In actuality, I had been concerned about my decision…my action! Driving down to the local ‘city hall’…which doubles as a source of entertainment. Offering D list comedians and bad plays by accountants turned ‘actors’ on the weekend.
This old age Opera House during the course of banker’s hours; houses the welfare director, issuer’s of hunting licenses and persons paid by the town of Franklin, New Hampshire deemed competent enough to gather your most personal information. Voter registration, payment of fines, water and sewer late fees, etc., etc.
Franklin calls itself a city. Yet, it is a big town with overalls on.
As many of my followers, fellow bloggers and semi interested fans, know. I am as queer as a two dollar bill. Obviously, I am an artist. And, with any research, it is well known that I attempt to speak for those who feel they have no voice.
I have been a democrat all my natural born…voting life. And, though I grew up in an abusive dictatorship, my parents, both, were leftists.
Odd for me but when I arrived at the building of paying more taxes for grade 6 roads…
Odd for me to feel panic whilst climbing the granite stairs.
‘Live Free or Die…’ kept ringing through my ears. Such like, a protest you want to start…but have no cause.
“I would like to change my political affiliation. Is this where I do it?”
My shaky words piercing through spit proof Plexiglas.
Used to be not long before, I dealt with a woman who shall remain nameless and scowled at me while I gave the city all the money I had.
Currently, I had been speaking to Marie. Lovely woman in comparison to the upset city employee who shall remain nameless.
Odd, I pondered! I am literally handing over personal information, change of affiliation and various other things…to someone…who registers my moped.
This idea to change from Democrat to Independent had taken me many months to consider.
It had always been my right of passage to believe in a more ‘socially’ aware class. My resume as volunteer, delegate, knocker of doors, candidate for local office…is vast.
Yet, that has all changed.
Perhaps the only route meant believing in the middle.
Dems have been walking about with their ears back like a scolded dog…for too long.
And, the potty mouth, liberator of porn stars and his posse…are certainly the direction I wish not to go.
Both sides boasting about how they are looking to enhance the lower and middle class. Both sides playing cards without any inclination as to the life of the typical American citizen.
I am embarrassed by my government…Both local, state and federal.
What kind of sight must this country be…to those who upheld us as, liberators to the truth.
An independent is variously defined as a voter who votes for candidates on issues rather than on the basis of a political ideology or partisanship; a voter who does not have long-standing loyalty to, or identification with, a political party; a voter who does not usually vote for the same political party from election.
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts