The Death of Mr. Jeffcoat
   An adult fictional government crime story by Robbie Hoffman.
This novel tells the story of an innocent Brass Caster that spent years trying to gain his innocents in a small city that was filled with local and national corruption. It’s based on how the American government spent millions of dollars trying to destroy the political career of Mr. Jeffcoat, one everyday nobody.
   Crossing paths with a future candidate for office that ends up in the same boat as Jeffcoat.
  It takes you through the process of how the American government and local personnel can choose to use power, millions of tax dollars, and wasted years trying to destroy one person’s political career. Only to find out their necrotic nature cultivated the collective destruction of their integrity in the community on how they have handled everything else in their lives.

Chapter one:
   I have said it many times before and I make a point of bringing it up in many conversations when psychology becomes the conversation piece. During my years of studying the art and discipline of psychology, I have found it truly amazing that during my entire life, thus far, never have I ever experienced such a phenomenon as to be sitting in various psychology classes and experiencing the kindness and genteelness of so many warm hearts. Every class I have attended during my major that wasn’t a psychology class, I have witnessed many different personalities and most of them have the same trend of the modern cliché of the average traditional student. Playing video games, dressing very casual--even sometimes lazy--apparel and most of the time either partying or planning their next powwow. I have been told many students quick fix to writing a paper was cutting and pasting right from Wikipedia and as well using a past paper with a slight edge to it. And even admitting it on Facebook at times. I have witnessed many students writing a paper and drop boxing it right before class as quick as they would dress without showering after waking late from a long night of brewhaa, and smelling like mind you. But every single class I have attended thus far in the major of psychology, I have been overwhelmed by the true beauty and care of every psychology student I have witnessed in every class. It’s as though they were destined to take up others pain and grief and damn well know that its right for them and that they have a serious load to take up in their future and are driven for more. Every student has a different meditating concentration and a look of blessed empathy that I have never witnesses in my many years of work and pre-undergraduate life.

   The idea of the higher thought process and understanding of human behavior, with many contributors throughout history, all coming together for thousands of undergraduate students to set themselves up for a lifetime of burden with other people’s problems, you would think that many of these students would be stressed to the bone and on edge walking around with a continuous frustrated face of no sleep. However, to my amazement, in the look of every student is a true humble nature. And the atmosphere, or I should say aurora, of every classroom, is truly amazing, not to mention the caring undertone in their speech of every student’s answer, individual and different, but yet they care in their way all the same. A speech with pure love and true kindness, for empathy for others.
    
   Far different then the crappy side of life before I went back to school in 2002. I was very into mindfulness and meditation at this point in time and had many hours dedicated to pretty much getting lost in the world of silence. I was working at a gas station at this time in Green Bay Wisconsin. The very fact that two younger co-workers were always taking advantage of my passive nature and made it hard on me. Always calling in sick to go out on a date and or because their too hung over. I still treated them great never the less and sure enough it always came back to me. More of their bull and more days of working spontaneous doubles. One was a drunk, on a daily basis, and thought it was funny, and the other had a passion as a drug addict; usually Molly was her passion.

    One of the girls I worked with was part of my inspiration for taking on a heavier load with my studies. She was working 4 jobs and attending school for two majors. She was one of the very few that always had my back and never could understand how she could always have such a great sense of humor with so much on her plate. She was as humorous as one be. Very intelligent and out spoken. Long blond hair and always had plenty of guys flirting with her. She was always trying to push me to go back to school.

    Defiantly different from the present air of being around psychology students.

   
Chapter: 2
    Today I awoke to the news of the loss of a couple of students to the result of a house fire. It happened early in the morning and not a soul was awake to see the house in flames. The students were younger than me, traditional students, a boy and girl in their early twenties. I learned of it as I returned to work this morning after a well needed sleep session from a late 2nd shift the previous night. It turns out that the two had hosted a party and the couch had caught fire from a lingering cigarette bud. They feel a sleep in the upstairs bedroom and obviously were too intoxicated to check the house and ash trays.

   I cannot imagine what their parents could possibly be going through. Knowing their child’s death could have been prevented if they would have just attended college without the cliché need for booze and trying to fit in. Another traditional failed attempt of being cool. I feel so harsh with those words, however if you ask yourself “what is the true meaning of a party?” You end up with little to no other answer other than “trying to be the cool host on campus.”

   The morning could have been the same as others, but with a true compassion and empathy for others, I just cannot stop thinking of their parents and hard it must be to lose a child to such meaningless. They must be an absolute wreck. I guess I am being somewhat bias given I have never had the party appeal or sex appeal about me to be able to host my own party and actually have it be a success.

   I lost my best friend in high school and I know what it is like seeing his mother at the door step of the church in absolute horrific devastation, drenched in tears. I understand full well what a mother would go through if their child were to die. Dressed in all black with a family member consoling her, she was shaking profusely and I as well had many, many nights of late night uncontrolled shaking and the crying. “Oh God the miserable choking on my breath and continue crying,” good God I thought the days would never be the same again. The loss of a best friend at such a time in one’s life, when your done with everyday normal learning and you’re just preparing for the process of moving onto a life of work and higher thought studies, you would never think you would walk away from your high school life without being able to call your best friend, as the years go by, for get-together’s and vacations. Seeing his mother at the door of the church, much less seeing the hearse that would carry him away forever in front of her, that’s enough of a site to devastate just about anyone.

   One of the main reasons I am pursuing a career in psychology is the lingering aftermath of the passing of a close friend. After he passed, I found myself buried in a pile of books on a daily basis at the local library. Studying and researching religions and philosophies. Eventually I found the art of meditation and fell in love with the practice just like most fall for going to the local gym for random exercise classes. Hours would role by and I would come out of meditation and I would look at the clock and be bewildered at how much time would fly bye. I just fell in love with mindfulness. I eventually decided I wanted to be a part of all this culture and help all those poor people that are grieving, in the different ways they practice, as well as find out what practices can be offer people of different cultures. So I finally applied to a college to study the art of psychology.

   I simply care too much about the well-being of others to just go through my day without the saddened thought of the loss of two young souls that never had a chance to give back to their parents what their parents would have been grateful of them to achieve.

    After a long day of work and as my day unwinds, I began again to think of their parents and the grief my best friend’s mother went through. I started to look back on the fun me and my best friend had as kids and all the memories of our birthdays. We had close birthdays just a couple of days apart. We would always try to make an effort to celebrate them together. It didn’t really matter what we did, just as long as we could be together. He always had a fascination with horror movies. Onetime we stayed up and watched a marathon of Freddy Krueger movies. And of course he had the Halloween plastic Freddie fingers to go with the celebration.
    Somewhere in the world right now those two poor souls have just left behind:  best friends, acquaintances, past lovers, cousins, family and co-workers all to the unjustified actions of trying to the cool kids in college. It’s just terrible.

   I got home late in the day and decided that the best thing for me and a usually ritual, is to just sit in a corner and meditate.

Chapter three:
    Riding my bike all throughout campus everywhere I have to go is an amazing feat to accomplish. All winter long getting stuck in snow banks and having the wheels slip right out from underneath me with grocery bags hanging on either end of the handlebars and sometimes on both sides, and in some cases having the winter wind and wind chill add to the daily battle.  Everywhere I go it is either bike it or hike it and the biking makes for more time at the library and more time in the research lab, let alone the 10 pound backpack with a laptop and umpteen books bloating it to its seams limits, that most of the time was a must essential.

   Now I keep thinking about the tragedy of how awful it would be to be riding my bike, randomly, one day and to stumble upon a burning house and having to make a snap decision to ignore the flames gushing out of the windows and the smoke barreling out and jump off my bike and run in attempting to find any survivors. Good God this is not a great semester. What a tragedy.

   All over the world people are not making the best decisions in their lives and their essentially leaving others to clean up their mess. About 7 billion people on the planet and all of them with different personalities and all of them are a part of a social group claiming to know the better way and to be the better source. All but a few so humble and so graceful to not be in dire constant need for an applause for their collective approach on how the world should look and act.

   Not only is meditation my source for prayers and mindfulness, but it is a great source for “emptying the cup,” as the ancient Buddhist Monks preached. It’s the process of letting go of all earthly stressors and mental burden. The way I see it is when your born here you have nothing to worry about, but as time goes on you build your burden with your way of life and with others in your environment making burden for you to worry about. But when you leave, all that individual burden goes nowhere. You don’t take it with you because why would you need any of that mucky mental goulash in heaven? and life on earth sure doesn’t need that burden, nor does any one individual want or need to take up all your stress when you leave. They have their own ways in life that build their own burden and they have their own present environment to build more of the same surrounding stressors in their world.

   I remember the amount of stress I endured in high school with falling in love for the first time. And all that hollowness that came with it. The endless nights of sleep and anxiety. All that normal teenage stress that comes with adolescents. Here we are on planet earth and if you think of the billions of people that have once inhabited this planet over the course of time. And all those people with their different approach to life and their different social norms, all collectively had one thing that was exactly the same. The internal stress and emotional anguish of falling in love and losing that love. This, as well as walking, talking, eating and going to the bathroom, are all the main things people have always had in common. Whether the societal religions changed or the societal social norms developed differently with the different modern needs and demands of the people, we the people have always had the same four things that were always experienced by people.

   The process of communication on the other hand, is one thing that everyone has tried to do and not always succeeded in doing. Whether it was social barriers or language barriers, these and the total failure in getting one’s point of view across, is all that people have ever tried to do and had to do to get through life. And in some cases the process of “easier said than done” creates a barrier that was not intended. And this as well as love can create one heck of a giant world war.     

   Maybe it’s true, that during ancient Asian philosophy and during the times of Confucius or the Buddha, even while enduring war, the way of and creation of meditation and yoga just might have been the most brilliant time period. One might argue that the Golden Age was the better time period, and or that our modern technologies were nothing compared to the Ancient Egyptians and that would have been the most brilliant time period. One might argue that we have the most brilliant time period with knowing all of what did happen and why. And then we look in the modern news source and read of nothing but failure and war. The same things that were endured in every time period. Wait, hate, want and greed. And then love comes along and some people can really make a mess of a time period. All in the name of love.

   So why would Jesus and the Buddha leave such a process of love and kindness? And why would Jesus and the modern Dali Lama have been so hated that war broke out and millions were killed in their name? Love. That’s right. Nothing beats a war tore over another’s love. Maybe it’s one person’s love or one leaders love. Or maybe it was a random love. It was even written in history that a ruler would go through the streets killing hundreds of women and children over another’s love, for his people. The modern Dali Lama and Jesus both prevailed at having this much hate thrown at their name. Two of the most loving people in our history had so much hate against them.

   All through history, when love is in the air, the angry love mobsters come to destroy.

   Just looking at the Dali Lama you can get a sense of his passion and love. Much less his actions. But of course there is always one person that can find hate in such a loving honest man. And of course they have nothing better to do with life then to try to find reasons of hate. And this has never failed to be the reasoning all throughout life.


Chapter four:
    It’s interesting that it would always make for a spontaneous moment of “first to lay the broken ice” and apologize first for not being responsible but for coming in extending honest gratitude. For life is all about “getting off on the wrong foot.” All the people that once lived here and the billions that are here witnessing this phenomenon right now all have a history of an entire life of mistakes. All those mistakes and all those first bad interactions all come together in everyone as a common conversation piece to hold at any friendly meeting of “nice to see you again how’s the wife and kids everyday small talk.” Not any one person can honestly look you in the eyes upon their death bed and say “I’ve never stepped on anyone’s toes” and or convince any one person they have never “got off on the wrong foot” with a hand full of people in their past. From ups and downs of daily stressors to everyday mood of whether and everyday obstacles at work, upon all other life stressors, we all have no choice but to attempt to avoid all means of crossing hairs, and putting on good impression of who we really represent in all our “whys, ways and wonders.” But is that what this one life is all about? We randomly evolved here to this point in thought from a fourteen billion year old bang?

    Or is it in fact the idea created by God himself to interact in all kinds of situations and in all kinds of moods, with every kind of person and personality from every environmental difference our world can hold? From ethic differences to economic differences all coming together in everyday of every city and village to all come into play of this giant means of philosophical and psychological higher weave of differences and chances to change those witnessing our interactions and our ways of handling them? Our natural dislikes and our convincing differences in opinions and as well our means of not being humiliated by our natural past of hundreds if not thousands of mistakes? All to represent our Lords means to become more like him and like all other great scholars and philosophers and humble down as low as one can to lead into a humble shell of “tiny tiny tot” I’m just as flawed as billions of other that lived here and experienced the cruel and unique “living in humility” that our Lord preached and our Lord swore by with his life, death and new beginning. An impressive mixture of “Trust in Me,” and trust in yourself all designed by Him, for your sake of “no one gets out alive.”      

    So does it make the wiser and or does it make the more charming to wave all fear and wave all notions of humility and for one moment in this one life to step forward and give yourself one chance to be as close to being like the Dali Lama or Jesus as you can and humble into complete humility as though you we’re seeking it your entire life and the moment of final pay off of all mistakes came into this one moment of complete clarity and BAM! You’re on the grounds of the same Lord you preached about, pray to in all your life’s disarray and in all your uncertainly, you finally had the greatest gift in the world handed to you on a platter? Better than a millionaire handing you the keys to your own Italian sports coup? Shouldn’t this be just that what we all seek out in this one life? Shouldn’t the idea of our grace and our means of daily nice “open the door” jesters and donating every cent we can and being there for one another, especially those we don’t know, be all about this one moment were we have screwed things up so bad that in an instant we react like we just won the state lottery and leap forward in complete humility and honesty and with all our passion and all our sincerity we dig as deep as we can in our minds, our souls and in our passion for living for all we are and. . .just. . .apologize.... WITH NOTHING BUT GOD LOVING EXCITEMENT!? “I JUST HAD THE CHANCE TO LIVE LIKE JESUS! FOR JESUS! YEEEEEEHAAAA!”    

      Whether you believe in the Bang or the Lord, political corruption has been a known undertone since the birth of the community. There have been wars created just out of greed. There have been deaths by the hands of many politicians that have never been known and will never see the light of day. There have been affairs daglore and sexual misconducts since human thought evolved. Underneath the time of man, there have been betrayals of entire nations and multi-million dollar companies with a history of corruption.

    All in all the countries of our past and present greed and power have taken up most of our history books and the Bible.

    And of course the Dali Lama and Jesus were the first in both their situations to come first with a humble approach to solving the community issue. An apology and forgiveness just to break the ice, but more so, because it’s really the only way to truly live. To truly experience the best life can offer. To really learn, from being the learning in progress.



Chapter five:

     Being a psychology student and a past philosophy student, I thought the amount of time I invested in study and in meditation as well, was a little more then what most people would invest in their studies. But maybe that’s it. Maybe when you find your passion, even if you’re not being paid for it or making a living doing it, maybe that’s all life is. It’s what you are. What you do is what you are. Sitting alone in a library for endless hours, endlessly reading text books and research would probably bore many modern attention deficit disorder gadget gurus, but I think it’s the endless hours of meditation that most gadget gurus can’t bear to think of.         

    When I was in high school I use to spend many moons crafting with my hands. I began sculpting with plaster and clay for a school project and it seem to carry me away to new place I’ve never been before. A meditation if you will. One that can easily lose a person’s time consumption and become a serious addiction. An addiction for me that would take out most of my grades. And as well get me the honors of having the school record for tardiest. I always loved a great art project. I could really indulge myself like I do with meditation. Hours can roll by and I am still deep in depth with everything that is nothing and was never anything. The true blessing of life. The ability to reach inside and fine bliss in nothing. All the nothing that you are and everything that is nothing and keep still in it with no regards to anyone's opinion, as well as being so concerned with the care for every human alive and their needs at the same time. Woof, what a steep hill.

    A different kind of meditation, sometimes I love to read history. I am very much a history buff and really get into the fascinating aspect of “only the living write history.” For every war that was won and for every King that lived, only the ones that lived on told the story. It’s impossible to read history without the notion that there is more to the story then the ego of a need forsaken legend. Even in modern times.           
                            
   I was reading a story today about a cop that abused his power and abused the rights of a citizen for years. He lost his control and when the truth started to come to the surface, he was getting ready to retire. He wanted so many of his fellow officers to admire him in a larger than life memorabilia sort of way, that he did what he could with tone of voice and choice of word stimuli to make them feel afraid for him in regards of retaliation of the citizen. So he had then convinced if they did not surveillance the citizen he would retaliate. As though the innocent is aggressive–more so then the delusional mind set of a man that had no ability to cope or forgive himself for years of abusing his job. The story was psychologically fascinating given that he was able to get the government to spend millions of dollars surveil lancing an innocent person that never had a criminal record or ever stepped foot in a court for any charges. It was his psychosis, that he, the goody-to-shoe cop, had to have a larger than life legacy to uphold.

    I must say in this modern world we are witnessing a lot of weird psychosis and in politics especially. From Nixon to modern corporate corrupt.
    Good grief, the mental mind set of these desiring neurosis. Who would ever think the need to be a long lived rock star in the political arena and policing arena would ever surface. I know they all want to be the idolized 911 heroes in the flesh, but their approach and their identical twin delusion neurosis is hilarious. It’s usually ends up being the butt end of the stick in a SNL short clip.
   In the modern world one can only wonder the difference between a mass shooter and a neurotic too-big-for-their-britches politician or any public need for attention.

   To think that all of us are so deep into our lives that we're pre-consumed by our hobbies and our passions to the point that this sort of thought process doesn’t even exist to us, until we heard it on the nightly news. We all have too much need for balance and for self-truth that we all find our different meditations in our crafts. The process of not being preoccupied in life brings even an adult back to the middle school playground bully mentality. Simply too self-indulged.           
      
   Anyway. . . I am now deep in research studying the Effects of Message Therapy and as well still deep in my personal research on mediation and mindfulness. I am trying to write my first novel on the Sea Peoples and Ramses II. However, the information is hard to find and my minor in creative writing is suffering given the extent of my expectations of myself and need to increase my knowledge of this horrendous time period. I really get into the past efforts and the needs of over a billion people that have lived here. They have had the same desires of finding balance and joy in their hobbies and crafts and as well had to endure the few corrupt they couldn't get a clue.

            
    As a senior that is falling to get hired by the federal government to be a negotiator, and destroying my minor, I am pondering the idea of running for office against the “ Big Wig Well To Do” as an independent environmentalist.

   Today I interviewed and hired my first "nonprofit" employee Mr. Jeffcoat. He is a second generation brass caster and by his portfolio, a very good one. Find dressed but you could tell it was not a fitted suit and nor was the initial introduction an authentic one. But after digging into his anxiety front, I felt he was right for the amount of harassment he was about to endure on my behalf, if I do indeed launch a political campaign. Shiny tie, slicked back hair–unnatural–and a walk that meant he really needed to impress me with his marked down originally high priced sketchers and a shirt that screams last minute wedding need that has been sitting in his closet since high school. Still in the end I was very impressed with his resume alone, that I hired him. I understand good research and know the amount of time and energy that goes in to it that I had to dig in in the interview and make him sweat. But he beat the means of the interview and gave him a chance.
    In the long haul, running for public office is an amazing feat. More so less then riding my bicycle through the winter months expecting the wheels to slip out from underneath me at every corner and of every single pedal.

    I am still sort of hoping the FBI is interested in hiring me as a negotiator so I can really indulge in using my education. But I am defiantly not counting on them getting back to me much less reading my geek resume.

Chapter six:
     I use to go to this same university back in the late 1990's. Under the nick name Doc, because I apparently looked like Anthony Edwards in the TV show ER, I was studying apparel design. To boring for me given my mother had taught me just about everything I needed to know about sewing already and just about spent my life doing it.
   During my time their I still played the drums and kept them at home in Sturgeon Bay. When I came back home from school one weekend to play my drums, and that’s about the only reason I came back, I was hanging around upper Door County with my friends, Egg Harbor, and we had sporadically decided to go into the Main Street Mall. One of those “we have nothing to do with our lives but be goofy times.”
   And as I was entering the door to the mall my entire body had a major rush of a very odd energy, if you will. It was a very warm and very heavenly rush, one that I have never encountered previously. My heart was racing and my whole body was electrified and I was barely able to catch my breath. As I opened the door I did not expect to find a girl on the inside standing in front of me with the same look of complete unknown known amazement. In a weird way it was as though we knew. . .something larger than the two of us. We just looked at each other and the energy was electrifying. Like God himself was standing in front of each of us. I did not get the chance to speak with her given the situation of us not expecting this to happen and having others around us already in a pre-prerogative motion.  I carried on into the mall following my friends down the hallway for about two minutes, until I realized what had just happened. It was my soulmate. I turned around and ran up the stairs and tried to find her. She had vanished without us having a chance to talk. It was one of those life changing moments that no matter how much you believe in the Lord, and or in how much you believe in spirituality in any religion, or in general, one really realizes the truth about God. The truth of how powerful he is and how much he is a part of this life.

  After many months of reading philosophy and psychology research I came to the understand that God has a soul mate for everyone. And introduces him or her in a different way given the road the two people are on. Some just need to travel a different means to discover their self-truth.

   I was small talking with Mr. Jeffcoat after the interview and we were discussing this very topic of relationships and soul mates. Mindfulness is the very state of mind some fall short of. Mindful of what you have done in general with every opportunity to be your true nature. When we pay attention to our atmosphere and the area that we are living in we can find our true balance in our lives. Too much of anything in life can be overwhelming and could certainly can be called an addiction. We find ourselves and our relationships differently. There wouldn't be much for conversations if everyone found their true soul mate in the same matter.

   The soulmate of a person is not just one day “bam here they are” in front of you, it’s all about what the other person and yourself are accumulating to be with the time period you’re in. Some find a person differently and or are told by the other in different ways and with different meanings. It’s kinda the same with your choice of discipline in college or choice of careers. Why didn’t you choose the many, many other topics? It because they weren’t in your meaning of life.

   The stress in falling in love when you were in high school and how you handheld it, really takes a stronghold on how passive you might be in the future. Probably why I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. When I was in high school I was so worried that the one I fell in love with loved the other guy so much more than me and I truly wanted her to be at her happiest, that I fumbled the whole thing.        

  Obviously the girl in the mall had somehow had the same sort of passive thought process.

  After my best friend Samuel died, the entire town knew him to be the most humble and passive person you could even encounter. It’s like when a person would meet him they were instantly given an open warm opportunity to be his friend. Myself and others were so baffled at the amount of people that one person could touch in only 18 years of life. I always describe him as “the guy that had you by his grin.” Because he wore his heart on his sleeve, literally, so openly that you would instantly be welcomed with his warmth with just his first impression–his grin.

  Finding this kind of balance naturally so early on in life really makes life a whole lot different than for the other personality types.

   I really care about the human race and the needs of the individual. It could be my biggest downfall given I am so passionate in helping people and so many people in this world want to take a person for everything they have. My passive nature took away more than one opportunity in this life. I wonder how it’s going to affect my political career.

Chapter Seven:
    Mr. Jeffcoat came to our weekly campaign  meeting  late today and I was not expecting much from a current college student that is still staying up past his high school bed time.

    His grandfather served in the US military and was hired by the military to write and direct a musical about the US military engagement of World War II. The first generation brass caster was always like around his military base and drove a “Potato Sack.” The car was an old time fixer upper coup with a role-bar and classic paint with the hood ovaled around and to the front. A little beat up but nice enough to keep and neat enough to tinkle with fixing it up over a couple of years. It had a brown fishnet duck hunting net wrapped around it that look like a giant potato sack. Grampa Jeffcoat always referred to his classic as “Potato Sack.” As he’d famously tell his wife on the way out the door “I’m taking the Potato Sack hunting honey” when he would join his old pals from college on a weekend hunting trip.    

      He eventually completed the World War II musical and it turned out to be “musical military coup.” One the US military was not expecting nor wanted him to promote. They had hired him to write on behalf of the US engagement promoting our entrance in a positive demeanor. Not expecting Gramps to write about Winston Churchill “The Salesmen.”   

     It turns out that the first time Winston Churchill–or as the British refers to as “a genius”–asked President Roosevelt to enter the war, he not only refused but must have made too big of a mockery. For Churchill britches had become a little too big to take a back seat at such giant profits and to have the American President now be granted inside secret information on British corruption. The tables turned and some of the 1940's corporate monstrosities came together with Churchill and agreed to coup the President out of office. As the assassination of President Roosevelt was being organized, for not agreeing to build a modern military industrial complex of corrupt salesmanship of military contracts, Mr. Roosevelt found out about the coup through associated sources.

    The US  government eventually kept tabs on Grampa Jeffcoat to keep his truth at bay and to keep his musical at bay. If he were alive today he’d defiantly be proud of his grandsons brass casting and as well his patriotic will.

Chapter eight:
    Mr. Jeffcoat now officially an exhibitor of brass sculptors and pottery like his grandfather and officially a working patriot. Unlike his father that was too busy treating his wife like dirt and being a perverted monster to take up the craft.

    Picking up a minor in sculpting, Mr. Jeffcoat’s exhibition is presently on display at the university student art gallery.  A second generation of perfected welds so perfect that this tea pots have a natural rhythm to them. At worst he is a poetic musician at his craft. In some areas of his pots you can’t even tell where the weld begins and ends. It makes for a nice buffed out sheen. If you’re not familiar with metal work, when metal is heated it can move. When a person is welding two pieces of metal together its always emanate to make a jig to place the pieces in to stop the pieces from moving and to keep the form of your project. So welding a tea pot with such small shapes, is hard to have a clean weld and as well for the pot to come out so perfectly. Welding tea pots in comparison to giant steal buildings makes for a different meditative state of mind.                        

   It turns out that the story I stumbled upon about the abusive cop was a part of something more local than I thought. During my young adult life, I have heard of many cases of sexual abuse and assaults across the nation go without prosecution. From high school date rape to the clergy abusing children. One that is extremely baffling and would never assume would ever come of age is the case of Mr. Jeffcoat’s father. Mr. Jeffcoat is trying to build his career and life by putting himself through college. He was abused by his father while still living at home and it was all caught on camera using illegal surveillance, violating American right to privacy. Police were the ones that violated the right to privacy and did so on many people in the community but no one really knows. Illegal surveillance started at one point and now is a growing government abuse. Patriotism began with Paul Revere and was immortalized by all that followed. Until our own government began its corporate and industrialized greed. Now their using secret surveillance to stop patriotism.

     They  knew about this man being a rapist for years and did nothing but laugh about it. Government politicians knew as well and they as well chose to laugh about it as though it was popular social norm to allow sexual assault to occur and laugh about it amongst themselves and police. There “little secret society” of laughter and abuse of rights. Which has gone on throughout all our American history from power and greed to American lynching. They didn’t even care that he use to work for a K through 12 school system.
                
   Corruption in government in our modern world should never have gotten to a place where our tax money is spent on violation of rights and paying for our government to abuse those rights much less to pay them to laugh amongst themselves about serial rapists. The main reason I hired Mr. Jeffcoat is the very fact that he is a victim of our failed government. I feel terrible for this man. His reputation and his integrity all ruined by one man’s perversion. And the police did nothing about it but laugh. I have heard of people being arrested based on little to no evidence of a crime. But to have it on camera for years and have sworn officers and sworn politicians think it’s funny is outrageous. To think of the amount of people that have had their lives ruin by a monster like this is sick, but to pay tax money for other people to laugh about it and do nothing is even worse. Politicians get pay six figures and police get paid union pay and
better. While a victim or victims have their lives ruined.
    
   Can you imagine the families of our past that have endured our governments crude and unusual punishments and cruel and unusual need for greed? Families of torture, Revolutionary homes invaded and burned, to families having police cover up their child’s lynching on behalf of some crude bigot sheriff.

Chapter nine:
    Back when I was working at the gas station for years there were people that would come in and discuss the issues with local police being “tight knit group” and as well the case of Steven Avery took a very big portion of the conversation away from blaming all of us gas station clerks of raising the price of gas to almost $5.00 a gallon. As though we were making all the profit.
     Every now and then a little old lady would come in and off at the mouth she would go with “you guys are committing highway robbery!”        

      After five years of listening to all the blame game of building the new Lambeau Field to gas price conspiracy I had very few good experiences working as a gas station clerk.
   
     Until one day I was working a normal afternoon shift in September 2004 and as usual everything was the same. The same customers and the same monotony. Just as things were going the same that Autumnish afternoon, my heart took off in a massive hurry. My heart was racing and my body lit up. I was shaking and yet very overwhelmed with, what I can only describe and heavenly feeling. In front of the large double pain windows was a white jeep. Just pulled up and I could barely tell the looks of the two inside. But somehow I just knew without knowing. It was her. I just knew it. With my body in such a state of erratic nature that I was not use to, I was too overwhelmed with customers and with the state of being to take a step back and realize what was going on. She was going to leave again if I didn’t do something. But thinking of this thought couldn’t come soon enough, for the customer in front of me, a regular, was cracking jokes as he usually did. A girl steps out of the Jeep and walking in behind the commotion. My normal goofy customer made a perverted comment on her looks and left. She looked at me from a distance and asked for energy pills, that at that time were legal. It wasn’t the girl I saw in Egg Harbor. She was a muscular type of girl that kinda had some of the same features of her but not her. The girl was still in the car and I could feel it, it was overwhelmingly powerful. Instead of saying something, she just left and had a really broad way of not saying much. I was still pumping with energy and not able to realize, she was about to leave, again. And sure enough, she was gone.

       As it turns out, as time went on, the two immature that I worked with knew her name and did what they could to make fun of me as well as not tell me who she was. They treated me like this for so long that as every passive person knows, this is standard treatment we all get for being passive.
     My researching didn’t get me far, for all I could hunch my hunches on is her name might be Lori or Laura, and quite possibly that her family members had come in as customers. One of thought was her mother was named Julie. It was a far fetch at that time and all that was really going was more of the same old bull and they were just treating me terrible.

    I stayed there for two more waiting on going back to college in hopes time would slow down and she would walk back in. She never did.


Chapter ten:
   Along with patriotism, sculpting clay, potteries, metal and brass casting, Mr. Jeffcoat also takes after his grandfather with his keen interest in hunting. He inherited his grandfather’s Potato Sack and makes quite an traditional issue of driving it on his hunting excursions.

   I use to live in a one level duplex off campus last semester and my neighbor had the same style of car. It was an off white, almost an old seventies cream color. As well, his was rebuilt but he didn’t use it traditionally for hunting. Instead he had a very strong fetish and also an interest in playing the guitar.   

   Not in many classes, but anytime an opportunity arose of a mundane subject matter, like politics, I would take it upon myself to bring up the odd nature of my old neighbor’s fetish. Hoping it would arouse the interest of a good conversation.

   For six months of living next to him, every night I would awake to the hustling about of a person getting up and sounding like they’re in a state of disarray. And sure enough the engine of the car would turn over and off my neighbor would go. Alone, never with his wife. An older man in his 60's to 70's, probably retired. Bald on top and longer on the sides like he was refusing to let go of nothing. It turns out that at 2 a.m. every morning he would have the earnest desire to get up and travel to the local 24-hour grocery stores. He had a deep desire to find the perfect stick of butter. Why, I never found out. But I must say for a man to keep up with a burning desire to have in his mercy the most perfect shaped, organized stick of butter, on a nightly basis, is a true phenomenon in addictions.
 
   Just picture a man in his 70's standing in the produce section of your local grocery store, strategically, with obvious years of experience and need, painstakingly opening boxes of butter without leaving too much damage distinctly aware of the delicacy of the product. Only to drive away with his earnest desire filled with red eyes relief that his longing sleep disorder has been temporarily exonerated.           

   As I mentioned, the word Politician would arise now and again, and everyone's faces would role with their eyes and of course the subject would last as long as the word. With a group of loving people in any psychology class, the maturity of the idea of a politician couldn’t last one second past its own pronunciation of existence. But the subject matter of fetish stick of butter would bring out the oddest conversations.

   I  happened to mention the political corruption here in Wisconsin on one occasion with the local Police and local politicians having Hollywood connections. As one of the students mentioned, it turns out that one of our police was a former employee of the LA Police Department and still kept in touch with his LA connections. We ended up going around the class room opening ideas of the many ways in which they can just about make anyone look bad on camera and on paper with their technological advances. One has to wonder with all the accusations of fake news and a justice system that is as for sale as military government contracts, what is and what isn’t true. Leave it to modern corruption to think an retired teacher that sexually assaults young people and has one on camera, is not subject to criminal prosecution.

  It's now common knowledge that groups representing a common cause can buy their justice system to bring more criminal arrests in a certain area of crime, helping them get more government funding. In return there is more need for legislation in that area and more demand for government contracts and grants to fund the cause, essentially, creating fake jobs. Like putting people under surveillance 24/7. Paying people to do nothing and creating a "learned belief." That if someone is under surveillance their guilty because they are under surveillance. Not because they committed a crime. "Fake Criminals." Or you could call it "Pretend CIA." A random sample survey could identified these people as heterofecephiliacs to watch and document the bathroom habits of anyone for 24 hours a day 7 days a week.
  Our professor proclaimed that "anyone with common sense would know you could surveillance anyone for years on end claiming your waiting for them to make a criminal mistake and internally self-justify it until you make yourself believe what you want to believe."

    In case you didn't know, this idea of using government tax money to make anything or make up anything and the construction of fake jobs, all started during the end of the Civil War. It’s said that the boots that men were wearing literally would fall off their feet, because of such poor construction.        

Chapter eleven:
    During our latest campaign meeting, we agreed I need to let them know I’m coming and I am in it to make a difference. Not to join the greedy sick and twisted. So with a couple of subject matters on the table Mr. Jeffcoat and myself agreed and disagree on what major social issues I would enter my political career with. The main obvious subject is environmental issues. And the best start is to make it essential that I do not agree with the main stream government funded, so called, environmentalists.

   I made my way to the local library where I have made most of my endless researching on  philosophical and psychological research. A two story concrete modern mundane big chunky square. Like all the modern buildings. Easy build with end to end no class or character at all. Big double pane windows and chairs you can’t sit in for more than an hour without both your legs falling asleep.
 
   I put on my mental production of how it would look when I address legislatures. In front of a group of well-to-do suits that sure don’t care about anything but their suits. Picturing myself with a cool calm and collective organized speech and my manic stages of “Hell No You Bastards!” Until I realized I am just a nobody that won’t even get past the front door. And the first and only person I’ll meet is a word verbatim secretary that will just give me the gist of “Leave it in the mail box, make sure your name and contact is on it, give two to three weeks for a reply.”        

   Anyway, after both legs falling asleep umpteen times, and after endless hours of weekend research and writing,  I had finally put together my best introduction into my political career.

    On the way home, the Fall weathered night had a very different feel to it. Gratifying and yet a slowish atmosphere to it. I felt like life had slowed down for just a night. Right then in that very moment of reflecting on my accomplished research, as I came to the first stop light, a car pulled up alongside me. A red four door Ford. Kinda like a Mercury or a Taurus. I didn’t pay too much attention to it but noticed it out the corner of my eye. I felt so calm and collective I kinda wanted to just stay in the moment. The stop light changed and I as moved forward the car alongside me took off like a bat-out-hell. I didn’t think it was in correlation to me, but sure enough they pulled alongside me aggressively like they were trying to keep up with my speed.  I punched it forward and they did too. I was being chased down one of busiest streets in the city, at night, all alone. Just as I was making my political entrance. It was just too nice of a night for this shit. I was feeling so humbled and calm and really enjoying Fall. My favorite season. As both of us kept punching our cars down the night lite street, I notice two girls in the car. One in the passenger seat and one in the rear. I couldn’t make out who they were or any expressions. Both cars racing down down-town at least 60 miles an hour. I thought for sure I was going to die tonight. Who the hell sent them and what hell are they going to do to me? Like out of some freakish political horror movie. Jimmy Hoffa, where the body is never discovered. After a couple of miles of back and forth punching forward aggressively, for my life, I got to the fork in the road where one road goes into a residential area and the other goes to the highway. I chose the highway as they were in the other lane headed to the residential road. As their car went right and I headed North, I looked over to the driver to catch a glimpse. And wouldn’t you just fucking know it, it was her, the girl I saw in the mini mall in Egg Harbor. At a last glance the girl in the back seat gave a kind gestured wave like they meant no harm. And I could see her, the soulmate in the front seat driving. "God Damn it God!"

   She comes in with a bang and damn near drives me out with a bang. A 60 mile an hour bang.  
This pretty much describes my entire life’s luck. As God himself is watching the entire episode from above sitting on a puffy comfortable cloud laughing hysterically.

   My heart was racing and both of us were going way too fast for me to slow down, get a grip and turn around to find her. Again!


Chapter twelve:
    I had lunch today with one of my professors today to discuss my current  research. I asked Mr. Jeffcoat if he would meet up with me right after my lunch meeting. I wanted to find out more information on his grandfather’s musical.
   To my surprise, he came early and I was able to introduce him to my professor.

    The three of us got to talking and our conversation became quite interesting to say the least. As any conversation about politics can get.

   My professor started talking about women that would do favors for politicians, in the naughty sense. Doing things like getting dates with another candidates to call them out on fake accusations or to get them to do something stupid and get it caught on tape.

   Mr. Jeffcoat immediately interrupted, as his eyebrows rose quickly and with little to no surprise “you mean Monopoly Whore’s!”        
   Huh?!

   “Yes Monopoly Whore’s, well they don’t start off as Monopoly Whore’s, but became one after they get their first date. First if they say yes to an offer of being bought, their called Political Whore’s.”      
        
    Mr. Jeffcoat then continued on describing the process of how politicians police, and big well to do corporate monstrosities get women, usually beautiful, to get dates with political candidates or politicians to oust them out of their seat, or to oust out their competition in an election. Once they get a woman to do them the favor, they now know that they can be bought. Their “Real-Estate” can be bought. Which is how they get the name “Monopoly Whore.”          
                                 
    My professor was extremely overwhelmed that he learned they actually have a name for this. I was unaware that any of this was in existence. I have heard of a dead prostitute or dancer ending up dead in a politician’s home, and coincidently police had no clue as to what had happened. Or congressmen taping their foot at the bottom of a stahl door in a bathroom calling for a quick date. And accidently taping on a stahl where a FBI agent just happens to be in and getting arrested. I believe that happened in Minneapolis, or somewhere in Minnesota.
     And I have heard plenty of dirty politicians in the past with a very naughty life style. From Bill Clinton's love of interns and Barack Obama's very naughty college life style. But to have a name for their hired help, is very interesting. I thought that police would ask women cops to go undercover and . . .go a little overboard.

    As it turns out Mr. Jeffcoat’s grandpa had been invited to more than one party where the game of Monopoly was being played during his military years, but only as silhouette to a game of poke-her.
    Using real-estate cards top write down the name of the hired women. And apparently using the board under the game of cards and the other pieces of the Monopoly game to correlate with the poker game in a very naughty way. Like lessening the value of the bet (of the “Real-Estate”) by using their Thimble, and adding weight of the bet by using an Iron. He didn’t know the details, but it gets really out of hand.

   Once a politician knows that person can be bought, they can then pursue them themselves for their own personal private favor. And police do it during elections too, as well as corporate big wigs. Anything to get whatever candidate they want in.
Offering whatever they can muster up that they know the person with comply with. Like a “Sugar Daddy.” They offer a college student such and such, and if they willing to be bought, they know they can “up- the-anti.” Whether it be a career, job, fancy car or money.

    Behind the scenes, when the election is over, they then bet on the girl they would like to pursue using poker. Eventually calling them Monopoly Whore’s.  
    
    I eventually got Mr. Jeffcoat and my professor off the subject of whore’s and I had been wanting to ask him why being in his early twenties, he prefers Mr. Jeffcoat instead of being called his first name. But just then my professor had to leave and for some reason I chickened out and move right into my desire to know more about this musical.       

     He informed me that he has the original musical that Grampa Jeffcoat wrote, not the edited version that he eventually gave the military and would be more than happy to allow me to read.
   
     After talking about how our day has gone, thus far, he asked me about my political research I had done the previous night. And I told him, in my most exhausting tone of voice and the girl that I had seen in Door County and my intense story of being chased by her right after I work out my work. I felt so foolish , but none then less, life is all about personal experiences.

     I opened one of my journals and offered him the opportunity to read some of my poetry about her and about my experience seeing her the first time. He asked me about the name at the bottom of the poem. I wrote “Seada.”
    I never had the chance to speak with her, and or to get her name. So I was writing “See You Some Day” at the bottom of my journal entries and poems about her. And I eventually just decided to pull a couple of letters from See You Someday and call her Seada, for now. Pronounced like the body of water “Sea-da.” I wrote a lot of poems by the lake in Door County. I just decide it would be very fitting for the situation and the environment I like to write in.

    Mr. Jeffcoat gave me a very strong and simple “I like it.”        

Chapter thirteen:
    Operation AI 2,400 American Soldiers died at the hands of our entry to World War II. The start of Grampa Jeffcoat’s musical. A musical about corruption and about dead soldiers that should never had had the to pay up to the world of the Industrial Military Complex. Today in our world we have seen the Middle East get so out of hand that any and all soldiers that are gifted enough to come home at all, tell the true tale of Vice President Cheney’s War; Halliburton’s dirty water and forcing soldiers to clean their cloths at $80.00 a load–corporate contract price. Only to find their clothes hard and smelly.     

   Pearl Harbor and as well any attack on our county should never be the source of our wealth. My reasons to disagree with any politician on many subject matters does not fall short from our recovery from the Great Depression and everything that one citizen has ever endured.     
    From 6 million people losing their homes to the double dip recessions, to modern minimum wage, which anyone knows any billionaires greed to not pay proper compensation and to sell overpriced nothing, is a clear sign that our overpopulated prisons which now take the form of Nazi Concentration Camps. Police priding themselves with their tallied prosecution resumes wearing the same uniforms of leather jackets and nicely trimmed mustaches. Many African Americans still dying at their hands and with little to no prosecution. For the days of lynching’s and locking populations up by the mass never ended.

    President Roosevelt caved in on a Declaration of Private Gain. And still today politicians and police sell their overpopulated egos to the same corporate nonsense of whatever it is that they, decide on next.

Chapter fourteen:
    A lot of the campus reminds me a lot of Door County. The trees some of the buildings, and the air in general just has that feel to it.
    Most people know that  Door County, back before all the stores sold out to wealthy people from Chicago (Door Chicago), had brought it upon our economy to build Door County into a commercial gold mine. It worked and for many years, and many businesses profited. They made money off of just about anything from stamped out made in China artifacts to coffee. One issue that arose is that while some of the companies loved their employees, some hated to pay into unemployment over the winter months. Before the summers were up, some of the companies found it easier if their employees would quite rather than be laid off or fired. They eventually found it helpful if the employee wasn’t from the country and couldn’t stay more than a couple of months. Either way the feeling is a lot different now up there.
   First, there are way too many yachts and not enough sail boats. If you add all the emissions from all that tourism and as well as all the emissions from the giant yachts it’s a lot for such a small place.
   Paris France thought nothing of it until recently. Their smog is way out of hand. Because they take in a lot tourism--A lot of driving around doing nothing.
   In Door County it’s all hunters and fisherman. And of course the occasional truck drops in though the ice and the occasional yachts find their way to the bottom of the bay. All that pollution that really starts to add up.        
All that pollution added to the amount of manure run off into the bay from farming, all the natural pollution from garbage and a ton of human feces from tourists and of course junk yards and other areas of pollution. It’s just too much for such a small area.
   Second there isn’t much for scenery any more. Too many big condos. Never the less we all still love Door County.   
   There is some political corruption in Door County, but usually small time matters. Nothing international. Not yet.                     

   But the campus is very well laid out and I feel quit at home here like in Door County.

   In psychology class today we were talking about politicians and other corrupt people and their  process of making every day people feel like their apart of something larger than life to get them to do their dirty work during an election. Or in general in life.
    If a suit were to walk up to you and ask you to bully someone in some way shape or form, like a co-worker, you would usually not do it. Whether you went through bullying in high school or if your kids have been through it. Like the recent mass suicides that have taken place in America from bullying. Your parents raised you differently and you are not that kind of person.     
   But what happens in an election, is the politician spends millions of dollars on commercials to get you to think you agree with their broad politics and makes you assume you really believe in them. Mostly because you disagree with the other candidate’s broad politics. After you assume and make yourself believe in them, just by a couple of commercials, they now you’re in for the election.
       If a candidate is running for office against another candidate they need to take every action to outsmart them and destroy them. So they usually attack the others education and either blame them for something or accuse them of something, mostly to wreck their job or career. That’s why they always start with their education. But every now and then they find a different source. They use their image and their power alone, to ask people to bully the other candidate for them. Like if that candidate is your co-worker. All they have to do is make you feel like your apart of something larger than life and some people give in. Because their on TV.  Like if a cop really wants candidate “A” to be the next congressman and you’re working with the opponent at your day job. All the cop has to do is talk nicely to you about what “we’ll” be working on together. The two of you. And they threaten you without you even knowing it. They use their image, their badge and their gun and you don’t even know they did it. And of course after the cop standing in front of you asks you to help wreak havoc on candidate “A’s” life, because you agree with candidate “B” and they do to, all the cop has to do is place their hand on their gun when talking to you. And sure enough with the shiny cop car in the back drop behind them, you’re now a certified bully. By threatening you. And this is how most politicians bully and as well completely destroy the other candidate. They attack every aspect of their life, especially their education–career. And of course in a court of law, you’re the one that has the e-mails and the phone records on your phone and computer, that you harassed the co-worker not the suit or the politician. If they can make you feel like your apart of something larger than life, then usually in a mundane work of work every day and little to no compensation, some take the bait.

   The biggest part of our conversation today was more about the larger point of view. Most people were raised to defend the little guy and help those that are being bullied or destroyed. Call the bully out and raise hell. And as well, the big question arises from the larger point of view. If you ask the politician, or big wig or, cop “if this guy or women is such a bad person, that you have to lower yourself to the mental capacity of acting like a bully child, how come I have never seen them on the news like all the other criminals?” And this is politics. A bunch of bully brats that have nothing better to do but attack the hell out of a person’s life that put themselves through an education, life’s challenges and built a career or life that doesn’t deserve to be wrecked by a couple of dirty politicians.

   It’s interesting when you break it down. All else being equal the simplest is the best answer. All one has to do is destroy the other. They don’t have to be smarter or better. Just smoke the other guy any way they can in every aspect of their life.        


  Chapter fifteen:    
     One day on campus I was headed to my normal last class for the day. It was a beautiful fall day. As I was walking along, out of the clear blue sky I saw my ex walking in front of me headed towards me. I hadn’t seen her in over two years. She didn’t go to this school and was not living on this side of the state. I dated her way back in 2001 and rarely saw her except as a customer at the station.
     As she passed me by she had this look on her face. The look of the Joker from Batman. Her head was tucked down trying not to look at me with an intention to it. Her grin was ear to ear completely abnormal. The look of a sick person that is about to be as crude as one can get and she has nothing but confidence she can pull it off. I tried to say hi to her as I did many times as a clerk with has as the customer. But she was up to something.

   Good God, I already have enough on my plate I don’t need your crap too.

    As I was sitting in class is dawned on me that I kept seeing this little Chinese person from across the parking lot of my apartment complex in the window of the building across from my windows. Every time I would happen to walk by the window the little person would duck away. Shit, what the hell is she up to? I actually have a stalker? Now I have heard of ex’s stalking their past loves but this would never happen to me. I am not the ideal look for what women want.

    So as my days go on I keep noticing that this girl, that doesn’t go to school here nor lives here, keeps finding her way past me with that Joker “I’m going to make money off you look on her. “I would just say hi never the less. Too passive to care about her shit.

     Anyway, as me and Mr. Jeffcoat would continue to keep up with our plan to organize my campaign to run for office, we would continue touch base on the corruption of our history and on the issues that his grandfather found out about and witnessed.

    With topics of Prescott Bush and with Churchill. I wanted to as much as I could about this war from his point of view, or of grandpa Jeffcoat.     
   We met up for one of usual campaign meetings and he asked me if he could read more of my poetry about Seada. Now that he had taken the liberty of giving me his grandfather’s musical, the original and only copy handed to him by his grandfather, I of course dug into by bag and took out my notebooks. I didn’t have one on me so I said I’ll get them to you later.
Over the next couple weeks we continued to discuss the corruption in the modern world and in every part of society.
    
   The most compelling thing I have witnessed is the trial of George W. Bush having to answer up to the very few seconds it took for an entire government building to free fall during 911, that was a block away from the twin towers. Lo and behold he broke every rule he could to hold Dick Cheney’s hand during that government interview. It really makes you wonder about him being in charge of the Reagan bail out.

    With President Bill Clinton on camera talking about turning over every crevasse and every cabinet to find all and or any receipts of the Reagan administration ball out and coming up with the same results of all the other intrigued that searched, we all know that Bob Dole and George W. Bush had more on their minds then the bail out getting to those that needed it. And we talk about the interesting point of views of documentaries.
    Anyway that’s all speculation and everyone has their point of view and there is always another person to cover what was already covered up. Buddies of buddies.

     This is why I very dedicated to running for office. I am so passionate about help people, and their way too few that care about people in office.       

Chapter sixteen:

   This musical is one of the greatest pieces of art I have witnessed in my life. Maybe not the best but a truly great work of art. A life time of being an artist and a lifetime of creating art, all the sculptors I have done, failed at and accomplished; all the paintings I have failed at and accomplished; all the works I have read up on and have seen; all the philosophies I have read, the Dead Sea Scrolls, everything I have witnessed, this is a great read. This is a powerful read and a great reasoning for it.

    I ask Mr. Jeffcoat if he had any plans in place to have “Lay Women” put on in a venue in the near future.
“Yes, as soon as my sponsor comes through the production would be held in Minneapolis Minnesota.”
     I am grateful to know such a man and to have stumbled upon a true patriot. All that this man has been through and he is still not giving in to the production of a musical that is forbidden, if you will, by our government.
      He explained to me that when his grandfather wrote Lay Women he wanted to support the women of World War II, for they were the ones left behind to not only deal with their husbands going away, but as well they would be in charge of building our battle, literally. Not to mention the dealing with the out of sight out of mind thought process of waiting for their husbands return, or untimely death notice.

    This weave of brilliance calling out the Salesmanship of Church and dedicating the honors of the women that build our War. This is a true great piece of art work.

     I am still hard at work with a job, research, psychology classes left and right, and now dealing with helping Jeffcoat get his justice. The last thing I need is a Monopoly Whore coming in and causing havoc. I still have not learned the name of Seada.
It downed on me that the last time Mr. Jeffcoat asked me about reading some of the journal entries that when me and my ex were dating I mentioned the time I first saw Seada in Door County and the look on her face will ever be forgotten. She definitely was not a happy camper. I haven’t dated this woman in 7 years and she just shows up. I look up her name though the data base and sure enough, she has nothing to do with this campus. So I called some old buddies up to find out more about what she was up to in Northeast Wisconsin. And sure enough, they approved that she was not living in the West Side of the state and was up to no good. They reminded me that she had stolen horse tranquilizers in the past from veterinarian buildings and was a sneaky drug dealer in Door County pretty much her whole adult life.

 
    So, here me, just got through 9 friends passing on, two of them my closest. For the first couple of years I couldn’t hold a job, nor could I stay in school very long. I was going through absolute hell. Ruining my reputation and failing in life. Along with every person that knew all 9 of them. We all took a huge hit and it wasn’t fair to any of us. You couldn’t find a crappier time to get through. Now I am dealing with the corruption of Mr. Jeffcoat getting justice and trying to help him. To the point were now they have tabs on me. I trying to run for office, entering one of most corrupt careers a person could ever try to enter. A complete life time of corruption from Kings to Queens to every government known.

     And all of a sudden my ex walks in the door and decides to cast another cloud over my head. I never us the word Bitch in my life and I am a feminist by heart. But here is a place and time where the word has to be used in order to make my lives trails and errors come into complete clear view.         

     “Listen Witch, this was my destruction that I was taking up. It is my life in ruins that I was coming into grips with. It was my self-destruction that I am going taking with me in my life. Not yours and it’s not yours to play with. It’s not your destruction to take advantage of for your own damn games. Just because you recognized that we were all going through hell, doesn’t give you the right lean in on one of use for your own pick pocket extravaganza. Your sister might have gotten away with being a whore to every military man that walked into Sturgeon Bay, but you Witch, need to get back on your broom and learn how to get through life on your own making.”

      The very next week I was sitting with Mr. Jeffcoat and I mentioned that Mr. Obama was running for office of President and happens to live in Illinois. Which is not that far away.  We could simply go to Mr. Obama and tell him the entirety of your story. “Maybe this guy will listen enough that you could get some help from him.”
       So, we decided to take a chance and drive to Illinois to ask our, hopefully, future President for some assistance. We were both ecstatic of the idea.
     “Its official, we would take the Potato Sack to Illinois!
     

     Before we went we thought it be best to write it out in full as well given he might be on the campaign trail. So with a couple pages of his grandfather’s history and his history we made our journey south.         
    And sure enough there we were, two cool college cats driving in a potato sack to Illinois.

     The journey wasn’t that entertaining and given its fall, it’s a little cooler than we’d like it to be. But we both needed a break and Mr. Jeffcoat deserves some peace in his life. I thought that I could help him drive down and or up but he was very determined to be the driver. I am guessing I would be eager too with all he has been through.
 
      We arrived in Illinois only to find we were unable to meet with the Senator and would have to leave the letter describing Mr. Jeffcoat’s dilemma. With that in mind we were looking at a heck of a road trip and for pretty much nothing. But again, we both needed a break.
      Mr. Jeffcoat asked me on the way back “how much do you think a Monopoly Whore gets paid?” I had to laugh given our present dilemma and all we have both been through. It’s really not that funny. But she’s choosing it not me.

      He asked me if he could read more of my poetry about Seada. Now that he had taken the liberty of giving me his grandfather’s musical, the original and only copy handed to him by his grandfather, I of course dug into my bag and took out my notebooks. I didn’t have one on me so I said “I’ll get them to you later.”

      And of course, to make matters even weirder, I was never able to get them to him later.
   When we got home after a grueling journey, I got home and offered Mr. Jeffcoat something to drink and went looking for my journals. They were not there. Not my journals, nor my year books, nor any of my pictures from my childhood. The closet was cleaned out. I’m the only one that lives there and with that little witch lurking from across the way, I am taking a guess as to who has them. Given that our pictures of us were in with the mix.        


    We parked the Potato Sack and made our way to campus. I told him that we could meet at our normal time and would just leave it to God that his troubles would be answered with our future President. “He seems like such a caring man, I cannot image that he wouldn’t take the time to care about such a huge issue with government surveillance.”

     The next week we were supposed to meet for our campaign meeting and Mr. Jeffcoat had some ideas from the Obama campaign that he wanted to share with me. If it worked for him thus far, it should be pretty good for any one.

      I waited for Mr. Jeffcoat in front of the Arts building as usual. It was fall and it was very nice to see the scenery. I stopped to get my daily coffee on the way at a little coffee house on Broadway street. A very popular place for all the students. Its quaint and has an old tone to it. Hard wood floors and very nice service. Unusually the Mocha is my champ of choice.


   Sitting outside for quite some time, Mr. Jeffcoat never showed. I was very worried that he would not show without calling.

Chapter seventeen :

     Sitting outside for quite some time, Mr. Jeffcoat never showed. I was very worried that he would not show without calling.

    After a long day of class and working my normal shift at work, I called Mr. Jeffcoat again. However, he still did not answer. I did not know where he lived nor if he was in the dorms or off campus.
    
    I thought, he’s is probably just sick and needs time to get better.           
    Over the next week he never returned my calls, but I was so busy with my psychology research and with my classes that I was a little more focused on classes then on my campaign. My campaign was last on my list of to do things.
    After the week went by and I still never heard from him yet, I began to wonder if he was ever getting back to me. Things were taking a turn. My close relive was in need of eye surgery and as well had other issues, medically, that it was an essential thing for me to be focused on. I was beginning to contemplate transferring to a closer university so I could be in Door County and help out. I didn’t want to drop out and I didn’t have a car to go back and forth with.  

    After a couple weeks went by the semester was coming to a close and I still did not hear back from Mr. Jeffcoat. So, I got on my bike and went to see if his car was still there. And it was. It was parked in its normal spot. I didn’t think much of it but I went to open the door to look inside to see if there were any signs of him being there recently. And there wasn’t much to go on. It was an old empty car and it seemed like it hadn’t been touched in a while.

    It was my job to clean out lockers at the end of the school year and as well at the end of the semester if the student wasn’t coming back. I went over to the art building where Jeffcoat had his display of workmanship to see if his work was still on display. I didn’t think it would be and I was right. A whole different display was set up.         

    I knew where his locker was and I went to check it out. The lock was cut off and the locker was empty. Why on earth would there be no lock and where is his belongings? His art work and his folders, books et cetera? The semester wasn’t over and his car is still there, so why would his locker be empty?

    This was just a weird situation. I still had a lot of projects to finish up and again my writing minor was suffering big time. I didn’t want to get too caught up in an issue with all the other things I had to deal with, but it was just a weird situation.

    I still kept bumping into my ex on occasion and she just kept getting creepier.

    As the semester has finally worn out, I was to empty all the lockers that belonged to the students that were leaving for good. I started to clean them out and had to crack a couple of locks. While I was cleaning the lockers I had a large bag to put belongings in for the students to come and pick them up over break, if they had forgot to. During my regular work hours, I had to throw out a huge pile of old art that students didn’t want any more. I took them through the sculpting class and as I was cutting through the class room to the outside dumpster, I notice the foundry door was open. It had been cleaned up for other classed to use but was not in working order that semester. I walked over to see if any students were working in there. And noticed a large box with art that had been bumped. I look in to see if it needed to be thrown away. It was Jeffcoat’s art. All of his work that was in his locker was all smashed up and thrown in this large box sitting in the foundry. No one really used the foundry so how would anyone notice it. It was his display art and his art from his locker all smashed. Now things are really getting weird.

      Things were a little too weird to leave it alone. I went online to the school website and searched for Mr. Jeffcoat. I went through everything. I even went down to the library to research as well, and wouldn’t know it, nothing. If things were not weird enough.
    They must have arrested him, for they erased his entire record of being a student at the university. There was no phone number to be reached at and no record of him as a student. I went right to my work and checked the locker list of those students that had lockers check out. His name was still there, but his name on the list for art showings in the art building were gone. His work was destroyed and his lock was cracked, but his car still parked in the same spot.
     “This is messed up.”

Chapter 18
     I ended up moving and transferring to a location closer to Door County so I could help out with my relative and make sure things were being taken care off. I’d miss the university and I was close to graduating, but this was important.
    As I was transferring my credits over and trying to get things organized I took up a job at a restaurant to pay the bills. I was a head grill cook and I was still thinking a lot of Mr. Jeffcoat and to what happened to him.
     Somehow during my grease filled temporary occupation I earned the nickname Cupcake. There had been birthday and one of he cooks brought in cupcakes. In my many asking’s. . .the reply ended up being “were going to start calling Cupcake. From my nick name at Stout to being called Moby (one hit wonder singer) whiling working at Kmart, during Martha Stewarts prison fiasco, I’ve certainly tallied enough AKA’s.

     As many months rolled on, I remembered that my aunt worked at a law firm in Chicago Illinois and was a lifelong veteran of law. I knew she could help lead me in the right direction to getting more information on Mr. Jeffcoat.

    I called her up and told her about what was going on. She asked me about the musical and I told her all about what was going on. She told me she could look into things after work and get back to me. A secret spy if you will, a damn good one too.

     Sure enough she didn’t have to far at all. She found him! She found Mr. Jeffcoat!
     He had been incarcerated. A patriot had been arrested under the Patriot Act signed into law by George W. Bush. Imagine that.

      As it turned out, Mr. Jeffcoat had been incarcerated because George W. Bush was told of his whereabouts and that “Lay Women” was written to call out his grandfather Prescott Bush for being a banker in Texas that did business with the Nazis. Without reading the musical and or knowing that it took place in a home for women that were working on planes and automobiles for the War and directly called out Winston Churchill for being a salesman. George Bush was still acting president during the arrest and under the Patriot Act he had the right and claimed he had the right with Mr. Jeffcoat being under investigation and under surveillance for so such a long time. He used it to his advantage.

     George must have had some knowledge that his grandfather did some naughty things, or he wouldn’t care.

    That’s the most interesting thing about human behavior. When the conscience of a cop or politician is bothering them, you can really tell.

    My aunt warned me that if I am going to continue to run for office to watch out. The politicians hire unemployed actors from LA to pretend that their the opponents campaign group to make the politician look bad. Going home to home talking with people to get their vote by making that candidate look bad. So that not only hire their own campaigning group they hire actors to ruin their opponents campaign.
     I asked, laughing under my breath “do they hire actors that look like the candidate too?”

    Theses dirty tricks they play.
    So there it was, Mr. Jeffcoat, a patriot, that was just trying to get justice, was now arrested, for nothing.
    There really wasn’t much I could do at this time. They can make his records of being a student disappear and as well make him disappear.

Chapter Nineteen:

    Not only can you really tell when  politicians or police have their conscience bothering them, but they do the dumbest things to cover up their bull. Like President Clinton getting on national TV and claiming he had no sexual relations with his interns or Senator Harry Reid claiming he had no knowledge of the bridge scandal that just happened to make his property value increase. And then everyone finds out differently.

     I was grill cooking today and during the lunch rush, I just happen to look out through the expedite window and sitting by the window directly in front of me was Seada. She was with another person and she looked right at me and smiled and of course I had no way of walking away from a lunch rush. So I did what I could to get through the lunch rush and quickly run around out of the kitchen to talk to her. And sure enough she had left again without me being able to say anything.     

    I am also still attempting at a career in negotiating and have been applying to state and local law agencies to become one. I am still applying and every time I go to take the psychical exam I am surrounded by giant marines. “Why bother?”        

     On one occasion I ended up doing a walking in interview and met with the captain of the sheriffs. In all my attempts from Madison to local, I never got a job offer in it and my credits are now transferred to UW Oshkosh.

     Starting college again is quite the relief. I’m now in classes in psychology, nursing, and I also wanted to take some classes in painting under a wonderful art Professor with a great resume and history. He has quite a reputation and is very knowledgeable about painting and I can tell that he will be a great inspiration to my art. He’s from California and a great painter. This is going to be good to get back into research and my hobbies again.

     I now have quite a career planned out. I’ll run for office–or attempt to start up again--while also getting my masters, eventually, and as well focus on painting. I’ll try for a minor in nursing given my minor in creative writing at the previous university just didn’t work out.

     I still haven’t had the chance to speak with Seada and my life has taken one heck of a turn with transferring schools. I’m now driving 3 hours a day to school and back from Luxemburg to Oshkosh. What a difference from riding my bike everywhere and having everything within a mile.

      I’m really into Nuns and politics so I decided to do my first couple paintings on Saint Therese and President Obama. I know working under this professor will be a good change and great opportunity. This art building is a little more beat up then the one at the previous university. But its close and I can still be there for my relative.     
            
       Beyond school, I am still thinking of the ridiculous issue with the corruption in politics. The only thing I can think of to help out Mr. Jeffcoat is to start contacting the politicians in the country and get their attention to get this man help. I cannot just give up on him.

Chapter twenty:

      Driving through Oshkosh today on my way to class I was having an issue finding a parking spot. I didn’t have enough money to get a parking pass so like all the other poor students I would park on the free parking side of the university. After my third pass around the block, a red four door car pulled up just in front of me. Just like the one I wrote about in my journals, that are missing. And I couldn’t see who it was at first, but it got closer, slowly and I could finally make out the diver. I was the Monopoly Whore, my ex. Now she is driving the very car I wrote about in my journals. Now she wants to be Seada. This girl is getting really creepy. Really frick’in creepy. Who on earth acts like this? She broke into my apartment and stole my journals, stalked me at the university that she had nothing to do with and now she wants to be Seada. What a creep.

      So let’s analyze what politicians are like. They hire interns so they can be predators to them–as well as screwing their wives over–they hire people to show up to their campaign stops to make it look like their popular; they hire actors to go around and act like they’re there competitors campaigning; they hire Monopoly Whores; they bet on making moves on Monopoly Whores; take corporate bribes for money; kill the other if they do not like them (Kennedy, Lincoln); they convince your co-workers to bully you or harass you; use government money to make their land worth more; attack you on TV with lies; try sell the candidates seat after they are gone; use campaign contributions wrong and hire lawyers to cover it up (Barack Obama); Push someone to suicide in the White House and cover it up (Hillary Clinton); what the hell don’t these people do?        

      One that I always found interesting is the documentaries of the assassination of Kennedy. Or maybe there all a long shot. A long shot that first bullet appeared to be very strategically placed in his neck which look like he was attempting to botch his sharp shooter skills, to bail out of whatever corner he was locked into. And the second bullet just happens to be very aggressive along with the immediate mob cover up.
     Again all speculation and point of view. No one really knows how many bodies are buried in the White House Rose Garden.

    So with all of the political corruption of the past and of George Bush’s history and his father’s history it makes you wonder about Bush senior being Vice President when there was an attempt on Reagan.

    No wonder Mr. Jeffcoat was arrested. From Nixon to Barack Obama they all have a history of being naughty and getting away with it.

Chapter twenty One:

    Thinking more about Mr. Jeffcoat, more so then launching my own campaign, I remembered that the Potato Sack was still parked in the same spot when I left. I never went through the entire car. I should go back and search the entire thing. Maybe there is something that would help him in the car.

    On my day off of school, I went back to the other side of the state to my old university to attempt to find the Potato Sack. A nice cross county drive back. Stopping off at gas stations to shoot the shit with employees just to get out and stretch. You know, bundles of coffee and bundles of snacks that way too bad for our health. The drive was peaceful and slow with nothing but farms and scenery. This continued on until I reach the outskirts of the city. My nerves were getting to me and my thoughts of not being able to find the car or that they had gotten to it before I could.
        
    I came in to the city and stopped off one more time near the old apartment I once resided at. I could help but chuckle a little of the thought of my old neighbor’s butter fetish. It dawned on me just then that he was probably under the notion that the shelves were stocked at night not during the day and that he was obsessed with the commercials of butter having such clean cut too them as they make their way into the pan. Either that or he really has some messed up nightly ritual that I want absolutely no information about at all.
The only reason I can think of that I stopped off one more time, to one more gas station, is that I think I recognized that I might not want to know.

    You can wonder whether God is truly a sick person or you just find it in yourself that no matter what sick people exist, they think they’re doing the work of their own mustered up devil, but really they no idea that God is still at work, or Buddha or again whatever afterlife you believe. You all have a place here and you all get what’s coming to you. And as well we all learn the same lesson. To slow down internally and forgiving yourself.

    I got back in my car and drove to the storage unit I knew Mr. Jeffcoat kept his car near. And was in search of the car, but I couldn’t seem to locate the car anywhere. As with most universities all the student had to park a ridiculous distance from their dorms. There just wasn’t enough parking for all the students. After some time of driving around and looking, just as I had suspected they had taken the Potato Sack too.

    It was a group of girls spraying each other with water guns. Goofing around, laugh hysterically.
   I asked them if they knew Mr. Jeffcoat.

   ‘No we’ve never heard of a Jeffcoat.

   “Do you ever remember a coup parked up the street with a net wrapped around it, like a potato sack?”

    They replied together at the same time “the Potato Sack! We love the potato sack!”

   One of the girls replied “where is it? We haven’t seen it in a while?”

   I told them I am looking into the very same question and asked if they knew anyone that would know.
    They told me that their girlfriends boyfriend is friends with the owner and would know. “But they’re in class right now and were waiting on them ourselves.”
    Okay, so I guess I’ll wait too given I drove 3 and a ½ hours here.         
15 minutes rolled on and they came out holding hands. Two little love birds happy as can be.
    I asked them if they knew Mr. Jeffcoat and the man replied “I know him from living in the same area I grew up in, but no, I do not actually know him.”
   “Do you know where his car is?”
   “The Potato Sack?”
   He replied with sadness “his mother picked it up right before the blaze.”
   “What blaze?”
  “The one that took their lives and their home. Coincidently right after they got it”    
   He told me there was no obituary and or it wasn’t mentioned in the paper at all. And that his family continued to follow any news of the situation. It was apparently being blamed on the old man being a drunk and beating his wife. That he got carried away and torched the place.     

    It was apparent to me that this is an obvious cover for their corruption.    

    He agreed and said the true word on the street is the public was slowly starting to find out that police and the government had spent a ridiculous amount on surveillance of his family with never one arrest nor any court hearing. “People have been arrest with less and no evidence of any wrong doing. “Everyone is after what he had thou.”

   “As in Lay Women?”
   “We’ll with all that has been done to erase them, and with the document calling out British corruption. That just leads to the attempt on Roosevelt, and Prescott Bush is the main reason why the government arrested him. They think it’s about his corruption. And they really must have a huge base for covering for him. Why else would they arrest a college student and erase his record of being there?”
   I told him I looked too into finding him in our data base.
    He proclaimed “if you have the goods on wasted millions in invading the privacy of Americans, a document calling out the Europe, and our politicians thinking it’s funny and or covering it all up, you have the push to make everyone look like their beneath you.”
   “You mean the press?’ I asked.
   “Yeah, it’s the most powerful nation that has ever existed. You can make all of them and our recent history made to look like their beneath you.”

   “All out of Mr. Jeffcoat, here at Stout?”

    I asked him if he knew where Jeffcoat stayed when he was here.

   “He stayed in the piano lab in one of the piano rooms like the homeless guy that’s always begging for cigarettes does.

   “Why didn’t anyone arrest him before?”

     He said that Mr. Jeffcoat was born on a boat during their honeymoon and it was on American waters but that they didn’t use it as a technicality until President Bush signed the Patriot Act.

   As Mr. Jeffcoat was being raised the local kids made fun of him for having long toes that made him walk funny. They were like long spider legs and they messed up his walk. He was taken out of the local religious schooling and home schooled and for the main reason of being made fun of. It makes for an easy life erase by the government.

     When I was sitting with Mr. Jeffcoat on one occasion I could clearly see the long spidery legged toes coming out of his flip flops. They made for quite a conservation piece, however I never bothered to ask.     

    While the man was talking to me I had noticed a four door undercover cop car slightly down the road. And noticed it previously when entering the city. I stop the man in his conversation and asked, “what about the mustache down the road? “He laughed and said I was hoping that was for you.

    I laughed and then I was a little concerned that had tabs on him and or me about finding Lay Women.

   I asked, what about Lay Women, do you know if they have it?
    He replied “Jeffcoat got spooked when he and his political candidate he was working for went to see President Obama about getting help. They came back and he was a little spooked. That was the last time I saw him or spoke to him. I don’t know him nor do I have much more to tell you. It’s nice that someone else cares thou.”

     “You mean he might have stashed it?”
    “Yeah,” he replied, “with the political candidate, he’s an environmentalist.”
    “Me! That’s me!”
     With glee he said “you have Lay Women?”
    “No, I do not have it. Or maybe I don’t know I have it.”
    I had to get back home given I had to go to school in the morning.
    I left and so did the mustache in the undercover car.

Chapter Twenty Two:

    As I was making my way back to the East Side of the state, the mustache didn’t fail to miss a beat. Quite a ways behind me as though he is in his incognito state of mind. He looked just like the captain I spoke to in Green Bay about a job I was trying to get as a negotiator.

     I starting thinking of where Mr. Jeffcoat might have stashed the musical if he did stash it. It was the only copy of it. The military paid for it to be made and they destroyed the original second copy that Grampa Jeffcoat turned in. They didn’t know much about copy machines and if the light would destroy the original and as well it was way too big for a copy machine. They didn’t want anyone to get a hold of it and change it to make it different. So they just assumed they should keep it in original form and not try and copy it. The less copies the better.

     It popped into my head that my ex broke into my apartment and stole all of my journals as well as my pictures and the love letters she wrote me. So, did she accidentally steal it as well? Does my creepy ex have one of best written musicals ever written? “Shit!”

    I can just picture her naked on the bed staring at my pictures of me and my friends from high school reading my poetry written to Seada with a stick of butter in her hand and her broom stick leaned against the adjacent wall. What a freak! And now she might have a military owned document that calls out Winston Churchill.

   It seems a little odd that the mustache that’s following me is the same one I did a walk in interview for at the Sheriff’s Department in Green Bay when I was trying to get a job there in 2009. It is a little obvious that my ex is up to something and I need to find out what is going on with each of them. I am not going to blow my own cover with researching this alone so I need to call in help. I’ll have to call in my aunt in Chicago. She has friends in Door County and is very good at her life time of researching.

    As I rolled into Green Bay I stopped into a gas station to use the pay phone. This way if my phone is tapped I can get her help without anyone trying to stop it.

   I called her up and told her their names and if she could help me find out more information. I told her everything I could and told her about the blaze, the coincidental blaze. I also let her know that the original copy of Lay Women is not to be found as of yet and I might be the one that has the original and only copy.

   She told me she knows some people that would be very helpful in finding out more information on my ex. But will do some work on The Captain as well.

    I didn’t hear back from her for quite some time and life at school, UW Oshkosh got really weird. And really weird fast. I was actually spit on in public in front of the library by one of the criminal justice students. Looks like their some serious rumors going on with my name all over it.

     I got a lot of bad vibes from students and was not very happy with notion that my education is being affected by this corruption. “What the hell is this guy up to?”


Chapter twenty three:    

   I was in developmental psychology class today and the phone rang but it was on vibrate. It was my aunt from Chicago. She had some news about The Captain I met for an interview. I had to ignore it at first but as soon as class was over I called her back. It turns out that one of the faculty members at the Green Bay Sheriff’s Department had it on their Facebook that he was having an affair with my ex. She was seen many times with him and in odd ways. A little too intimate a little too soon with his second divorce not yet over with. So as quick as one two three I know what’s happening with both of them and what their up too. Thanks Facebook!     

   Now that I know that, and I know she cannot keep her fingers out of the cookie jar for nothing, I know she is not giving him what he wants, he’s giving her what she wants. She’s got her reasons for screwing the Captain of the Sheriff’s department. From breaking into houses to breaking into federal buildings like the post office, to breaking into veterinarian buildings, she’s got her eyes set on another fix. She’s driving her broom right up his ass.


    I am still not sure about the only copy of Lay Women and I am not very sure about where he could have stashed it if he did. I asked my aunt if she knew any more details about his arrest and imprisonment. She told me what I had just found out that he was arrested on a technicality.

  So the car is gone, his family is gone and he is being imprisoned on a very small technicality. George W. Bush doesn’t have Lay Women and I know now that this is so out of hand that Prescott was a very serious naughty boy. Or he wouldn’t care, at all.

   Police use many different devices and ways to hack your computer to erase e-mails, or to hack your information to find your recent searches and stop you from campaigning. They will first accuse you of a crime that you didn’t commit and then pretend, for the sake of their choice in candidates, that they are surveil lancing you for that crime. Not because they are really charging you with doing something. One more reason they need a Monopoly Whore. The same thing Nixon did in the 70's but more up to date. People will only believe it if you blame it on something sick and they use many methods to get others to believe it. In Wisconsin Scott Walker used this method many times.

  By using things like special hard-drives to know what your researching and or to watch your e-mails to ruin your business or life. They can go do this without a warrant, as well as put your house under surveillance without a warrant. If they go through a second source and or a third party no one knows it was them, or who paid for it, because they have nothing then for you to find out about directly at their station. And they can call you a liar. They use cameras in your fire alarms and in your light bulbs.


   After placing cameras in my home and in  Mr. Jeffcoat’s home for years on end using modern technologies with light bulbs and fire detectors with cameras and microphones in them, the local government has spent the amount would cost on one person using those in the police force and in security that have been tested using a  random sample survey that have been identified as heterofecephiliacs to watch and document my bathroom habits for 24 hours a day 7 days a week.

   While campaigning for office, Door Counties Sheriff used a different method of putting his opponent on a different shift so he couldn’t campaign and then admitted it on TV.
In the past the European police have used all the same methods of ruining people’s lives and their campaigns. Here in America they will try to sell your house from underneath you when you’re on vacation. So you end up not campaigning but end up in a legal battle to get your house back. Or they hire an old Chip n’ Dale dancer to have an affair with your wife so you end up in a divorce battle instead of campaigning.

    Now that George W. Bush has been called out by many people for his failures in the past with making things disappear, and as well as experiencing some of his father’s failures like with Desert Storm (Storming a Desert–something that has nothing in it–was supposed to an inside joke, on you). Or like the pentagon not having any airplane parts or seats left from the explosion of 911 and or wings or engine. But sure enough inside the hole of the building sits a wood table only chard not disinagrated. Not even the cock pit was there and in the explosion of the space ship Challenger they found the cock pit in some one’s back yard and the bodies were still in it. They really messed up their 911 logistics. He’s got experience in that, that’s for sure.
    This dirty Captain and my ex together have created quite a bit of havoc on my life and its affecting my job outlook in the medical field and my education. Who’s going to hire someone with a cop wreaking havoc on their reputation, much less vote for them?  
 
Chapter twenty four:
     The way the Lord works is quite fascinating. I have had the privilege of working under some of the most amazing artists that Wisconsin can offer. In elementary school, in middle school and as well as in my high school years. I had the honor of working with teachers that not only helped, but gave me everything I needed for the purpose of my particular art. After high school I had the privilege of working under a wonderful artist from Door County and as well he helps me in many ways. But when things got weird and hell came upon me by a ruthless man, God still showed up and put me under a great artist at UW Oshkosh. He not only offered great classes but understood where I was with my art works. So if you’re going through something by someone who’s conscience is gotten the better of them, don’t worry God still uses you for your purpose. There are a lot of people in the world that have nothing better to do with their life and time, and again you can tell and see them coming a mile away. Don’t worry, God will still be there. And that’s the glory of our Lord. This man destroyed my reputation and still has not forgiven himself and apologized. But God didn’t care. He still used me for what he wanted and out me under the wing a great artist.

   I have a meeting with my art Professor today and I am supposed to bring all my present paintings. With to have him critique them. So, I went out to the garage and put all my paintings in my car that I had finished this semester and also grabbed one painting that I did at Stout. Back at Stout, I wanted to see how fast I could knock out a painting so I used an old canvas that a former student didn’t want anymore and took it home to try and speed paint. It took me about 48 minutes to paint it. Not the best work I ever did, but it’s one that could hang nicely anywhere. I threw it in the car as well to put it up against my present work. Kinda an old verses new looks to see the way I am painting now.

   As I was getting down the road to get up on the highway I started to think about the old painting I did at Stout. When I grabbed it the back of it had brown paper stapled to it. I didn’t put brown paper on the back of it and I remembered that the back of it had a break in the middle bar which is why the student at Stout gave it to me for free. I instantly thought of Jeffcoat.
   It had to be Jeffcoat!
   Trying not to get too excited and as well I didn’t want to pull over in the middle of the highway or in a random parking lot to look. I thought it was just be best to carry on without drawing any attention and or ruining what it might be. And at the same time, just about pissing in my pants on the long hour and a half drive.

   When I got to the university I lined up all my paintings in the hall way on the floor arched against the wall. I tried to order them in sequence to when they had been finished not when I started them. I had a great meeting with my professor and his critique was well accepted. He always loved my art and was very inspirational towards my way of painting. He never gave himself a reason to criticize my work to help me improve and as well he really enjoyed my work and always took time to enchant about his and my works and the many years he has been painting and my life time of art. It takes a lot of work to improve to a point where one is so comfortable that they cannot care what any one person or persons think of it. It’s a true inside blessing that is made of years of experience and mistakes all coming together to make you feel so at peace with what you know you can create and how you make it all come together. And if you have a shop conversation with someone in the same avenue its nothing but enchanting respect.
    And it made me feel empowered as I was heading back to my car and back to my own world of works.
   But, unfortunately life was coming to a bit of a sad time.

Chapter twenty five:
     I eventually got a government issued letter stating that I could come and see as well as be there for the identification of Mr. Jeffcoat’s body in the mail. They said there is no need to identify him, but I could still come and pay my respects given no family member was alive to prepare a funeral service for him. There apparently, government words, was an accident and he was deceased. Vague and to the point with little to no room for giving any reasoning and or passing the blame on any corruption, of course. I tried to call and as well to get any more information and wouldn’t you have guessed it, the classic government run around prevailed.         
   I was working at a department store later on after college ended–too much debt to go on with school–in Green Bay and I just happened to sort of bump into Seada again. And as well the same old issue happened. I am not sure what she has been told up to this point but I am most sure she has obviously heard every story under the sun. The many rumors and people that have chosen to not like me. Again, I never once did anything to them ever, I do not even know these people personally and they have no reason to hate me, but The Captain is obviously in his “I have to win mode.” It’s like politicians and police live their whole lives in the high school mentality of “it’s a game and someone has to win.” It’s not a game its people’s lives. Truth counts. Why does a thought process of someone to win be in modern policing in a world of more need for truth? It has no property or logic in policing. It’s simple, either something was a crime or it wasn’t. That’s logic.
    The Captain spent his life researching the backgrounds of those he employed and in doing so, he built a life of knowledge of knowing where to look for information. Thus, he knows how to make a person appear and disappear completely.

     Scott Walker has cheated on his election by having The Captain hack my life and affairs and is the only reason and way he can defeat me or anyone for that matter, because he did use that strategy instead of not using it. He won’t allow me to debate and has never once offered his time even after requesting so many times with my ideas of creating jobs and as well with helping our community; even though that’s his job. He’s a cheat and that’s the reason he became governor.
     He’s really not the true winner of the last election, just like Donald Trump. And then they blame hacking on the Russians. However both past presidents have met President Puttin and neither of them arrested him and brought him to the international court of law.

    The election for president in 2016 was a true baffle. And again all blamed on Russia. All the people in Door County apparently voted Red. Imagine that, an entire peninsula that is based on 6 months of no jobs and poverty– a lot of people claiming unemployment for years during the winter months–and all of them lean more hippy and all are musicians and artists all voted Red? Huh? That’s odd, they never vote Red for a president much less a pervert and a loud mouth that’s racist. I’m sure the family farmers of Northeast Wisconsin were the first to vote for him.
     Dark money in politics is just what it sounds like. It can be used in many ways and for many reasons. All to not be noticed for its exchange and or for its use. That’s why they call it dark. You can be running for office and they can use as much as they want–like the Koch brothers that own the local paper mills—because for them it’s a tax right off and or no one knows it was them using their money to fund corruption in different ways.
      Like when the local law enforcement hire a former L.A police big wig, to be their Chief, you not only get Hollywood connections that come with it, but you get the L.A crooked way of handling business. It’s truly bazaar to have a Chief in Green Bay that comes off as such a nice guy and behind the scene is so ruthless. Why on this earth would someone call themselves a nice person not have the decency to apologize? Or to have The Captain apologize? What makes a man a man? Having to be right no matter what? Even if their wrong? Or even if it’s all their own doing right from the beginning and it never had anything at all to do with anything in any reason but their own mustard up default of starting corruption anywhere they can find a space to do so. Because it’s their default way of behaving.
    So, again, does it make the wiser to apologize first?
    My aunt was never able to find out how Mr. Jeffcoat died.

Chapter twenty six:
    After the passing of my aunt; she apparently died from a heart attack while at home alone and she was found on the couch sitting normally upright but obviously deceased. I never could get over how the government made my entire inheritance from her disappear. An inheritance that the continuous liar police and politicians that are too big for their britches to apologize to me made disappear and refuse to make any comments about all their other corruption leading up to this point.
     And wouldn’t you know it. After retiring from the sheriff’s department The Captain picked up a job with a local crooked bank in computer banking security. Wouldn’t you just know it.
     For ten years I have not been able to get a career job in my field of psychology in Northeast Wisconsin or be offered a career job in the entire nation after putting out over 6000 job resumes and applications. My resume is immaculate and my job performances as well as my need to always be early to work apparently makes me one of the few deserving for the careers I apply to. But for some reason all those jobs I apply to, they always come popping right back up on the career websites within about two or three weeks after they are filled. Over and over again. There all in cahoots. Favor for a favor and nor government backing or handouts if you don’t.
   I am still not being given the right to debate in campaigning against any politician and all those promises made to me by the local press to have my name be announced with all the other candidates during the election news briefings, are never followed through on.  
Chapter Twenty Seven :

    Being under surveillance by the police in Door County and Green Bay is really weird.  They hire police officers at the cost of tax payers to watch people 24 hours a day. They pay police wages of $23.50 an hour with retirement. Sitting in a room playing pretend scenario of everything you do and everywhere you go, judging your every move as though they are better than the person they are watching and laughing at your mistakes as though they are the top notch people of the world. Another-words it’s like a group of adults playing with their GI Joe's in a sand box, sucking their thumbs wearing pull ups. People in this country have had warrants issued for almost nothing in a matter of minutes. But sexual favors from my ex and celebrities is more important than actually doing their designated paid job.

    If I am researching someone and or something they take interest in it and make it seem like its World War Two espionage. They call the celebrities that I listen to in the music world. I took interest in a rock stars’ album and they immediately called that singer to make a connection as though a pretend scenario would or could make them look good. The idea of Celebrity Pussy Patrol is and will always be at the most interest of the those that date and screw Monopoly Whores. Not only are they screwing girls that they can use as criminal objects but they are now taking interest in make believe scenarios to capture the attention of celebrities.

    I was not only baffled at the interest the moron celebrity took interest my case, but I was even more baffled when they erased her flight records to prove any late night action with the local third shift copper on duty. She takes such an interest that she watches with the cops late night from her computer and participates in imaginary scenario patrol.

   Bottom line, the only reason that they never put my ex under surveillance like they did me and only took to watching me is, they found out who Seada was and they are pissed that she is attractive. Two in two million and it’s not them, it’s me. Or at this point they would realize they their ridiculous nature is way out of hand and will do nothing for them ever. 10 years of sucking their thumbs, with no reason other than "he may be a bad guy.". . "because one person said so.". .out of 7 billion people that could be a bad person. Let it be obvious the local police and politicians have no other logical sense other than the process of holding their own grudge against themselves.

    Can you imagine that. The police have violated my rights for 10 years and not once have given me the right to Due Process. A little jealousy goes a long ways. What are they actually getting from watching one person for 10 years? A boner?. .  and some celebrity pussy.

    In the end they have no reason to prosecute me and nor have I done anything wrong. Keeping us apart is they only thing that makes them happy. Welcome to modern police procedure. "Keeping soulmates apart" is their first agenda. Because apparently God lies and my ex--one of the biggest drug addicts in Northeast Wisconsin--apparently doesn't. Blame it on God. How sick can you be, to spend well over 9 years and over 1.7 million dollars on keeping to soulmates apart.
  
    The chances of you meeting a nice cop in this area of the world that would actually come to their senses and just say " she lied, we're sorry, and make the realization that two soulmates in North East Wisconsin is a pretty cool thing," is slim to no happening ever.

Chapter twenty eight :                    
   In the only interview I have ever tried to have on the life of Mr. Jeffcoat, I sat down in front of a lady reporter, with her really defined dressed up dress and all her makeup with that snooty republican attitude–off course I get the non-liberal reporter–and she looked up at me as though she was to tear me apart so there was nothing left. I knew she had a reputation of some sort with the air she had and she was definitely a George Bush fan, but never the less, all of life seemed to again slow down and I was ready for the big hit. Hired on or not, I was ready for whatever she was going to bring to the table. The mics were on and the camera rolling.

    When life slows down, and all your meditation is right where God wanted it to be, no matter how hard of a hit you’ve taken, even after 10 years of rumors and with my being ruined by a “professional police officer” it matters to God that all you have added up to be with your choice in meditation and in life’s views and accomplishments, all comes to a defining moment of “go to fucking hell you witch deep breath” and you know for a fact that God intended on you having a battle to accomplish. A mission that others might fold on. Your confidence is replaced for whatever reason and not even God could move you at that moment of relinquishing all hell you have had to endure. And I looked her in the eye and knew whatever she gives me I will not let her overcome my hell I had to endure.

     My art at the moment had been brought to a level different then my past. To a zero state of all knowing of all I needed to be in that perfect meditation that I chose. And all my life’s research and study in philosophy and psychology has all added up to my calmness of meditation. I have meditated, and endured, and for 10 years. I have had rumors that are not mine, and as well do not deserve. I have seen justice not come to those that deserve it and I have witnessed crooked cops, crooked politicians and failed government that cares not two shits to the wind of anyone’s pain and suffering. I have witnessed politics first hand and witnessed Governor Walkers crooked nature from embezzling the UW surplus to 6 federal investigations and as well not doing anything about the violations of my rights and not caring one bit.

  So to her obvious question “where is this so called Lay Women and why can I not find anything on Mr. Jeffcoat?” Using mind, you the snottiest tone of voice and arrogance of Bush loving corruption. I slightly lifted my left foot to my blue saddle bag that was leaning against the chair on the floor and slightly moved the open flap over the old brown document that slightly appeared from the top of my bag, looked her in the eyes and said with all hell in my past “I do not know who the hell Jeff is or why I got such a great second hand discount on his coat, or why he wrote his name in it, but I love it and wear it all the time.” And of course her neck went sideways with the expected word “cliché” following her apparent already sick of me look. I got up and left with little to no expression and or words.
Knowing it is a great document, I then did the most brilliant thing I have ever done before. In all of my painting; in all of my research and everything I have ever done before.

    To the crooked and to the politicians that all told me to go to hell, “would you like to know what I did?” I could dress up in a t-shirt that reads “No” right side up and underneath that word “No” written upside down it could read “On” and I could do cartwheels while saying “No, On” (pronounced own). Or I could dress up like Dr. Seuss and sit in front of you and say “No I do not, I do not like it on a plane or on a train, I do not like it up a stairs or down a stairs, I do not like green eggs and ham Sam I am.” I could tell you “yes or no, and no and yes,” and keep on doing so on and on again. I could be really cocky and dress up like Donald Trump dressed as an Oompa Loompa and do my cartwheels with my No On t-shirt saying “No Own, Own No” over and over again with my best Trump impersonation with a painted orange face as I continue doing my cartwheels. Or I could just help teach you how to schedule your farts by setting some time aside after you eat something you know will give you gas.

   If Jeffcoat were alive today, you could walk up to him like you could with my best friend Sam. He would whole heartedly welcome you with a grin of great joy for your being there and offering him friendship at no cost or corruption. He would need no reward or look to be rewarded and could teach of his brass casting. He would tell you of the great stories his grandfather told him and tell you all greed in politics that you already know is terrible. He was a man that endured a lot of corruption from our government that is using surveillance on all of you and you do not even know who and why it is happening. Whether it’s to win and election; oust you from your wife so they can have her; oust you from your property; or because corporate wants your business or to shut it down. Or whether it’s because you write about their corruption like me. Or because you have done nothing wrong like me. And have done nothing wrong but bump into a crooked man that cannot forgive himself for his default corrupt way of acting.

   Over twenty two million soldiers died for your rights immediately on the battle field and many more when they returned home. You apparently do not deserve your right to privacy nor does anyone. It’s their business to make sure your wife has the right shower habits and if not they deserve the right to come in and change it. They have over time, internally agreed to self-justify your lack of rights and their right to be very lazy with their job. If they can randomly catch you in the act of doing something wrong in five years, or 10 years or 20 years, 24 hours a day 7 days a week of your tax dollar watching your bathroom habits is well worth their expense in fake jobs. Last year 8,000 people in America alone where under surveillance by police and most didn’t know it. Some police take that experience home and use it at their leisure on anyone they chose to. With me, and probably with others, I'm apparently worthy of being accused of whatever crime that comes up at the moment and or whatever crime they haven't touched base on in a while with my name written on it. And of course it keeps changing at their leisure. But a simple sorry. . .

    The Captain is not a strong enough man to admit his wrong doings and Scott Walker wouldn’t dare come out of his shame to admit he could have done something. I will never get in the medical field with the many rumors that do not belong to me. I will never get voted in because they told so many tall tale lies. I am sure Seada has probably heard all of them which is probably why she has never come around. But one thing is for sure. Nice guys do finish last. They go to heaven forever and the crooked get casted.
   
Humbly yours forever–Seada’s soulmate.    


Copy right Robbie Hoffman 2020.