Villages Voting & Taxes
DRAFT - November 11, 2019
This is a historical political story woven together loosely like a Navajo Rug sharing legends of Villages Voting and Taxes.
It’s a lighthearted accounting of America from the notes of Cire Grebgnouy, a budding lawmaker notorious for “westside” “no doc” “handshake” deals executed with surgical precision, who passed away years ago virtually in incredible fashion --- draped in a toga like Caesar.
Cire (pronounced “Sire” or sometimes “Siri”) is a nickname for my brother . The book is a tribute to Cire. It is also a humbly appreciative acknowledgment of family, friends and neighbors who made great sacrifices in giving life to the story of Cire’s death.
Finally the book shares an explanation of how Cire’s estate company “remapped” land enabling parties to reconcile differences and eventually start over with a “blank slate” achieving virtual world peace, or at least peace within a village.
The above summary was placed on the nightstand next to the bloodsoaked bed where Albuquerque Police reported Cire dead.
On top was a bottle of Nyquil and the empty leather case for Cire’s Blackberry. Cire had virtually lived on his Blackberry orchestrating an almost unimaginable number of “no doc” digital business deals. And now being dead assbackwards --- bloodied and upside down on enough loans to potentially capsize Vasa (Eric’s holding companies) and anyone else with deals denominated in dollars --- Cire clutched his blackberry and held on tight until the coroner later pried it from his dead cold hands. That was how Cire’s friends and campaign manager described it.
The White House
The last time I saw Cire alive was a few months before he passed away. Cire had recently obtained a “white house” --- around the corner from his country club --- from a golfing buddy in a mandatory like kind Treasury exchange. Cire had moved his real estate office into the den with a safe holding cards for lawyers guns and money --- and scored a truckload of firewood for the chimero (a portable spanish clay fireplace) in the backyard. I was in town visiting having just flown in from Washington (Spokane). Cire texted suggesting we enjoy the pleasantly brisk evening in the backyard of his new place near the fire.
Like most siblings Cire and I enjoyed our lifelong rivalry. More than that though we enjoyed our business partnership. We had formally established our Business Law Group before the turn of the century and effectively “forked it” midnight of Y2K (December 31, 1999) at the direction of Cire into “Old America” and “New America.” Since then we usually talked on holidays (Christmas and birthdays were always favorites) and met about once a year except for the previous year where Cire had been extra busy with election volunteers helping with “Villages Voting and Taxes.”
It was great catching up with Cire. We hadn’t seen each other since Cire last visited a couple of Thanksgivings ago. That is when he effectively persuaded my wife late into the night to join his political team transitioning Old America to New America with a great row of stories leveraging notion of #FakeNews. With Cire’s dog Tori (a red Blue Heeler) resting easily on the grass near the rose garden in the backyard Cire and I shared enjoyable updates —- and a Dion’s pizza topped with green chile --- around the fire from late afternoon until well past midnight.
Cire’s updates always seemed to be more interesting. Anyways we bantered back and forth on all kinds of things like brothers do. Some of the more memorable updates included the following.
Blackberry - Cire shared that he was communicating with a few people using “virtually unhackable” super-encrypted Blackberry PIN text technology --- with Dell servers located just a stone’s throw from the “Heart of the Continent” near the “World Human Rights Museum.” Then he showed me how to step up the same technology on my blackberry so we could communicate securely. We successfully tested the encryption and decryption with a few texts and then settled into deeper conversation in the backyard of his white house within shouting distance of the Country Club where his business partner a handicap chairman was announcing weekend tournament winners to good natured applause.
Tribute Book for Dad - Cire was thinking about writing a tribute book for our Dad who passed away on election day in 2004 --- with a chapter on the golf clubs he played scoring back-to-back eagles on 9/11 (which Dad ended up later presenting to a judge at his Country Club for retirement).
Other than that we didn’t talk much about Dad’s passing. It still seemed surreal -- presumably for both of us. Dad had passed away in the pre-dawn morning hours of election day in 2004 according to our sister. When the polls opened Mom voted. Anyway Cire was contemplating options with a book about Dad and his hilarious sense of humor. We both grinned.
“No Doc Loans” - Cire and political banking friends had taken “the other side of the bet” on “no doc” loans (responsible for almost crashing the economy) --- with a “Trust for Dogs.” It’s a long story perhaps worthy of a book in and of itself someday. Short version is Cire’s team had established Y2K “Alphabet Tranches” (from A to Z)” cross collateralized with $14 Trillion roundUps equal to the debt the US owes China.
Vasa (swedish word for “water” and “ship” is the name of Cire’s fleet of companies) — Vasa had just made an investment in a “mobile continent.” It was a luxury cruiseliner being constructed to sail the seven seas.
After Cire passed away I ended up talking with one of Cire’s classmates who had helped put the deal together. He explained that one of the benefits of the ship was that the “rules of the sea” govern. Under maritime law the captain may execute freely for good reason. The last photo of Cire --- at a Christmas party before he passed away --- was of Cire smiling in his “Vasa” shirt like he was heading for a cruise.
RV Park - Soon after Dad passed away Cire jumped into business with the Barr brothers --- a football-sized trio of native americans --- in a Recreational Vehicle business idea. The originally stated plan was to create and maintain a network of “recreational vehicle villages’ within a days drive of each other all over the Continent.
Many years ago the business had obtained a loan for an RV Park west of town in a Spanish Land Grant on Navajo Nation Land. After plans changed the business ended up building a “Texas-sized RV park” a few hours to the east instead. A couple of years earlier Cire had punted on the RV business at the majority owner’s request.
To accommodate the closing deal --- which included a mandatory “like kind Treasury Exchange” --- Cire ended up trading investment houses with a Barr brother. That is how Cire ended up with the ‘white house” —- where we were now having dinner next to the fire.
Built on both sides of the line on a “double lot” the house was about half the size of the house Cire traded away --- and had half the value. And, unlike his previous house which was owned free and clear the “white house” had a mortgage on it about equal to the house value. In other words Cire had just cashed in which was confirmed with his laugh and disclosure of an additional house he obtained in the trade to boot, a sprawling adobe estate on an apple orchard near the banks of the river dividing east from west in his voting district.
Cire had been elected New Mexico State Representative for his district in 2000 and re-elected easily every election thereafter until 2008 when there was a “dispute.”
Cire’s opponent was claiming to have won. Cire was silent.
Twitter was the last topic we discussed that night.
Since the earliest of times democracies (and marketing) have evolved with order-of-magnitude improvements in communication (each being at least ten times better than what existed previously)
Each forever changed the world advancing communication from “one-to-one” (or “zero-to-one” for biblical purists) with the Slate to “one to virtually everyone” with Twitter.
At the time Twitter was almost unimaginably more powerful than any other method of public communication previously known to humankind. The potential with Twitter seemed virtually limitless.
The night of our last visit a majority of the people on the planet had access to mobile phones and could interact with Twitter (now it is a “super majority”). Increasingly almost everyone could potentially frictionlessly communicate with everyone. The world would never be the same. The “theoretical” notion of a “global collective consciousness” was on a fast track to becoming a reality. The best ideas could spread across the planet at lightspeed --- and many already were.
About a year before my last visit with Cire a friend had suggested that I try Twitter . I did --- and was stunned. Upon first signing in I saw “lightning bolts” understanding how Twitter with radical “disruptive” technology could potentially connect the world better than anything ever before. Evaluating Twitter I was increasingly impressed with its potential to “change the world as we know it” and was tweeting a lot --- mostly for “pro bono” volunteer projects to help accomplish administrative goals of “End the Wars” and “Close Gitmo” — ideas credited to mentors to whom I am forever appreciative.
Tweets promoting the ideas were made under various accounts --- including a “locked one” named @ragnaar.
Only a small group of followers including a couple of Senators could view tweets from @ragnaar.
Moments before the start of that year’s State of the Union speech @ragnaar finished a tweet storm with what the State of the Union speech happened to conclude with --- A metaphorical suggestion to end the overseas wars with “Turn The Boat Around.”
This was an inside joke with Cire promoting an idea worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. Centuries ago the Scandanavin Viking Economy had converted from war to peace with a top-heavy Swedish warship named VASA which had toppled over and capsized on its maiden voyage. The upside down and sunken boat was recovered from the bottom of the harbor. It was then renovated and now serves as a museum in the center of Stockholm’s thriving Arts District. Cire often suggested other nations consider transforming their economies from war to peace by “turning their boats around.”
With the evening winding down Cire brought up Twitter. Like a tweet (140 character limit in the good ole days) our closing conversation was succinct.
Cire: Twitter is the future
Cire: Here are the #’s
And with that Cire finished the last sip of his wine and restated what we both already knew —- “Twitter has already changed the world forever.” After that we bid farewell. That was the last time I saw Cire alive.
Thanksgiving of 2009 Cire called. He alerted me that he was having the “the Pool Table” --- a century old heavy Brunswick from our grandfather made in a different era when America did not have an income tax and women did not vote --- refinished and would be sending me it soon. Over the course of the next few weeks the Pool Table swap was confirmed with texts and calls.
The pool table which traces its roots back to a dusty village bar near Cire’s apple orchard --- where Cire’s agent working for a broker wrapped up in Ponzi scheme was living --- was one of two “twin” pool tables. Our grandfather had arranged for one. It had been passed around by close friends and family for decades. Cire had it and had been taking care of it since before our Dad passed away. Cire now wanted to pass it along as a Christmas present.
During the Christmas season before Cire passed away he attended the usual holiday parties. We talked on the phone. Cire was doing well. He shared that a left-handed Y2K Bank President had thoughtfully emailed him a hilarious youtube video of a gas-guzzling SUV being blown up for one of his pre-IPO FUV investments (Tranche Z).
Birthday (January 26)
Cire’s 43 Birthday was January 26, 2010. I called and wished him a happy birthday. We traded updates and both grinned with our inside joke that lots of green chili would help alleviate his cold.
Death Days (January 26 to 28)
The precise date that Cire supposedly died remains unclear.
For all practical purposes --- despite the conclusion from the lawyers (and Court establishing Cire’s eState) that Cire died the day earlier --- Cire is presumed to have been alive on January 27.
On January 28, I was working in my study in a new building I had recently finished the year earlier --- just steps across the yard from our house. This was where the Pool Table was destined to arrive.
In those days --- being virtually consistently intertwined with work during the day and twitter at night (after family time had ended) --- I spent lots of hours in the study.
On the evening of January 28 I received Blackberry PIN Text from Cire’s Blackberry. Cire (or someone with Cire’s Blackberry) asked that I “follow” the Speaker of the US House of Representatives on Twitter. One click later I was following John Boehner --- Speaker of the United States House of Representatives. Almost instantaneously afterwards I received an “automatically generated” tweet thanking me for the follow.
While reading that and preparing to confirm to Cire (or whoever had his blackberry) that “the follow” was successful my blackberry rang. It was my wife calling from the house speaker phone.
Phone call with wife
Me: Hey honey :)
Wife: He’s gone.
Me: Whose gone?
Wife: Cire. He’s gone. He passed away during the State of the Union speech last night. The police just found him dead [Long pause …]
PIN Texts with Cire’s Blackberry
Me: She says you are dead.
Cire (or whoever was on Cire’s blackberry): Just go with it.
Phone call with wife
Me: Ok. I will be right in.
It was difficult to know then what my wife and/or my brother (or whoever was on his blackberry) were up to. Was the call was real and the Text from someone else. Or was the Text really from Cire --- and the call just another example of one of Cire’s notoriously clever “life hacks.” Cire liked to do that.
Plane Ride (to New Mexico)
The following day while flying solo to Cire’s funeral (my wife and kids were going to fly down later) I had a chance to reflect on Cire’s life and further debate with myself whether my brother was actually dead or my wife had just sided with my brother’s political story over our very own family.
Complicating matters was that tension in our family had been strained since Cire last visited. My wife had spent most of Thanksgiving night a couple of years earlier with Cire at a cabin down the road. And now having recently given birth to our second son tied up with Cire’s visit she was the interest of the village. With Cire either now dead or faking his death (with my wife’s help) tension in our family was certain to increase.
Anyways I processed Cire’s “passing” into the following options-
From there I began to retrace our most recent conversations. After “connecting the dots” that Cire’s passing seemed likely tied to politics I wanted to connect them even more. I began recalling our last conversation in his backyard --- at the “white house” where Cire was found dead --- and the topic of Elections.
A primary conversation thread with Cire the last time we met was elections. Cire was eager to share thoughts on their progression. He could persuasively argue that all Presidential elections since 1804 when the 12th “Addendum” was enacted were Unconstitutional and, thus, void. On the night of our last supper we reminisced on Presidential elections from Y2K (2000) to present.
The following year 9/11 was featured on lots of Old America televisions.
For many of those in New America who had ditched their televisions (either replacing it with the Internet or electing to go “off the grid”) 9/11 was just another politically staged event in a long line of embellished war folklore --- this one especially “made for Television.” It would be (perhaps) the last memorable television event before the Internet took over and changed the world.
The good news was that whether 9/11 was “real” or “real fake” the aftermath was helping New America. It was inspiring world peace at a rapid pace and making a cleaner planet a reality as New America electric vehicles replaced Old America’s gas guzzling fleets polluting the skies, rain and rivers everywhere while consuming blood-stained barrels of fuel from overseas.
In November of 2008 there was another disputed election. Barack Obama --- a Constitutional Law Professor from Chicago’s south side navigating increasingly turbulent political waters --- won by a landslide. Yet some were rightfully concerned about his eligibility to be president, especially with the slippery slope of a Kenyon from Hawaii half an ocean away coming into play. The argument being that someone from Kenya or even Hawaii can’t be President because they are not a “Citizen born naturally of the Continent” as contemplated by Jefferson and summarized in the Constitution.
Cire added fuel to the fire sharing what he had garnered from conversations at the White House (the real one) during legislative sessions that the Government had been involved in stem cell experiments including “Test Tube Babies” for decades. These “military grade” weapons (essentially human bots) were ineligible to be President for the reason they are are not “naturally born citizens.”
The general consensus (or at least a popular one with Cire’s friends) was that Barack Obama was not actually President. The story of Barack being President was just another example of #FakeNews—- like Santa Claus.
There were lots of conspiracy theories of “why” Barack was not eligible to be President. Most ended up addressing the legitimacy of his Hawaiian Birth Certificate which was equally as dubious as the “death certificate” from New Mexico I would soon be receiving for Cire claiming he died after an hour after my wife told me he had died the day earlier.
In striving to process Cire’s passing I began to reflect our Dad’s passing several years earlier.
The funeral services for our Dad were somber yet hopeful. No one had seen Dad dead. And most of the stories at his “roasting” being held at the University Championship Golf Course where Dad had scored virtually unheard of back-to-back eagles on 9/11 were about Dad’s great sense of humor and how much he enjoyed golf.
Dad was notorious for his hilarious laugh and loved for a lifetime of achievements --- including those on the golf course. A couple of his more famous feats involved the two finishing holes at the University Championship Course which happened to take place while the two planes punched holes in New York’s World Trade Centers on television on 9/11.
The “seventeenth” hole is an almost “unreachable” 235 yard uphill par three into the wind. From all accounts Dad hit a three wood and scored a “hole in one” right as the first jet crashed into the World Trade Center. Minutes later Dad “swished” a seven iron from the middle of the eighteenth fairway from 150 yards --- at the same time a second jet crashed into the adjacent “twin” World Trade Center.
Dad’s funeral services were now being held at the same golf course where he scored these “back to back” eagles. On 9/11 University officials roared as they walked out of the clubhouse towards the eighteenth green to congratulate Dad on his ace on and alert him to events unfolding back East. Now these same University officials were hosting Dad’s memorial services.
After the services Cire and I met at his house and decompressed from the events of the previous few days. Dad was dead --- although it still seemed surreal --- how could our otherwise healthy dad be gone at the early age of 63? It did not make sense. Anyways a few days earlier, we had buried his coffin in the graveyard near an adobe family chapel church where I was married the previous year and today we had just done an extensive “meet a greet” with scores of Dad’s old friends and golfing buddies.
That afternoon I was going to drive to our family “shack” in the mountains where my Mom and sister were staying. Eric was going to stay in town with his new girlfriend. Until then we had time for a tour of Cire’s house renovations (his new girlfriend had painted a wall), a Coors (in honor of Dad) and a game of pool (a traditional “Championship of the World” on granddad’s vintage Brunswick table).
The table with its tarnished brass name plate from about 100 years ago was in Cire’s living room. It was a nice and heavy table yet played just a bit “slow” --- mostly due to its course wool felt. It's the same house that Cire would later trade to a golfing buddy for his “white” house a few blocks away in a like-kind Treasury Exchange where Cire was determined to be dead just moments into the State of the Union address.
All of our major family life events --- especially weddings and funerals --- were punctuated with a match on the pool table. The “last” Championship of the World was played on that day --- the day of Dad’s Memorial services. Cire racked. I broke and ran the table --- somewhat of a rarity for either of us on the old and slow family table.
We shook hands and bid each other farewell. We didn’t really ever talk much about Dad’s passing ever after that. We just kinda acknowledged it.
So Dad was dead. And now Cire.
Anyways challenging to process all the possibilities of what was going on.
Our plane glided over the Native American lakes Cire and I used fish with our grandfather and we landed.
Arrival in New Mexico
New Mexico is where Cire and I grew up together and attended school. Mom still lives in our childhood house. That is where I was greeted by the “Four Amigos” --- a quartet of Eric’s political friends wailing songs of Eric’s passing.
These were Cire’s political friends --- one of whom who would later provide me with Cire’s blackberry and the login info for Cire’s political email account.
Cire’s last Blackberry text message of “I’m taken ill” was illuminated on a police photo of Cire’s blackberry sent January 26, 2010 (Cire’s Birthday). Conflicting with this, however, was the police report noting Eric’s last text was “fever” on January 27, 2009. This was and remains a questionable discrepancy of message and times (by a year and day) --- possibly attributable to just sloppy date keeping with parties not yet having processed the New Year.
Anyway, although the date of Cire’s death was uncertain it did seem plausible that Cire might have had a “fever” This was both simultaneously slightly consistent and inconsistent what Cire had told me on January 26th (his Birthday) --- that he had a cold. And in classic Cire fashion there was a bottle of Nyquil for “Colds and Fevers” on his nightstand.
Date of Passing
Confirming that the correct year of Cire’s passing was indeed 2010 yet drawing into question the precise date are three reference points:
Celebration of Life Services and Funeral
The Celebration of Life Services for Cire were held at a downtown church where Cire and I used to sing in the choir during our childhoods on Christmas. The church was a big one packed to its gills for Cire’s services. The wings were full. The balconies were full. The aisles were full. It was already “standing room only” before busloads of Legislators arrived from the State Capitol at the Governor’s direction.
In the front row (a place generally avoided) --- with my wife who had flown in solo that morning (deciding to leave our young sons at home with the neighbors) on one side and mother on the other --- the stories began on how hilarious Cire was. The services ended with two New Mexico armed officials lowering an “Old America” Flag, folding it and handed to my Mom for a souvenir.
A church full of people had just participated in Cire’s funeral services and I was increasingly convinced Cire’s passing was politically motivated --- and possibly just a hoax.
After the church services concluded there was a reception at the City Country Club --- just a short drive from the Church and about a nine-iron from Cire’s “white house”.
The stretch of limos carrying family, cousins and friends arrived first. Of course some old friends were already at the country club --- having just finished a round of golf rather than sit through the church skewering. Parties were choosing sides fast.
The first friend I talked with reaffirmed what was going on. The stakes were high. A brotherly war of biblical proportions had effectively just been escalated for at least another generation.
As waves of Cire’s admirer’s paid respects his “harem” of highschool girlfriends expressed their shock at Cire’s sudden passing and surrounded me with smiles. My wife draped in black left early and flew back home despite the burial of Cire’s coffin --- at the family graveyard next to the church where we were married --- being scheduled for the following day.
The burial of Cire’s coffin was sparsely attended --- which was surprising. My wife’s not attending seemed odd yet she insisted it was nothing more than wanting to get home to take care of our sons. My sister’s not attending seemed even odder. Anyway a few of us buried Cire’s coffin --- in snow-covered family graveyard. Lots of emotional feelings. Mom was convinced Cire was dead. And she was standing next to me crying. The rest of the family (from out of state) were busy discussing how nicely their rental cars performed in the snow --- a favorite topic of Cire’s.
Box of Bank Documents
The Day after Cire’s Coffin was buried Mom and I visited Cire’s office at the white house where he was declared dead. One friend had hidden a “box of bank documents” including “barr files” in one of the closets.
The Box contained several original bank documents tied to an RV Park Loan. As we continued to inventory items for Cire’s Estate there was a knock at the door.
Visit from Bank President
At the door of the white house was the President of a New Mexico Bank (which Eric helped establish just before Y2K) who was a family friend. He had with him --- not flowers or words or condolences --- but questionable paperwork from his associated digital imaging bank in Iowa juggling TARP funds regarding a non-performing Texas RV Park Loan that Eric was supposedly on the hook for. He also had paperwork for funds he swiped for/from Vasa for Eric based on a conversation at the Country Club.
As he was welcomed into the house the conversation continued. The bank President was kind enough to alert Cire’s estate that the banks’ parent company in Iowa was going to try to bury stacks of “no doc” westside loans on property with disputed title along with Cire --- including loans with a scheduled value equal “roughly to the debt the US owes China”. Then he provided the following Documents to Cire’s eState.
After delivering the paperwork the bank President mentioned that he had recently traded golf clubs with Cire (they were both left-handed) and how much he enjoyed Cire’s clubs. After we bid farewell he walked across the street for lunch at the Country Club while Mom and I inventoried Cire’s estate items.
Most everything was accounted for except Cire’s passport. Never located that. This of course triggered the thought that maybe Cire was actually travelling and not dead, at least for me.
We found Cire’s laptop (dead) safely tucked away in a leather briefcase from my early law career. Cire had “swiped” the briefcase. Then he provided it to me for a while. Then somehow he ended back up with it. That was an early Cire “punk.” God we loved punking each other. Anyways since Cire was officially “dead” and I was being appointed his Estate representative I was happy to have my briefcase back --- to work on his Estate. I plugged in the laptop and let it charge.
Blackberry and Gmail
Moments later there was another knock at the door. This time it was the Godfather (a mutual friend of Cire’s and the bank President who had just left). He had Cire’s Blackberry and Gmail login info and wanted to give those to me. Mom and I offered that he join inside us for a visit. He was getting ready to tee off with his afternoon group so he couldn’t --- otherwise he would have. He just wanted to pass along the “goods.”
Reviewing Cire’s Blackberry more questions arose. Our last blackberry PIN text messages of January 28 had been “purged.” Who had written on January 28 (Cire or someone else) … and who had deleted the PIN conversation?
Cire’s Gmail account was even more perplexing. First --- why did the Godfather have Eric’s gmail login info in the first place?
Anyways, I was happy to be able to login and continue piecing together the clues of Eric’s passing. The account --- a virtual experiment in full transparency government may someday be published. For now suffice it to say the account was carefully populated from its inception in 2005 with all kinds of hilarious stories … and included correspondence from my wife beginning in November of 2008 right after the disputed election.
Plane Ride (From New Mexico)
The solo Plane ride from New Mexico back to Washington was a bit surreal. I was uncertain if Eric was really dead when my wife first relayed the news to me more than a week ago. Now on the flight home --- after days of talking with family and friends, I was even more uncertain. I had received “lots” of clues that Eric’s passing was suspicious and unreal. Yet I also had talked with countless people expressing sorrow over his death. Anyways I was flying back to an awkward situation --- one where my wife believed Cire was dead (and had even been the first to break the news) and I was doubtful.
On the way to the airport I had picked up my ole briefcase from the Cire’s whitehouse carrying Cire’s now fully charged laptop computer. At 30,000 feet in the air using Southwest Wifi I fired things up to see what was going on.
For whatever reason I opened up Cire’s Gmail account first. Clicking around it was obvious this was indeed a Cire’s political account and a hilarious one at that. Cire’s gmail account read like the greatest story ever told … interweaving:
One hilarious email from Cire’s partner, a past President and present Handicap Chairman at Cire’s Country Club, effectively mocked the notion of a President handing out money like Santa Claus.
The email account wove these humorous threads of discussion together with Eric’s political responsibilities. Some lighthearted emails were long. Everything else ranging from campaign contributions to budgets/deficits to voting results was nice and tidy.
Cire’s last emails on January 27 involved “Treasurer” discussions with a triumvirate of clever Westerner’s.
One search for “Christmas” happened to bring up my wife’s name. It was surprising to see that she had initiated communication with Cire --- especially on this account. She had never mentioned it.
Anyway --- Cire’s email account had lots of info that seemed like it would be worthwhile to review in determining more about his passing. I reviewed enough to confirm that the email account had been “seeded” (including with inside jokes from Cire and friends).
On the first batch of emails when the account was established in 2005 there were references to (i) a recreational vehicle park slated to detonate weapons of mass financial destruction, (ii) a rolex watch --- which had just been given to the first speaker at Eric’s funeral services, and (iii) my mother-in-law. Someone had put a LOT of thought into setting up and managing Cire’s political email account.
It looked as though Cire’s email account was intended to be the foundation of a hilarious movie --- or at least story that had been carefully thought out.
One email delivered on the day Cire was reported dead addressed the question of whether Barack is a US Citizen. Others addressed Treasurer discussions.
Anyways lots to contemplate. I closed up Cire’s laptop and took a nap before landing. I was flying home to my wife and sons so all was good.
Life in the Village
(After Cire’s passing)
After returning home several neighbors visited over the course of the following weeks. Many expressed sorrow with Cire’s passing. A few chipped in for a memorial “family tree.” All around the village Cire’s passing (and his last visit) were primary conversation topics for months and then years.
Those were topics absent from our house. Never discussed. Not even once. For whatever reason my wife was dead silent about Cire’s passing and he last time he visited precisely nine months before our second son was born.
When I expressed doubts about Cire’s passing to one neighbor couple the wife insisted he must be dead. She then shared the story of her husband’s brother who had just blown his head off with a shotgun on a Macadamia Nut plantation in Hawaii because of a bank loan he couldn’t repay. She was certain Cire must have done the same thing or something similar. Her husband --- a New York broker with Morgan Stanley who had survived 9/11 with the rest of his office by having an off-site conference on Long Island that day--- just nodded.
Pool Table Arrives
In the Spring of 2010 the Pool Table arrived and was set-up. A few things were noticeably different about the table from the last time I saw it (at the 2004 Championship of the World). The name plate was shiney (not tarnished) --- which could have been due just to the refinishing. The table which always had played “slow” now played noticeably faster --- perhaps due to the new Simoni cloth Cire ordered for it (and referenced Cire’s Gmail account). Anyway it was either the table we played on growing up as kids ---- or a very good replica.
For the next few months villagers played lots of games (mostly “bank the eight” and “nineball”) on it and noted that with it being 100 years old the table had seen a lot of history. Indeed when the first games were played on it there was no income tax, women did not vote and Senators were chosen by Legislators. A lot had changed in the last century.
Several villagers found and renovated similar vintage Pool Tables which eventually resulted in the Wooded Acres Pool Players Association (WAPPA) being formed with weekly league play. At these events and other get-togethers villagers would gander opinions on Cire’s passing, the Goods (the one page instructions from 1915 on how to “start over with a clean slate”) and later the Claim against Cire’s eState --- all in good fun.
On Tax Day --- the 15th of Fourth Month --- two loans were verbally disclosed to Cire:
Later the bank provided the following paperwork documenting the loans
The paperwork seemed to be an attempt to “bury” —or maybe draw attention to—the actual Loan 035 up for refinancing the following year, a copy of which Loan with a “paid stamp” Eric’s friends had hidden in the closet while cleaning up the white house following his passing.
Details were sketchy. Transactions were increasingly questionable. In the words of one contractor helping Cire’s estate “those are different numbers.”
Soon after the New York Press engaged with comprehensive bank stories that “overlapped” with Loan 036 and Loan 037. The story was increasingly hilarious. A seller from Brooklyn (living on President street) had sold Navajo Nation “west land development” (with open ended borders) for beads and cash to boot. All of this was “book-ended” with Loan 036 and Loan 037 which “buried” all previous transactions with the Navajo Nation.
To reconcile Cire’s Estate it was going to be necessary to address Navajo Nation issues.
A primary transaction at issue was —- quietly orchestrated to close at “the “point of time” between midnight of December 31 2008 and January 1 2009 —- involved Cire’s selling Navajo Nation land back to the Navajos.
A review is in order.
When starting up the Recreational Vehicle Park business (when Collateralized Debt Obligation Swaps were just gaining momentum) the Barr Brothers obtained property with “messy title” (“open-ended parcels with metes and bounds descriptions that didn’t close” --- effectively making the parcels unlimited in size) with a starting point at “ground zero” on the west side of New Mexico’s largest city. The property was originally a Navajo Nation Village complete with Voting and Taxes --- Chief made the rules and everyone contributed in their own way to the band.
Later the village was Claimed as a Spanish Land Grant (this was after the Spanish conquistador Oñate slaughtered his way north along the Rio Grande to the San Miguel Mission --- “the oldest church”). A few centuries later the property was declared to be “New Mexico.” With each “change of control” the Villages Voting and Taxes changed.
In 2005 the Barr brothers obtained this property with disputed ownership and open borders from a seller in Brooklyn living on President Street . Once a thriving village the property was now a high-desert ghost town in rattlesnake country with lots of tumbleweeds blowing in the wind.
At the peak of the financial crisis in 2008 (right before Christmas) the US Treasury handing out cash like Santa Claus “forced” (with threat of loss of banking privileges) Cire’s bank in Iowa to accept TARP Treasury funds to “restart America with a “blank slate”).
To help achieve the stated goal Cire then sold the land at issue (the Navajo Nation land) back to the Navajos at the “start of the new year and calendar”.
The following spring a new title company (affiliated with Realm Real Estate Group of Companies helping take over the nation’s largest Title Companies recently collapsed from the 2008 financial crisis) provided Cire paperwork for the Navajo Nation transaction at issue. The paperwork confirmed that the RV park business had indeed “sold” its New Mexico property in a Spanish Land grant on Navajo Nation Land with open ended borders back the Navajo Nation. According to the Title Bank all the land was now Navajo.
Over the course of administering Cire’s estate the funds received from the Navajo Nation were eventually accounted for. The funds had been applied to the house which a Barr brother mortgaged for the Recreational Vehicle park on Navajo Nation land sold back to the Navajos according to the bank President credited with swiping Vasa’s funds.
Cire had accomplished virtually the impossible. Navajo bands of tribes from deserts to great lakes once again had rights to share everything. The Land. The Improvements. Everything.
On May 6, 2010 a New Mexico bank filed a Claim against Cire’s Estate “betting the bank” trying to bury “no doc” bank loans with Cire’s estate.
On top of the Claim mailed to Cire’s eState was a hand-written note --- complete with hashtags and a smiley face:
If the government won’t follow its own rules why have them in the first place?
Article 1 Section 3 involves how Senators “were” selected in Old America (before Unconstitutional Addendums were added to the Constitution) and how they “are” selected in New America. Perhaps the most significant difference between Old America’s Constitution and New America’s Constitution is how Senators are selected. Cire had always advocated that “Senators should do their jobs” and follow the Constitution.
The Claim was asking for more than the total of Cire’s estate and simultaneously drawing attention to stacks of westside “no doc” mortgage loans on Navajo Nation land. It had several questionable features that made it seem almost like a well-scripted joke.
The Claim was finely crafted with lots of red flags. It seemed almost like a purposely attempt by Cire and friends --- including those on bank boards --- to make a mockery of the Treasury and its regulators enforcing the rules and handing out free cash like Santa Claus. Accordingly it seemed increasingly likely that Cire was indeed still alive and probably now helping one Treasury bank or another.
Despite the Claim initially seeming to be a either a well-scripted “joke” or “fraud” it “really” been filed in the New Mexico courts and thus needed to be dealt with.
I met with a friend --- a law school classmate from Spain (now dead) --- who had graduated from “advanced” tax school in New York. He is now credited with helping master “Tax Artists” (with ties to a New Mexico Bar President) promote the following notion.
Anyways , he could be trusted. When new Mexicans in town sliced all the Gringos tires early on the morning of law school finals for gang initiation he was there to give me a ride --- almost like he knew :)
He advised “deny the New Mexico Claim” which was consistent with what we had been taught and what the Navajo Nation and Spanish had been striving for since New Mexico first made its Claim more than 100 years ago. And that is what Cire’s estate did.
Financial historians familiar with “triple witching options” may note that on the day the Claim was filed (effectively triggering weapons of mass financial destruction) a “Flash Crash” occurred with the United States stock market eliminating $1 Trillion of value in the course of about a half hour --- at which time Cire’s Alphabet Tranche pre-triple witching options executed allowing for a full TARP recovery.
For purposes of resolving the Claim parties attended mediation in New Mexico.
The Mediator was the retired judge with Dad’s golf clubs.
He suggested considering a “settlement agreement” down the road.
After a few years of bantering back and forth our family ended up satisfying the Claim with a Settlement Agreement and Release of Claims from the Beginning of Time. This enabled Cire to establish property rights on land that was all Navajo up until then --- including a “Blue House” (addressed in a later chapter) in a peaceful village on tribal land that Cire Estate’s obtained to “cure” the bank’s breach of the Settlement Agreement.
The Settlement Agreement included the following provisions--- all of which the bank later breached.
In any event other than for some lighthearted laughter-invoking “fake news” challenging people to determine what was real and what was not almost as entertaining as Cire’s passing, the Settlement Agreement created more friction than it solved. This was another good hint Cire was orchestrating things. The breaches were cured to the extent possible and those not possible were made light of. The net effect was an increasing interest in Cire’s Y2K plan of transitioning Old America to New America which volunteers continued to implement long after discussions of Cire’s death died.
Case for Drugs
A fundamental platform of Cire’s successful re-election campaigns had been for Villages (and City States) to “tax” marijuana. Slowly village parties were successfully building a high tolerance to marijiuna. A summary follows.
The Blue House
The Blue House is within a stone’s throw of mine on a pristine mountain lake with water clean enough to drink.
It is on a lot surrounded by “common area” that a previous owner --- a retired NYPD Cop living off pension payments tied to 9/11 media events --- adversely possessed along with a portion of the beach.
Cire dubbed the disputed land “Israel” and the blocked off beach “GITMO.” Each time Cire visited he joked that the world would be a more peaceful place without Israel. Additionally Cired offered that if it were up to him he would re-establish GITMO as a village beach.
After Cire passed away friends and neighbors were interested in the Claim against his eState.
The Blue House neighbor was especially interested. Part of the reason was that deeds to Native American Land underlying mortgages at issue in the Claim originated from the very same police district where he was from in Brooklyn. This is where the British had traded Native Beads for real estate.
Anyways over the course of many years the neighbor had firmly established dominion over the common areas growing lots of marijuana adjoining the yard of his Blue House. He eventually successfully acquired the surrounding land by “adverse possession” and put everything up for sale.
About this same time Cire was advised that the Bank had kicked Cire’s broker out of Cire’s house and sold it without providing required notice to Cire. This was a breach of the Settlement Agreement. To cure the breach, reconcile lots of difference (maps, laws, treasuries, etc.) and provide storage for his computer files Cire obtained the Blue and surrounding land.
The Title and Escrow company closing the transaction was a new one with a title bank that covered the entire continent using GPS rather than “ole school” meets and bounds. This was the Title Company’s second transaction. The First was Cire’s sale of the Navajo property with open ended borders back to the Navajos.
The Settlement Agreement “releasing all Claims from the beginning of time” effectively had made this real estate transaction and the flood of transactions that followed all possible. With title transfers now done digitally for property with GPS boundaries New America real estate transactions were virtually frictionless and almost limitless. Other for being bounded with the Navajo Nation on one side and the ocean on the other, the Blue House and surrounding land was a “blank slate.”
Cire soon provided new Maps for the village.
Included with the Maps was a Notice that upon obtaining the Blue House on land that once served as a Native American campsite Cire had DELETED ALL PRIOR LAWS IN THEIR ENTIRETY and replaced them with standard rules for villages voting and taxes.
Voting: Everyone may vote who is eligible.
In Cire’s village real property was/is taxed yearly at 1% of its most recent sales price with a fixed cap of $5,000 on residences. Vacant lots are taxed at $500/year. Waterfront lots are twice that.
All funds received from Voting and Taxes --- less administrative fees --- are allocated first to the snow plow. Anything left over is available for improvements and parks.
Ever since Cire obtained the Blue House and “replatted everything” three things have occurred:
In anticipation of his 2020 election Cire has effectively established a scalable working model for a supremely peaceful New America with Villages, Voting Taxes.
A majority of the people on the planet now have the ability to communicate with each other at the speed of light. They can vote and pay taxes in virtual real-time. We have entered a new era.
Villages Voting and Taxes will never be the same.
The End -
Last I heard Cire was “crashing China” sharing guidelines for Villages Voting and Taxes.
The objective was to achieve the following for everyone like the voters in Cire’s villages already enjoyed.
 This was a topic ripe for discussion. Hacking was going on everywhere. An email company I had scored the name for years earlier had just been hacked again. Programmers, a contract one from Google and Specialist now in France from were pointing fingers at each other. The hack impacted our largest client who was also hacking us.
 Friends later planted the tree for Cire in a memorial zen garden near the village common area that the nextdoor neighbor in the “Blue House” had claimed with adverse possession while our family was traveling in Canada. While we were away the Blue House neighbor’s daughter called the bluff on her dad’s 9/11 story triggering massive generational debates on “real” v. “fake” news.
 Everyone being later defined as “all breathing beings.” A dispute continues on whether fish breathing “water” in the stocked lake are eligible to vote or just “air” breathing beings above ground.