#and good lord considering what shes been through id say its justified

[upside-downish]

let sophie foster say fuck

[searchingthedepths]

The Day We First Met

As I said once before, this blog uses a combination of literature, art, and audio to tell its story. What I neglected to say was that it wouldn’t necessarily be in sequential order. This event has happened long before the blog story begins, as Bella is still human here, hasn’t become a searcher yet like in our brief introduction. I’ll be dropping little “chapters” like this from time to time to give you something to pick at. ~Kat Alyst

From the Desk of F.K.E.

“So, what’s your story?”

A young lady sat cross-legged on the Prophet’s weathered desk. She’d taken off her worn newsboy cap and laid it in her lap. Gently she tried to fix her scruffy hair with her hand, but it wouldn’t suffice without a brush. The ink-swallowed man in suspenders that sat in the chair beside her stared at the floor. The mask on his face slipped a little. It was unlike him to not immediately fix it.

“My dear sheep, I’m afraid there’s not much else to say. You claim you heard the tapes that reside on this level. Those hold a majority of my tale, to go any further would be…”

Sammy tapered off into the silence. The girl on the desk hopped down from her spot and hugged him tightly. His ink was sticky, and there was no doubt that it was staining her already filthy clothes, but she didn’t mind. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do, she couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors this studio had faced all that time ago. But that begged the question, why was it all still here? Could it be fixed?

It took Sammy a moment to react. His body stiffened in the girl’s arms, and his heart beat was slow and groggy. He gave her a light tap on the back before removing her from his body.

“I’d advise against that dear sheep. Believe me, you don’t want this stuff on you any more than it already is,” he said.

She lowered her head, glancing over her body. It had already wrecked her pants while searching for a way out, everything was flecked with black. Her left hand had the tiniest bit on it, and even though much time had passed, it was still wet. It was as though the ink could never dry. She looked up at the man and held his shoulder.

“How do I get you out of this?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sammy replied.

“How do I get you out of this?” she said again. There was a determined glow in her eyes, it was as bright as the red pigment that stained the top of her apron. Sammy leaned backwards, her grip still tightly held his shoulder. What little of his face was visible showed bewilderment and confusion.

“Why…why would you want to? I-I don’t understand, what is the meaning of this?” said Sammy.

The girl squeezed his shoulder. “There’s a human underneath all of this. I saw those creatures on the way in. They’re the same as you, aren’t they?”

Sammy hesitated to respond. “Yes, yes they are. But humanity means nothing down here.”

“Well lucky for you, I don’t belong down here. I’m stuck here, there’s no way for me to get out, or any of you for that matter, unless that old man finds what you need him to find. If I’m gonna be trapped, I may as well be useful and give you a hand,” she said. She let go of his shoulder, placing it on her hip.

“My sheep, you’re making a grave mistake. There is no saving us, only the Lord can set us free, and that will only happen if we follow his orders,” Sammy said.

“Do you really believe that?” she retorted.

He couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look Prophet, I’ve spent most of my life cooped up and wings clipped. This isn’t anything new to me. We both want to pursue new dreams, and we can’t do that unless we get out of this dump. So, if there’s any way I can play ‘divine intervention’ and help your guy get us out of here, I’d love to try it,” she said. She looked rather serious.

 Under the ink, Sammy’s eyebrow was raised. She didn’t really think she was capable of eliminating a demonic curse, did she? But no, he could tell she was intent on trying. Sammy mulled over the options, stroking his chin as he stared at the floor. He knew there was no hope of getting out, and that made the reality of two humans being down here all the worse. There may’ve been a lot of bacon soup before, but Henry had been pounding it in his efforts to stay alive, there wouldn’t be enough to sustain them both. It had already been several days since the girl had fallen here, and he could clearly see the paleness in her face. She looked sickly. It was only a matter of time before either of them died, and while he knew his Lord’s plans would guarantee that Henry survived to a point, he wasn’t certain the same would be allowed for an accidental trespasser. There was no winning. He’d had to help sacrifice so many employees over the years, he didn’t want his conscience stained with another death, especially someone so young. But the only alternative, it was equally extreme. He would never wish the hell he’d be cast in on anyone, no one deserved to live undead. But what choice did he have? Either swallow her or leave her to rot. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair.

Of course, his Lord would always be happy to have a little more labor on the premises…No Lawrence, don’t think like that, that’s what got you into this mess. Still, how could he justify it? Truth was he couldn’t. He stared at his hands, entranced, his mind blurred. What to do, what to do. There’s got to be something, I can’t go through this again. Something within the bitter man had softened. He clenched his left hand into a fist, squeezing tightly, barely feeling anything. Perhaps, just perhaps…that might just work.

              Sammy rose from the chair and knelt beside the desk. He opened one of the drawers to reveal a can of soup, the last one in the area. He raised his head to look at the girl. It was noticeable that she was lost in thought as well. But as quickly as it came, the awkward silence was broken by her cough. It was hoarse and stuffy, she pounded her fist against her chest a few times to try and silence it. Sammy glanced at his nubby feet, taking a deep breath before he stood up. He was a rather tall up close. As she slid off the desk, she only came up to just below his shoulders. He placed a hand behind her back and lead her out of his crumbling office, navigating his way through the music department. He sighed, something broken and deflated. The girl looked up at him in curiosity, unsure of what to expect.

            Sammy reached into his pocket and pulled out a keyring. He went up to one of the thousands of locked doors and opened it, revealing a tiny kitchenette that hadn’t been used in quite some time. There was a small couch and a few chairs around a table. He opened a cabinet that was filled to the brim with mismatched mugs, bent spoons, and a few bowls. Could it have been this was a break room at one point? Sammy sat his guest down on the couch and got to work and heating the soup on a barely functional stovetop, while he searched for something else in a smaller cabinet. He pulled out a small box and gave it a sniff.

            “Still good. Now there’s a surprise.”

            The girl watched him intently as he worked. His movements were rhythmic, each step methodical and practiced, like clockwork. A pinch of this, a little of that, a stir here, a tap on the rim. It was mesmerizing. He returned to the table moments later, a bowl of soup in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He motioned for her to join him, both sitting in chairs. He pushes the soup to her spot.

            “Eat up, there may not be anything else for a while,” he said.

            “T-thank you sir, you’re very kind,” she replied quietly. She took a spoonful and gently blew on it before taking a bite. It was definitely bacon, no doubt about it. The stuff was horribly old, she dared not ask the expiration date, but it wasn’t so bad. Heck, a little salt and a few spices would probably do wonders for it. She slowly worked her way through the bowl, leaving nothing untouched.

            Sammy watched as he sipped his tea. He hadn’t thought to make it in a while, but even though he required no food or drink to fuel him, the tea on his throat was soothing. Under the mask, his smile was hidden. That felt much better. He moved a hand over his diaphragm. The last time he’d had this peppermint brew, gosh, how long ago was it? Maybe five years after Henry had left? All a part of his personal rituals, something he’d drink before warming up to sing. Even now he could still remember the words, fidgeting his fingers as though her were playing the old chords on his keyboard. He lost himself for a moment, humming under his breath. It wasn’t until he heard the spoon clink in the empty bowl that he realized she was smiling at him.

            The girl chuckled. “I’d love to hear the full piece one day. You have a lovely voice.”

            Sammy turned away, slightly embarrassed. “You’re very kind little lamb. But I’m afraid that particular composition remains unfinished. It was the last one I worked on before well…before my assignments were changed.”

            “That’s a shame, it sounds so beautiful. If I could make anything half as good as that, I’d be rich.” She laughed, a tinkly sort of sound, like a little fairy.

            Sammy smirked a little. “You flatter me. I dedicated my entire life to my music before all of this happened. Nothing could be less than perfect.”

            “Must be nice getting to work on your craft like that. It’s rare I run into another artist with that philosophy.”

            He took another sip of tea. “Oh really now? What field do you work in?”

            “Well up until recently, I was a printer. Worked in a shop not too far from here. But that’s all in the past now, they laid me off the day before I wound up here.”

            “Now why’s that? You seem perfectly capable to me.”

            The girl lowered her head. “They found me out. They learned I was a woman.”

            The prophet stiffened, somewhat confused. “I don’t follow.”

“When I applied for the job, I sent in my resume under the name Bryan Ewe. Every shop I’d tried to work at before denied me, wouldn’t even consider hiring a woman. I kept up the act for a long time, wore fake beards, created a whole identity for myself. I was determined to follow my dreams, work my way up to be an illustrator, run my own plates and sell them. But I didn’t even come close,” She buried her face in her hands, “What the hell was I thinking? There was no way I was ever going to make it as an artist. No one ever believed in my dream.”

A small puddle of ink started rising through the floorboards. The prophet noticed, but he chose to keep quiet. He had to be careful.

“Come now, there had to be someone. Didn’t you believe in your own ambitions?”

“Yes, for a long time I did. Maybe that was a lie, there was one other person who believed. My father…god rest his soul.”

The puddle retreated a little from under her feet.

Sammy felt like he was hit in the chest. “I’m….I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like anything could’ve been done to save him,” She leans back in her chair, gingerly holding her hat over her heart, “I’ve been alone in this world ever since. Nothing has made any sense, even less so here.”

She turned away, but Sammy could very clearly see the tears that were sliding down her cheek, gently washing over her freckles. The puddle below her dissipated completely. The ink knew when to back off thankfully.

She’s got nothing left. No wonder she’s trying to help us. Sammy wasn’t one for religion before the incident, but he had a friend in the studio who was once. She’d always spoken to him about feeling ‘renewed’ after returning home from church. Perhaps it may be best if he called her in a little later, she would know how to deal with emotions better than himself. He stroked his chin for a moment. A question had come to mind.

“You said you pretended to be a man named Bryan. What’s your real name?”

“Bella. Isabella Ewe,” She wiped the tears from her eyes, “And since you never formally introduced yourself, am I right to assume that you’re Mr. Lawrence?”

“Sammy, if you please.” He nodded

“Sammy, alright, I can remember that. So, who are they?”

“They?”

Bella pointed at the door. There was a trio of searchers peeking passed the doorframe. They slinked backwards upon being noticed, shy and petrified no doubt. But Sammy didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t get angry, he didn’t holler, he didn’t start cackling evilly. No, instead he did something far less expected.

He removed his mask.

“They’re my coworkers.”

[bitcoin24on]

#bitcoin # invest #money [bitcoin24on.blogspot.com]

The Satoshi Revolution: A Revolution of Rising Expectations. Section 2: The Moral Imperative of Privacy Chapter 4: When Privacy Is Criminalized. Only Criminals Will Be Private by Wendy McElroy

What Do You Have to Hide? Everything! (Chapter 4, Part 1)

I grew up with the understanding that the world I lived in was one where people enjoyed a sort of freedom to communicate with each other in privacy, without it being monitored, without it being measured or analyzed or sort of judged by these shadowy figures or systems, any time they mention anything that travels across public lines. – Edward Snowden

I want my tombstone to read: “I lived. I died. Now mind your own damned business.” What do I have to hide? Everything! Which is to say, any information I am required to reveal is data I decline to disclose.

Privacy is the single most effective way to preserve freedom against encroaching government. In his book Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, the political scientist James C. Scott commented on the role of one form of data inventory played in the rise of the modern state: the census. Scott wrote, “If we imagine a state that has no reliable means of enumerating and locating its population, gauging its wealth, and mapping its land, resources, and settlements, we are imagining a state whose interventions in that society are necessarily crude.” Data is power, both for individuals and for governments.

The privacy of cryptocurrency offers the brightest hope for individuals to preserve their financial autonomy. And the need for privacy has never been more urgent; with the digital age, the collection of data has become a bonanza of which past governments could only dream. But crypto-users who want to control their own wealth confront cultural assumptions that strongly favor government control rather than individual freedom.

Some of the strongest assumptions include:

• The presumption of innocence belongs to government, not to individuals; • a double standard of morality is applied to government and to individuals; • the political meaning of “privacy” is inverted by a sleight of hand; and • Orwellian doublespeak has become normal discourse.

The Presumption of Innocence

The legal term “presumption of innocence” is sometimes expressed by the Latin phrase “ei incumbit probatio qui dicit, non qui negat,” which means the burden of proof is on the accuser and not on the accused. The accused is presumed to be innocent until he or she is proven guilty. The legal doctrine rests on the belief that most people are not criminals and, so, criminality cannot be presumed; it must be demonstrated. The doctrine also acknowledges a fundamental principle of logic: namely, since it is impossible to prove a negative, the burden of proof correctly rests with whomever makes a positive assertion.

The presumption of innocence is a cornerstone of individual rights and a wall against arbitrary prosecution by governments. It is a defining feature of a free society rather than a totalitarian one. The renowned British barrister Sir John Clifford Mortimer-best known as creator of the beloved fictional character, defense barrister Horace Rumpole — was far from alone in viewing the presumption as “the golden thread” that wove justice together.

The golden thread has unraveled.

The government has been handed a “right” to surveil and to demand information from the masses, who no longer have a presumption of innocence even though they are accused of no crime. Border guards fingerprint, physically molest, interrogate, and bark out, “Your papers!” to the passing hordes; those who refuse are viewed as obviously guilty because they must have something to hide. Police officers arrest people for refusing to produce ID, whether that arrest is legal or not. After all, police officers are “the good guys,” which means only “the bad guys” will not comply. The violation of rights is justified or even encouraged by the allegedly noble motives of government agents, who are said to provide security or enforce the peace. The presumption of innocence has been transferred from individuals to government agents.

The underlying assumptions of innocence have also been reversed. Instead of considering most people to be non-criminal, everyone is suspected of being guilty until their innocence is established. How? Government-issued ID and compliance with reporting requirements are the bedrock of evidence demanded. As well, the logical principle of being unable to prove a negative has been reversed; the logical fallacy known as “the argument or appeal from ignorance” has taken its place (Here, “ignorance” refers to a lack of contrary evidence). Stated over-simplistically, one part of the fallacy asserts “that a proposition is true because it has not yet been proven false.” And, so, the possible criminality of an individual is true because it has not yet been disproven.

Again, the presumption of innocence has been transferred to the government and away from the individual. It is difficult to overstate the importance of this. It is not only the death knell of justice, which cannot exist without due process, it is also a direct slide into totalitarianism. That’s the political meaning and consequence of the question “What do you have to hide?” People are no longer innocent and allowed to mind their own business in peace.

Double Standard of Morality

The presumption of innocence of government and its agents is enabled by the fact that a double standard of morality is at work in society—one for individuals, and one for government.

No voice rang out more clearly against a double standard of morality than that of the libertarian-publishing giant, Raymond Cyrus Hoiles, who began creating the media chain known as Freedom Communications in the 1950s. Hoiles believed the double standard was more destructive to society than any other concept, and his attacks upon it were a common theme in his newspapers.

In an editorial entitled “The Most Harmful Error Most Honest People Make” (December 17, 1956), which appeared in his flagship newspaper, the Santa Ana Register, Hoiles explained the error. It “is the belief that a group or a government can do things that would be harmful and wicked if done by an individual and produce results that are not harmful, unjust and wicked. It is the belief that a number of people doing a thing that is wrong for an individual to do, can make it right and just.” Hoiles most often critiqued the error in terms of taxation. If it was wrong for a neighbor to steal your goods, then it was equally wrong for a group of neighbors or their appointed representative (government) to do the same.

The critique of double standards did not start with Hoiles, of course. A 1657 pamphlet (ascribed to the rebel Colonel Titan) argued, “What can be more absurd in nature and contrary to all common sense than to call him Thief and kill him that comes alone… and to call him Lord Protector and obey him that robs me with regiments and troops? as if to rove with two or three ships were to be a pirate, but with fifty an admiral?” And, yet, this absurdity is what the state enforces when it acts in a manner that would not be tolerated from individuals.

What applies to taxation applies no less to the violation of privacy. If it is wrong for a neighbor to pat down your naked body and that of your child, then it is wrong for a government agent to do so. If it is wrong for a neighbor to tap your phone, to record your financial transactions, and to peek through your windows, then it is equally wrong for the government to do so. A group does not relinquish personal responsibility by acting in someone else’s name because actions are always the personal responsibility of the acting party. Gang rape is no less rape even if it serves a cause that a particular society applauds, such as ethnic cleansing.

A key reason government remains an engine of coercion is because so many people buy into a double standard that exempts it from moral responsibility. If government agents, from the president to post-office workers, were bound to the same standards of decency and legal responsibility as other individuals, then the current government would crumble.

A Sleight of Hand on Privacy

“Privacy” has been redefined as “concealment,” which is a sleight of hand. In his excellent essay, “’I’ve Got Nothing to Hide’ and Other Misunderstandings of Privacy,” Professor Daniel J. Solove explained the metamorphosis of privacy into concealment: “The argument that no privacy problem exists if a person has nothing to hide is frequently made… When the government engages in surveillance, many people believe that there is no threat to privacy unless the government uncovers unlawful activity, in which case a person has no legitimate justification to claim that it remain private.” Oddly enough, people who make the “nothing to hide” argument also hang curtains on their windows. They do not give their wallets or purses to strangers to rummage through. They close the door before having sex, and they object to naked photos being posted online. What are they hiding? As Solove commented, privacy is “not about anything to hide, it’s about things not being any one else’s business.”

The “nothing to hide” position trivializes and criminalizes the right to privacy. It also destroys the incredible value true privacy provides to society and to individuals. Consider just one example of each benefit:

The value of privacy to society: When a government monitors general communication, people do not interact freely. This is especially true of dissenters, the aberrant (however innocuously so), writers, whistleblowers, critics of government, skeptics, defense attorneys, artists… The bleak, gray society in the Soviet Union and other communist states provide cautionary tales of how fear and caution crush creativity and discussion.

The value of privacy to individuals: Privacy is part of a healthy, creative and self-reflecting life. Since childhood, for example, I’ve kept a diary into which I pour hopes, confusion, disappointments, and desires. When I read pages from the past, I viscerally feel who I was at ten years old, which makes me understand far better the person I am today. These diaries are private, not because I am ashamed of them, but because they are very personal.

Everyone has areas of privacy to protect. Some wear lockets with photos of dead relatives; others harbor a forbidden love; some lock the door to luxuriate in a hot bubble bath; or, they hide a sexual preference that confuses them. These are lines. No other human being can properly cross them without an invitation. Slam the door in the face of anyone who says differently!

We Are Orwell

In his dystopian novel 1984, George Orwell introduced the concept of doublespeak. This refers to the reconstruction of language in order to deliberately distort or reverse the meaning of words for political gain. For example, “war is peace” justifies the invasion of nations that have initiated no force due to a noble goal–peace. “Liberty is obedience” allows authority to compel the compliance of peaceful people for “their own good” in the name of security. “Questioning is violence” means censorship is justified to preserve social order. Now, “privacy is concealment.”

Cryptocurrencies face a steep cultural climb to take their place as a privacy tool. Fortunately, they already occupy the high ground of freedom.

[To be continued next week.]

Thanks to editor/novelist Peri Dwyer Worrell for proofreading assistance. Reprints of this article should credit bitcoin.com and include a link back to the original links to all previous chapters

Wendy McElroy has agreed to ”live-publish” her new book The Satoshi Revolution exclusively with Bitcoin.com. Every Saturday you’ll find another installment in a series of posts planned to conclude after about 18 months. Altogether they’ll make up her new book ”The Satoshi Revolution”. Read it here first.

The post The Satoshi Revolution – Chapter 4: What Do You Have to Hide? Everything! (Part 1) appeared first on Bitcoin News.

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