He smiles through his long beard.

“EErm.” She screws up her face.

“Please. I promise you, you’ll be more than happy with my work, under this prickly beard beats the heart of a poet warrior.” He smiles.

“I don’t know.” She answers.” He smiles again.

“Erm, well…” The young woman ponders silently.

“You’d better not make me regret it, OK.” She was still in two minds about giving him a chance, but she thinks he has kind eyes.

“Thank you. What would you like doing?” He asked. The young woman explained what she wanted doing with her garden, she showed him the tools and he set to work.” Gwen said.

“Eerie, a story of homelessness with my face, and some strange parallels with my reality.” Seisyll commented, still focused on the painting.

“He laboured hard all day, until the sunset, the young woman gave him food and drinks throughout the day. As he put the tools away, he called to the woman goodnight and that he’d return in the morning, and he left to find a place to sleep.

As dawn broke he arrived at the woman’s home and continued with the work, several hours later the woman awoke and gave him breakfast, she was very happy with his efforts, and she began to trust him a little more.

“What happened to make you homeless?” She asked as she brought him out his food.

“I was a teacher, I taught physics, but the more I studied the more I realized physics was riddled with deliberate deceptions, I was in effect teaching lies or half-truths, and I couldn’t do that, I began to teach physics from a different perspective, I explained things outside of the official curriculum, the university I taught at didn’t like this, and they terminated my contract.” He explained.

“Couldn’t you find another job?” She asks.

“The universities are controlled by the issuers of grants, they issue grants with strings attached, universities are very corrupt places. So to teach outside of the authorized version of physics threatens the monopolies of the issuers of the grants, who’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to maintain the lies. So, all universities, colleges and schools shut me out.” He explained.

“What about getting a job outside of teaching?” She asked.

“The same powers that fund the universities own the corporations, only a hand full of corporations exist, these are umbrella corporations that control 95% of all corporations. I tried for research jobs but they shut me out of those also.” He replied.

“Well you could always work in a local business?” She asked.

“Well, being exposed to the spider’s web of control I began to investigate the structure of the system we exist within.” He told her.

“What did you discover?” She asked.

“I understood usury, and I realized its nature, and from that point onward I felt compelled to refuse to be a party to all forms of usury.” He explained.

“What’s usury?

I’ve never heard of it.” She asks.

“Well, you first have to grasp what trade is.” He explains.

“Trade is exchange.” She answers.

“It is indeed, but it’s not exchange of goods.” He replies.

“I don’t understand?

How can it not be an exchange of goods?” She asks.

You may only own that which you create, we’re born into a world with nothing but our body, and we leave this world with nothing but our memories.” He explains.

“I don’t follow?” She replied.

“Well if I plant a crop of potatoes, the potatoes are the bounty of nature, grown from the earth, and out of the seed, and from the design of nature.

However, the physical labours invested in the preparation of the land, the planting of the seeds, the harvesting and marketing of the potatoes, is what you’ve honestly invested and deserve to exchange for the labours of others in reciprocation. So when you sell the potatoes, the potatoes are themselves free, as it’s the bounty of nature, but the labours it took aiding the natural process can be traded, as your labour was used to allow the potatoes to reach its end user and consumer, and those labours must be exchanged through reciprocation.

All trade is an exchange of labours.” He explained.

“So what is usury then?” She asked.

“Usury is a one sided extraction of the fruits of another labours.

This means it is not trade, because there is no reciprocation of labours, a usurious exchange is a one sided gain.” He explained.

“So renting a house is usury, or borrowing money with interest.” The woman replied.

“Yes, but it’s more pervasive than that, it begins with ownership.” He explained.

“How?” She asked.

“Ownership was the creation of feudalism, which takes thing they cannot own, and claiming they’re their own, it holds all land and resources within the set boundaries of the fictional construct of a corporate fiefdom. The corporation sells title to the lands of its fiefdom, and sells license for resources it fraudulently holds, which are deeds of tenancy, or for resources license of use, so the land always remains under the ownership of the dominant corporation, this is known as eminent domain. For these tenancies the corporation demands annual land tax, for the use of their owned properties.

This also allows the owners of the dominant corporation to impose regulation upon the tenants of their lands, this is known as corporate policy, or legislation.

Through legislation the landlords establish monopolies, and the usury system replaces all trades.” The tramp explained.

“I see. So how did that prevent you getting a job locally?” The young woman asks.

“Capitalism is created through imposed and maintained scarcity, the dominant corporation of State restricts all resources, and imposes and maintains monopolies on mediums of exchange, this changes trade from reciprocal labours to debt and profit.” He explained.

“So, how is profit usury?” she asked.

“The capitalists use their monopoly of capital to generate profit, profit, being the interest demanded for the use of capital, profit is either taken by adding a benefit for themselves for the use of their capital onto the costs of the thing traded, or from under paying the souls they employ in the creation of the objects of trade. So, they either take usury from the consumer or the producer, or both.

So in good conscience I couldn’t work for a capitalist as they would be gaining through usury, and usury, to me, is a greater wrong than murder.” He answers.” Gwen smiled. “I invent stories to form the images I paint.” She explained.

“Please continue, it’s an interesting narrative.” Seisyll requested.

“OK. How can simply gaining a benefit from a loan be a greater wrong than murder?” She asked puzzled.

“It sounds strange I know, it seems on the surface minor, but the suffering and malevolent power the practices of usury generate has no equal. It is the generator of wars, poverty, disease, and turns free souls into slaves.” He answers.

The tramp eats his food and continued to work on her garden, as the day drew to a close he completed his work, the young woman was very pleased, and paid him the money they had agreed upon, with a generous plate of food.

“Couldn’t you compromise to live a normal life, and minimize the usury you’ve to be a party to?” The woman asked.

“I’d be living a lie. Most exist oblivious to the lies and deceptions, but lies have an infinite capacity to diminish us, once lies are exposed it’s only the integrity a soul possesses that will either accept the lies for their own advantage or to conform through fear, or stand only for truth. Living a lie erodes the strength of the soul, diminishes self-esteem, it dissolves our very foundation.

Integrity is not conditional; it’s all I have. It’s the anima reflecting upon its bonds of virtue. Integrity is after all, the basis of all virtue.” He answers.

“But what’s integrity really, if it forces you to exist as a tramp?” The young woman asked.

“I must be honest in all my dealings, as it’s reciprocal, even if the one I trade with cheats me, because it’s what I am, not what they are that matters. When integrity is central you fear nothing, since you’ve nothing to hide. When integrity is dominant you act impartially, candidly and scrupulously in all things, so you’ll have no guilt. When fear and guilt don’t exist within your decisions you’re free to act in excellence.

I’m a tramp because others compromise their integrity, and abandon all virtue, leaving me without any options but to remove myself from their self-enslavement, although they don’t perceive that enslavement as they’ve no ability to grasp freedom, having never experienced it, they’ve no frame of reference.

Those viewed as great successes in the usury system are always completely devoid of any virtue, and have absolutely no integrity, in the immortal words of the soulless billionaire Mark Zuckerberg, the plagiarising founder of Facebook: ‘They trust me — dumb fucks.’

But we’re eternal souls, and life is very short, at every moment you choose yourself, always choose wisely.” He smiles.

Gwen concludes the story, and looks at Seisyll for a few seconds. “I’ll give you a chance, seems a greater force is at work, and from the looks of you, you need a chance.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much. My name is Seisyll.” He told her with another smile. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning to make a start.”

Gwen looked at him with some pity. “Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?” She asked him.

“Of course, not to worry about me, I can sleep anywhere.” Seisyll smiled.

Gwen pondered for a second and decided to see how he was after a day’s work, before offering further help. “OK. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m up at six, if you get here early I’ll make you some breakfast. What do you want paying for the work?” Gwen asked.

“Please pay me what you think I’m worth. I give you my promise I won’t demand more.” Seisyll replied.

“OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She walked behind him as he made his way to the front door, she said goodbye and he wondered back along the garden path.

Seisyll was excited as he walked the path from Gwen’s door, now looking forward to his promised breakfast, his empty belly presently yearned to receive, even when the heavens opened his spirits were not dampened; the rain poured heavy and relentless.

Click Link: Chapter Four

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