New Earth Attitude: Unconditional Business

For the Awakened (and only you know if you are), the old system of things is dead. It’s energetically over. It just doesn’t know it yet.

There can be no more “business as usual,” not ever. Passive acceptance for the old way of doing things within a biased system based upon bonds of indentured servitude is no longer an option. It simply cannot be sustained because the dead system’s roots were rotted out from under us a long time ago as very few took notice.

Yet, with every ending comes a new beginning. When the old ways won’t work, new ways to work are created.

So what do we want to create instead? Where do we go from here? How do we work with others in a practical way during this foot-in-both-worlds between-time?

These are issues I’ve been pondering for a while because I know now it is up to us – each individual and the collective – to co-create a brand new way of ‘sharing talents’ and experiences while redefining what has worth or value in a higher humane way. And to co-create a brand new way forward will mean designing balanced and beneficial methods of interacting without replicating any of the old system’s darkness and duplicity.

When I found a recent article by Vera Ingebord, The Wake Up Experience entitled Unconditional Business-Doing Business on New Earth, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if she'd read my mind and I am so grateful for her perceptions I'm compelled to share them. I feel her insight can offer us a sound working bridge over the volatile rapids of systemic change. No doubt, there will many new exciting concepts to consider in our coming timelines. It's hard to wait.

For now, I, too, am looking forward to doing and being “Unconditional Business” with you.

© by DK King

Unconditional Business

A big part of the creation of New Earth is how businesses will be run and will be operating in the future. The energetic New Earth templates are created based on trust and unconditional love. This has a large impact on the business world.

You will find no conditions, contracts, terms or disclaimers on my website any longer as those are old concepts based on fear and mistrust.

Our commitment to a joint experience is all that is needed. We commit to a co-creation the moment we take the decision to work with each other.

Based on the new energies, and based on the knowing that we are each responsible for our own energy and creation, we know that all experiences we step into are meant to be and meant to assist us on our journey and in our growth. When we get triggered and a button gets pushed, we know that this is a sign of our own system, telling us where we are still not in balance. We take responsibility for our own feelings; we accept them to then shift them. The New Earth Human values all that is and sees the purpose in each and every experience.

New Earth businesses are operating in the same way - as collectives interacting with other collectives, based on energetic resonance and principles.

Intention, commitment and dedication

My intention, commitment and dedication is to work with people and businesses that are ready to drop all conditions and safety nets that are based on the old paradigm patterns, based on lack, mistrust and fear. Instead, we jointly are doing business together and are co-creating amazing projects, endeavors and experiences based on abundance, trust and love, that manifest into the New Earth reality. We jointly embody the new blueprints of co-operation, and comm-unity. The only laws that need to be respected are the universal laws of energy. They automatically represent the fertile ground on which we will build the new paradigm.

Unconditional business automatically always leads to a win-win for everyone as everyone commits and takes responsibility for their part. Win-win can mean anything, money is just one part in it. There are many other forms of abundance to be appreciated, such as, connections to amazing people, new experiences, new inspiration, new growth opportunities personally and collectively, etc.

Unconditional business is automatically in balance, as it is a co-creation of balanced beings that are aware of the universal laws, the process of creation and evolution and their responsibility for their own energetic contribution into the joint creation. Therefore, an aligned intention and commitment is key before entering the process of physical creation. This includes the commitment to be very honest and share when something feels out of alignment and feels unpleasant. Expressing our authenticity and vulnerability is an essential part and key to successful co-creation.

This also means to give a new meaning and task to money. Money is not the purpose of why we are co-creating or why we are doing business. Money is nothing but the energetic backflow for a co-creation to maintain balance with the value created, and to re-invest it into further co-creations that serve the greater good.

I am looking forward to doing and being unconditional business with you!

The Galactic Transcripts

It’s the 1950’s. A man sees a cigar-shaped UFO, subsequently becomes involved in receiving channeled messages from intergalactic “human” beings, and then, within hours of his death, writes ‘Border to Infinity’ as the final entry in his personal journal. What does it all mean? And could these events be interconnected?

The Galactic Transcripts will take you on a journey that is as provocative as it is mysterious. Its thirty-seven transmissions are channeled from a non-earth, alien group who identify themselves as members of the Space Brotherhood – messages imparted by representatives known as Monka, Korton, Traenor, Klala, Hatton, Lalur, and Soltec.

Learn what the Space Brotherhood also has to say about other organizations such as the Galactic Counsel, Confederation of Galaxies, Counsel of Lords, Solar Tribunal, and the Solar Cross Foundation.

  

The Galactic Transcripts offer us descriptions of other worlds, their inhabitants, morals, ethics, and histories. They even forewarn of the coming cleansing of Earth and the cataclysms preceding it. Other messages shed light on the original colonization of Earth, telepathic communication, the power of love, the program of the Radiant One, and much more.

Those who have read The Galactic Transcripts have found them to be life-altering, profound, inspirational, transformative. Will they have that effect on you? Open your mind and allow the transcripts to take you beyond the limitations of our world and into new, undiscovered worlds beyond our galaxy.

The quotation above was taken directly from the back cover of The Galactic Transcripts © by Richard Andrew King.

I've had the distinct privilege of working with Richard Andrew King on this amazing publication which was newly released on 27 September 2013, and I simply can't want for you read it!

Get ready to stretch your awareness beyond what you have been taught to believe and discover what life can be like among the stars ... even beyond our galaxy.

Get your copy today!! Paperback and eBook Kindle versions are now available at:

 www.TheGalacticTranscripts.com

The Journey

A special thanks to Artist KAd Collins for allowing me to use as my avatar the magical surrealistic portrait she created in silverpoint called "The Journey." She has beautifully captured a part of my life's journey in a highly personalized story-telling work of art bursting with expressive and meaningful symbology. For me, it transcends all words.

The Journey © Copyright by Artist, KAd Collins. 
To find out more about the artist or to commission your own surrealistic story-telling portrait, contact the artist directly at ArtistKAdCollins or KAd's Etsy Studio.

© by DK King

Rocking It On Holy Ground

céad míle fáilte (a hundred thousand welcomes) ~

The bucket list adventure I shared with Eileen last fall did not end with a little ferry ride from Mallaig to the Isle of Skye on All Saints’ Day. We had bigger plans for the second half of our trip. Giant plans, in fact - plans so gigantic that if we could’ve followed in the giant’s footsteps straight from Fingal’s Cave on the Scottish side of the Causeway to get there, we would have.

Our determination to rock it big on holy ground required instead that we fly into Belfast and drive to the northern shoreline of County Antrim to reach our landmark destination, the Giant’s Causeway - one of the windiest points in Northern Ireland. It was November 3^rd, and it was (not surprisingly) a very blustery, cold winter day.

To step out of our car was to step headlong into a forceful wind that was so biting it made us question our reason for being there in the first place. Just how bad did we want to do this? Eileen gave me every opportunity to back out, but I’d told her from the beginning that I was in, and in I was. So we sucked it up - faces frozen in place from the icy cold - and leaned into the wind that seemed determined to knock us over in the parking lot as we strived to reach the visitor center with satchels in hand.

Inside that suitcase full of costumes Eileen had been determined to schlepp across several continents were two pink morph body suits, pink ballet slippers, and frosted long haired wigs for this very occasion - but an on-site costume change would be required. We giggled like two giddy schoolgirls behind our respective bathroom stall doors while we struggled (over many layers of long underwear and as much insulation as we could manage) to change into those pink morph suits.

Once changed, we walked out of the bathroom camoflauged in sweatsuits, wigs securely safety-pinned to the hoods of our morph suits. No one even noticed that we had transformed ourselves into seasoned nymphs intent upon shamelessly re-creating an amazing album cover from our youth in front of a hundred tourists, many of whom were too young to get it. The album cover, of course, was Led Zepplin’s “Houses of the Holy.”

Conceptually we may have been dating ourselves, but we weren’t looking so old once we stripped off our sweatsuits and began scrambling over those slippery octagonal stones against heavy winds and seaspray like a pair of performance art monkeys … monkey see, monkey do.

It was awesome! 

Sláinte!

© by DK King

Eileen with a fist full of Irish soil
Giant Finn MacCool’s Chimney Stacks as backdrop

Beany and Cecil Take Loch Ness By Storm

The latter half of 2012 may have seen me delicately dodging the onslaught of shit bombs life had seen fit to lob my way, but in hindsight I can now admit that it wasn’t all bitterness and gnashing of teeth. My hard-earned inner strength probably had something to do with that, but I suspect my cynically optimistic nature (thanks to a hearty Irish gene pool) had everything to do with putting things into proper, albeit sardonic, perspective. There were, in truth, a few sweet moments sprinkled over the top of all that sour.   

One highlight was an overseas bucket list adventure I’d been invited to share with a dear friend I’ve known since grade school. Eileen Dennin, the instigator and bucket list benefactress, had always wanted to spend Samhain in the Scottish Highlands, more particularly at the castle that seemed to share her name, the Eilean Donan Castle.  

To keep with the theme she’d envisioned, she had stowed a separate suitcase filled solely with the costumes we needed to dress as ancient Celtic druids prepared to perform ceremony on the shores of Loch Duich under Halloween’s misty moonlight. The castle’s security cameras undoubtedly captured our hooded figures walking solemnly over the island’s stone bridge with glowing candles in hand as we made our way across to release our jack-o-lantern sky balloons beyond the castle's seawall into the darkness.

Storming the castle was no mean feat. It took some serious planning, and of course, a 25-mile scenic trek along the infamous Loch Ness with little expectation of a real life Nessie sighting. That’s OK. These two Beanys simply brought their own Cecils.

© by DK King

"Help, Cecil, Help!"       "I'm a comin', Beany-Boy!!" 

2012: R.I.P.

The last thing I want to do is wish my life away, but 2012 has been one interminably long year of wishing it was over. It felt as if the year would never end, yet it seemed to deliver unto me little more than one ending after another.

And now that the end has finally arrived, there will be no fond farewell to its passing from me tonight. Nor will Auld Lang Syne finds its melody sung from my lips as I surrender 2012 at the stroke of midnight with a deep sigh of relief. As much as I'd like to consciously forget the difficulties of this year gone by, the dismal irony is that I probably won’t have to do a thing to help the bad memories fade away since aging and the passing of time will most likely take care of everything. Clearly a blessing and a curse.   

I suspect that I’m not alone in my sentiments about the passing away of 2012, nor have I experienced the worst of it when compared to those who are struggling to survive devastations wreaked throughout the year in the name of gratuitous violence and natural disasters. All to whom my heart goes out.

So it's with great release that I now bid my final ‘goodbye and good riddance’ to 2012. Swaha!

© by DK King

The Rock of Gibraltar Bows to the Strong Winds of Change

I’ve known some rough years. I’ve known quite a few bad patches too - some of them admittedly self-created, and the rest, well, perhaps not so much so. And while many of my life-long friends have observed with occasional comment how challenging my life appears to them, it’s the only life I have right now and I feel an inexplicable moral obligation to make the best of it. I confess though that I do at times feel as if I’m a walking testament to the veracity of “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” – Lord knows I’ve muttered those words to myself like a mantra long enough to almost be convinced it’s true.

The reality is that I don’t do victimhood or martyrdom very well. Nor do I have much use for the notion of “suffering for suffering’s sake.” Frankly at this stage, I think if I hear one more person offer me up (what is usually meant to be a compliment) some well-intended words of twisted encouragement about how strong I am because of what I’ve endured as if that’s supposed to be enough to keep me going, I think I’m going to puke.

In my experience, the development of inner strength is directly related to how one navigates through the land mines of life and subsequently processes through the post-explosion wounds and emotional compression that is the aftermath … not unlike that which transpires during the formation of a diamond or in the tempering of fine steel.

I believe most people really do try to pave their individual journeys around the wheel of life with good intentions as they maneuver through it all in the best way they know how, the way they’ve been taught. Yet when life hits us between the eyes with a painful and profound compression event which we frequently have little or no control over, it seems the most expeditious and effective way we have as human beings to alleviate our own suffering while simultaneously strengthening our character is to voluntarily change our perceptions, our belief systems and/or our way of being – whatever that entails.

The process of change is very personal and often irreversible. Although change tends to be frighteningly hard for most people, I personally don’t find the actions associated with change to be especially devastating … not anymore anyway. The devastation in my experience comes not from the act of change itself, but from the illusion that has to be shattered in order for the act of change to become a healthy necessity.

 

I call these illusion-shattering land mines “Towers” because, like the blind-siding shit bombs that they are, these explosions historically strike at my Tower with destructive purpose and without mercy. Upon impact, I know with trembling certainty that something deep inside of me will be violently ripped from my core as the rest of the world callously carries on unaware and unaffected by the gaping hole that’s about to be left in my soul. The feeling of anguish is almost indescribable. Yet it’s from this black hole that true strength is born. Go figure.

The day my excuse for a father narcissistically tried to defend his lifetime of abusive bad behavior by insinuating he’d done me a favor and deserved some credit for making me strong, was the day I knew it was time to release any illusion I’d ever held with regard to his place in my life. It was also the day I officially resigned from my lifetime role as the 'strong one', aka The Rock of Gibraltar. This shit bomb of a “Tower” was clearly a monumental one, yet the changes I ultimately made because of it, a blessing. 

I quickly discovered that people get fighting mad when the rules of a relationship are unilaterally changed and new boundaries are established, particularly when their self-serving agendas have been abruptly obstructed in the process. Resigning from my role as everyone’s Rock of Gibraltar meant that my strength could no longer be used against me or taken for granted. It meant that I could no longer be held to a higher standard simply because I was stronger. It meant that the emotional emergency room I’d generously sustained for decades was permanently shuttered to those who had abused or taken my strong support for granted. And above all, it meant that those around me could have the opportunity to step up and find their own inner strength. Yes, a blessing indeed.

This being said, all I can say now is that the Thanksgiving holiday finally allowed me the opportunity to catch my breath long enough to recognize that the last 12 months have been one of the most difficult years I’ve known in a very long time; the last 3 months, especially so. Talk about feeling overwhelmed by a blitzkrieg of shit bombs. I suppose Winston Churchill was feeling much the same way when he said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Perhaps his brusque quip is just a poignant way of reminding me that “this too shall pass.”

Well, what stone remains of this former Rock of Gibraltar has suffered markedly from the eroding effects of emotional compression, and the cracks are starting to show. It must be time to let go of everything and bow once again to the strong winds of change…

© by DK King

When Nature Calls, All I Get Are Flashbacks

Childhood memories can be a funny thing. Or maybe not, depending on the memories.

Like most people, there are times when things happen to me in the present moment that trigger surprising and unexpected memories from my past. Sometimes the flashbacks are so strong they leave behind a residue or a lingering feeling that’s difficult to shake off. It’s hard to predict just what kind of feeling might be left behind too because it can run the gamut…from happiness to heartbreak and everything else in between. And then there are the times when nothing's left but an empty ache because some gaping hole in my life has just reminded me that it hasn’t yet been filled.

When old memories opt to superimpose themselves upon my present-day reality, I’ve had to remind myself more than once that “that was then and this is now” since there’s nothing like a blast from the past to catapult me right out of the here and now. Where my childhood memories are concerned, things really were a lot different “back in the day”. Social structures were different, priorities and values were different, belief systems were different, normalcy was different. You name it, and it was probably different.

I grew up in a big family and like most large families, it always seemed as if there was never enough to go around. Never enough money, never enough food, never enough underwear. We competed for limited resources and our right to take up space, and I suppose in the end, we all got what we needed for none of us seem overtly worse for the wear.

My point? Well, in a previous post titled “Living The Big Sky Life: Been There, Done That”, I’d indicated that my childhood camping flashbacks had posed a few personal challenges for me during the time I spent in Boy’s Town Montana, and then asked the following question to give evidence of their origin: where do two parents with little money to spare take Grandma King, five daughters barely a year apart in age, and occasionally an older brother they called uncle on an affordable family vacation every year?

The King’s answer was, of course, camping. Nature’s drive-in where you don’t pay per head but per car load. And the dirt was always free.

For obvious reasons, this King family never had the fancy wheels I’d see driving through Whitefish year after year. Many of our camping trips saw the eight of us tightly packed into a first edition white Datsun station wagon with no air conditioning, only to pour out of said Datsun when we reached our campground destination like a bunch of clowns climbing out of a clown car.

We’ve also been known on occasion to take the “T T” approach to problem solving when necessary…like that time we drove through the Mojave Desert in August in the Datsun without A/C, and decided to replace the luggage in the back with a solid 12” x 12” block of ice which we promptly encircled and smothered with sweaty, swollen body parts in desperate need of cooling – quite the opposite of roasting hotdogs around a campfire. Side note (for those who might not remember): Datsun was the predecessor to Nissan, and there was no such thing as a seat belt law. 


The Datsun does Mammoth

Then there was the classic two-toned emerald green 1957 Chevy 4-door in mint condition we inherited when Grandpa King died. Grandma King (who couldn’t drive but could never turn down a chance to go fishing) would often be along for the ride and she always rode shotgun on the front bench seat while clutching a brown paper sack to her side like a wino with a bottle of ripple. But instead of periodically lifting the bag to take a nip of the formaldehyde nectar as one would expect, she would pull down the top of the paper bag just enough to unscrew a brass lid covering the mason jar hidden inside, and then proceed to spit a huge glob of brown snuff juice into the glass jar, mile after mile after mile...


The Mustang does Mount Hood, Oregon

One summer even saw eight of us packed into a 1967 convertible Ford Mustang for three months as we traversed and camped every inch of Oregon and Washington.



We had a father who’d turn into Mr. Hyde at the prospect of driving fast on any winding mountain road as if it were a rollercoaster. He’d return to his senses with irritation only when several of us would turn green in the backseat and he’d be forced to turn off the road so our mother could do damage control. While other tourists at those lookout turnouts were busy gushing on about the breathtaking views, we were busy puking our guts up in the gravel. Good times.

Getting from one campground to the next invariably saw us arriving at our destination around midnight, half asleep, cramped and cranky. You haven’t really experienced the King’s kind of camping until you’ve learned to set up camp in the dark. It was hardly ever worth pulling out those annoying Coleman lanterns since the unreliable little silk bag-bulbs used for illumination never failed to dissolve into a useless fine ash at the slightest provocation, and always when you needed the light the most. We ultimately became quite skilled at balancing a flashlight while stringing up an orange glow-in-the-dark tube tent between two trees. Side note: There was no fancy canvas tent with spikes and poles in our trunk. All we had were neon orange plastic tube tents. They were cheap and compact, and if they were good enough for the Girl Scouts, they were good enough for a King girl. BTW-The materials used in today’s fancy gore-tex tents with bending fiberglass frames weren’t even a glimmer in some hiker’s waterproof dream.

Late one midnight we set up camp somewhere around Lake Shasta. Early the next morning we were rudely awakened by a cacophony of loud honks, and we all scrambled out of our vibrant orange tube tents rubbing the sleep from our eyes to see what all the ruckus was about. Queued up in front of us was a long line of pickups pulling boat trailers waiting to launch their boats into the lake. The problem was we’d unwittingly set up our camp in the center of the lake's only boat ramp. Clearly we were the hold-up. Good times.

The summer we covered the Pacific Northwest saw us spending many comfortable nights on the mossy turf of Oregon’s lush rainforests. As harmless as they were, those slimy rainforest slugs took some getting used to. They were Jurassic Park huge, and we couldn’t help but get squeamish every time we’d have to string up our tube tents around mucus covered trees hosting mongo snails without shells. Condensation dripped onto our faces at night as we laid in our sleeping bags and involuntarily listened to the death squeals of those doomed slugs getting squished in the middle of the road every time a car passed by. The sound of a dying slug squeezed of its last breath was scarier than any ghost story we could’ve ever heard around the campfire. As far as haunting memories go, it’s a toss-up between the crying dying slugs of Oregon and the earwig colonies of Lake Cachuma. Good times.

Our Tube Tents give the Rainforests of Oregon a hint of color

A traditional King postcard scene would show our father propping up every lakeshore we ever graced with a line of little King girls holding fishing rods baited in goopy pink salmon eggs. The fishing rods on the lake as little girls eventually evolved into backpacking out of Bishop (Mammoth) where once I had to catch a rainbow trout from a running stream with my bare hands like a Paiute Indian. That was after the time Grandma King got third degree burns on Lake Mary (Mammoth) because she had hit the just-been-stocked fishing jackpot and refused to get off the lake while it was “hot”. And the time we caught a bucket full of crawdads later boiled for dinner from a mountain creek by dangling an opened safety pin from the end of a line in between the rocks lining the creekbed.

The times we were stranded on lakes and rivers in boats with engine failure are too many to count, but that time we went bobbing to the point of sea sickness on the sticky waters of the Salton Sea under a scorching sun for three hours was especially memorable. Yep, good times. And honestly some of it really was. In fact, the more time that passes, the softer and fonder some of these memories seem to get. Fortunately for those of us who were there, we're still laughing about it.

Childhood memories can indeed be a funny thing, yet do any of these flashbacks make me want to honor nature by roughing it in the woods and catching my own dinner? No, and hell no. Like I said ... been there, done that.

Living The Big Sky Life^TM
© by DK King

The Butterfly Goddess Sheds Her Cocoon

A special thanks to Artist KAd Collins for allowing me to use the image of her exquisite "Butterfly Goddess" as my avatar. She is truly magical! Thank you Kate.

Butterfly Goddess © Copyright by Artist, KAd Collins.
To find out more about the artist, go to ArtistKAdCollins or KAd's Etsy Studio.

Artist KAd Collins is currently working on two new collections for release sometime in 2012 and 2013. If you are interested in becoming a collector, contact the artist directly.

“T T” Territory: Laying A Block Foundation

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a video speaks volumes; and the most epic and honest mobile home commercial ever made can show you in about a minute just how easy it is to cash in those empty beer cans and make a down payment on a “T T” starter home.

…looks like there’s a price range compatible with almost every budget. And while it may be one thing to agree upon a price for your new abode with a spit and a hand shake, it’s quite another to get a loan from the bank to close the deal before all of the kids move in - especially when loan underwriting guidelines are so excruciatingly tight, as any weak economy would dictate.

Not that getting a mobile home loan was ever very easy, even in the best of times. Perhaps it’s because banks just can’t decide what kind of loan they’re actually making, so the asset ends up on their books in some catch-all general ledger account called “Deliverance Loans”.

It always seemed like a ‘collateral conundrum’ to me since a mobile home isn’t really a house that is permanently affixed to a foundation in the space where it’s parked – ‘parked’ being the operative (or it is inoperative?) word here. Nor is it really a car (even though it’s parked) in possession of a built-in engine powerful enough to move it down the highway autonomously. In summary: A mobile home is basically a trailer-type movable living unit that can be relocated anywhere on a whim and a belch or occasionally on a twister; and this bestows upon it an unsavory classification which, by its very nature, creates a special lending niche with a tailored style of underwriting.

Given my long, and perhaps not-so-illustrious, career in the world of real estate finance, it was inevitable that over the course of time I would find myself in circumstances where I was forced to learn how to do something I never thought I needed (or wanted) to know. Reflecting on my days of “living the big sky life”, I confess that learning how to close a mobile home transaction was one of those occasions.

Special loan niche or no, most prudent lenders like to at least appear as if they’re underwriting loans that hide behind the three “C’s” of lending: Credit (“T T” mindset), Capacity (size of welfare/disability check), Collateral (the Trailer/MH).

Back when lenders had a shelf full of underwriting books (now everything is on-line), there was usually a book for mobile home loans as well. Although I never had any proof (and no one ever copped to it), I was convinced a second book existed - a secret book that was locked up in some back office which contained the real guidelines for making a mobile home loan, or “T T” loans as they came to be called.

Based solely upon personal observation, I wouldn't have been surprised if excerpts from that secret book had faux guidelines that looked something like this:



Since discrimination is prohibited by law, every requirement itemized below shall apply to each Borrower regardless of gender. Should the following conditions not be met, exceptions will be reviewed and approved on a case-by-case basis.

1. PHOTO IDENTIFICATION

Photographs of each Borrower shall be included in loan file under review, and shall give evidence that supports two out of three of the following requirements:

A. Each Borrower must have a minimum of two tattoos. Said tattoos shall be displayed to best advantage in photograph(s) of Borrower posing in the traditional (what once was white but is now beer stained and/or yellowed with age) wife-beater tee-shirt.

B. Photograph(s) must give evidence of an official mullet haircut. (This appearance assures underwriter that Borrower is all business up front and the party will stay out back). Underwriter may take exception to the mullet requirement should hair otherwise reveal re-growth/dark roots of not less than 1” sprouting from a ratted mass of over-bleached blonde hair, OR a large smattering of wiry grays intermixed with stringy and/or dingy hair.

C. Photograph(s) must give evidence of yellow (brown or black OK) and/or missing teeth, any silver/gold capped front tooth shall be deemed compliant; AND the hardened yellow fingernails that can only be acquired from years of smoking filterless cigarettes. Chewing tobacco stains on scraggly facial hair may replace yellow fingernail requirement with underwriter approval.

2. TRAILER – MOBILE HOME (MH)

A. MH Trailer may be parked on top of blocks, log stumps, old tires, beer kegs or anything recycled from the local dumpster (think green). Level floors are not required, and Borrower is free to design a contoured floor slant that allows beer cans to roll from the icebox to the couch undeterred.

B. MH Trailer may be parked in a facility that has met all pre-fab specified standards and received prior underwriter approval. Otherwise, MH Trailer must have predominant access via dirt road (insured access optional), and should be parked in one of the following ‘Bufu's’: i) ‘Desert Bufu’ will give evidence of sagebrush acreage with tumbleweeds, scrawny cactus, and swirling dust devils; and ii) ‘Bufu in the Woods’ will give evidence of bark beetle and tick infested forests dripping in Spanish moss, and surrounded by swampy pastures and patches of bear grass.

C. MH Trailer shall not be required to have a sanitary-certified water supply, flush toilets, or a functioning septic system. Cesspools and outhouses shall be deemed compliant. Dried up wells on property OK.

D. MH Trailer shall not be required to have a code-approved electrical supply. An electrical line that has been properly hot-wired from the big transformer running through the back of the property or along the gully shall be deemed compliant.

E. MH Trailers (single-wides) built prior to 1969 that have corrugated side panels rippled with asbestos are considered acceptable. All MH Trailers are required to be officially registered with the proper state vehicle licensing department, and must display a personalized vanity plate approved by underwriter. Some examples of previously approved vanity plates are: 
“imahick”, “heehaw”, “tattme”, “Tbagger, “TTtude”, "TSquare".

Enough said.

© by DK King

The Eyes Have It

Here's me looking at you!

© Copyright by Artist, KAd Collins.

To find out more about the artist, go to ArtistKAdCollins or KAd's Etsy Studio.

Treasure Map Makes Detour Through The Poorhouse

What's wrong with this picture? 

Dan Edstrom for DTC Systems, Inc.

Frankly, I don’t know what’s scarier….trying to follow the trail of one borrower’s mortgage loan through the system pre-2009, or the fact that I know how to read the map.

No wonder the system imploded all over itself and expeditiously took down half of the world’s economies. I'd say it tossed that old “too big to fail” notion right out the window as well….and with it obviously went the middle class livelihoods of millions.

Is it realistic to think our financial system will position itself from here on out to learn from the mistakes of the past, as it continuously strives to outdo the bottom line performances of the past without thought of long term consequences? Don’t count on it.

Should history prove a worthy gauge, I figure the next wave of aggressive newbies who grow up and hit the “Street” in about 20 years will go in short on memory about the economic collapse of 2008 (except perhaps what they learned in their history books), and go long on the invincible belief that they’re the exception to every rule governing market lifecycles.

So when that next wave eventually does hit, I too would like to think that I’ll be smart enough to voluntarily jump off of the bull’s back before I'm violently bucked off, then mauled by a bear. 

© by DK King

Holy Humanity!

My guess is that only a true contrarian would polemically deny that the last couple of years have delivered unto planet Earth a concentrated dose of disasters, natural or otherwise.

Being a fellow resident fully dependent upon this orb to sustain me just as my neighbor does, I find it difficult to helplessly stand by and watch as families and livelihoods are ripped asunder with little or no warning by destructive forces that are usually beyond the control of those most affected.

And I know I’m not alone in my compassion for the beings who have suffered tremendous losses at the whim of a volatile planet…..a compassion that admittedly springs from a line of internal questioning that typically begins with "what if that had happened to me or mine?", and ends with "how can I help?" 

Well, a media fed by catastrophe has yet to fail in answering my last question with anything other than a cry for $$Cash$$, since apparently the best way to help those who have suffered is to drop as much cash as possible into the humanitarian collection plate every time it’s passed around.

This bothers me.

Not because I don’t recognize that there are huge costs associated with providing the humanitarian aid and rescue efforts needed for those in distress, and that the costs need to be covered.

My aversion to these predictable and repetitive pleas for cash and more cash lies deep within the layers of bureaucratic corruption that invariably pads the rescue efforts with a greed quotient so top heavy that nothing is left over to help those for whom the aid was originally intended.

After this month’s monsoon season submerged one-fifth of Pakistan under water, I began to wonder if maybe we’ve got it backwards. That maybe the bigger picture in all of this is more about encouraging the Earth’s tenants to go on the offensive by investing more money into working harmoniously with our landlord vs. defensively reacting to an endless river of devastation that might have been preventable had we better listened to the Earth’s rhythms.

For all of our scientific and technological advancements, as a people, I think we’re still behind the curve on this one. The world may have been as flat as the lack of progress seen throughout the dark ages, yet the wisdom of that dark age placed great value on the voice of Nature. Perhaps the ignorance of the dark ages was really light years ahead of today's more enlightened age.

Mankind's overall attitude today may be that money makes the world go ‘round, but our landlord, Mother Earth, really does hold all of the power. She obviously can't be bought. And she will win. 

Looks like we’re in this one together.

Holy Humanity!

© by DK King