CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

“You good?” I ask Vaughn as we rack in, yet another day coming to an end.

“All good,” he responds, so I close the cell. Once we are both in for the night he asks, “How was the visit with your dad earlier? I never got a chance to ask.”

It did not go well at all. The visiting room has six stools and six plexiglass windows, with teeny-tiny holes drilled on either side for me to shove my ear against so I can hear when someone speaks on the other side.

If it were just me and my pops, it would have been fine enough to hear with us raising our voices, but there were five other motherfuckers in there doing the same, not to mention the echoing off the god damn walls.

On top of hardly being able to hear, my dad and I started getting snippy with each other over a discussion about Joseph Smith, the founder of his church.

I was trying to present evidence that framed the details of his miraculous encounter with God in the forest,  as nothing more than a powerful mushroom trip.

“It’s not a bad thing, dad,” I told him. “It’s actually quite beautiful to see how he followed the path of what shamans around the world have been saying for all of history. And our own Viking ancestors literally used to value the mushroom experience as the most holy sacrament, but just treated it differently than the English monks and their piety to be closer to God.”

“The true gospel was not available to them at that time, buddy. The one true church that Joseph Smith was able to restore, marks the most incredible time in history since the time of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ came down from the heavens to die for our sins.”

“I know that’s the narrative, pops, but what I’m trying to say is that when Joseph Smith had that incredibly divine witness of God, he was out in the woods, right? So maybe he just happened to find some psilocybin, ate it, experienced vomiting and nausea, like the darkness he describes in the story, and then, as it passed, he went through a stage of enlightenment and wonderment, which he interpreted as God himself appearing to him. You’re a smart guy, I know one of those things sounds a thousand times more reasonable than the other.”

“I know you’re smart too, buddy, and faith is like a little seed. If planted, it will grow…”

And so it went, back and forth, until our half hour was finished.

“It was alright, but it was so hard to hear with so many people in there. Anyways, I can’t believe you’re getting out tomorrow! How does time move so fast, yet so slow?” I ask, wonderment in my voice.

Vaughn and I have been cellys for over four weeks now, and his prediction about getting along just fine has stayed true. Almost every rack-in, he has some conspiracy theory to share with me that distracts me from my reality.

He shrugs. “It’s not all good times out there. I still don’t know if my boss is gonna give me a third chance. He said he can’t afford to take another one on me, but he said that last time too, so who knows?”

“Don't like jokes about ghosts fucking? Well, boo fuckin' hoo. Like you always tell me, don’t sweat the small stuff. You’ll be fine. Not a lot of people can operate a crane these days anyway.”

He looks at me with a flat expression. “Listen kid, once you go to an interview and have to tell them you’ve got a felony, then you can tell me about what’s hard and what’s not.”

“I’d love the chance to go through that hardship over this shit any day. But I get it.”

I start making up two cups of coffee, one for me and one for him. I’m eternally grateful to my family for putting enough money on my books to have coffee to share at times and some food at night so I’m not starving. I’d talk to them on the phone more, but the phones charge 85 cents a minute. Time really does equal money in here.

“I wish I had enough to make a cake for your last night here, but money’s tight after ordering another notepad and colored pencils.”

A ‘cake’ is what we call it in here, which is an iced honey bun with a tube of peanut butter spread over the top and crunched up candy bars as the cherry on top. It’s a diabetes dessert, but they’re an instant mouthgasm.

“Don’t sweat it, brother. I appreciate all the shots of coffee you’ve hooked me up with.”

“I got your back.”

I hand him the cup he got his first week in here when he traded four milks and a bag of chips he won at the card table.

“So, whatcha got for me tonight? More theories about how apes ate mushrooms and that’s how we evolved into thinking humans? Or what about how we never really went to the moon and the major governments are working together to keep aliens a secret?” I’m ready for another entertaining Ted Talk.

“Ask and ye shall receive, young grasshopper, because it just so happens, I do have one last piece of the puzzle, and it’s going to tie everything together. Let me start with a question: who owns the money?” As he takes a drink of coffee, a little bit trickles out the side of his mouth.

“Anyone who owns assets, I guess.” I try to answer along the lines of where I think he’s going with this.

“You’re not paying attention. I said who owns the money.”

“Oh, you mean like who makes it? Um, I guess banks. Wait, no…The Federal Reserve owns the money, with paper backed up by gold. Which, by the way, I already know is privately owned.” I say, satisfied with my own knowledge.

“Close. Very close. But your ignorance betrayed you in how you said it.”

He pauses and takes another sip.

“The Federal Reserve is really the Federal Reserve system making it a public-private hybrid. You see, there’s a D.C. Board of Governors and twelve regional Reserve Banks that set policy tools, like the IORB rate, and use QE and QT to expand and shrink a multi-trillion-dollar balance sheet. Those tools affect interest rates and asset prices.”

I’m not ready for all that. Suddenly Vaughan sounds like my old celly JJ when he would talk about any legal process. The transformation from street slang, into sounding like an official jail house lawyer right in front of my ears is wild to witness.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up. The IOR what rate? And the QET? What are those?” This is the part of the conspiracy where I might actually learn something from him.

“Don’t worry about that. There’s bigger fish to fry.”

“Oh what? Now all of a sudden you’re short on time? You know I’m smart enough to understand this stuff by now if you just explain the gist of it.”

Vaughn sighs. “Alrighty then. Banks are required to keep some of their money parked at the Federal Reserve, right? Think of it like this: every bank has a mandatory checking account inside the Fed. IORB is the interest the Fed pays banks for keeping money there—”

My attention drifts back to his tone from earlier. He must think I’m too dumb to understand interest rates. Sometimes he bothers me because he thinks he’s so much smarter than everyone else.

“-can raise or lower this interest rate to influence the whole economy. If the Fed raises IORB, banks earn good money by not lending. Loans get harder, and the economy slows. If the Fed lowers IORB, banks make less by sitting still, so they go out and lend more. Loans are easier so the economy speeds up. It boils down to the Fed saying ‘Hey banks, lend more’ or ‘Hey banks, chill out.’”

“Gotcha. Okay, see, that actually makes sense to me. And the other thing?” I ask, trying to give his teachings my full attention.

“QE and QT are the Fed’s big climate control knobs. QE, or Quantitative Easing: The Fed buys bonds, which pumps money into the financial system. More money moving around, lower interest rates, stocks rise, real estate rises, everyone feels richer. Or at least like something is ‘moving’. QT, or Quantitative Tightening-”

It sounded like he said quantitative entanglement. I know he didn’t, but I wonder if he knows anything about spooky action at a distance.

“-sells bonds or even lets them expire without replacing them. Money gets pulled out of the system because interest rates rise. Then of course spending slows, so stocks fall. There you have it. Can I get back to where I was now?”

“Yep, I got it! And I can already see where you’re going with this. I’m super intrigued.” Most of what he told me actually just went over my head, but I don’t want to admit that he was right.

He rolls his eyes before continuing. “So like I was saying, the Federal Reserve isn’t a regular government agency. The Board in D.C. is federal, but the twelve regional Federal Reserve Banks are structured kind of like private corporations that partially answer to the government.”

“Yeah, I remember that part.”

“Good. But do you remember when I talked about the NFL and its owners controlling everything about the country and the tone of the people? Well, this is the other side of that coin. Mind control isn’t just commercials telling you what to feel…mind control is bombarding you at every turn and creating herd immunity to critical thought and reasoning. The Federal Reserve system doesn’t have to manipulate people directly like the NFL does because it can manipulate everyone’s moods indirectly. That way nobody ever really blames the feds when there are already key phrases we’re conditioned to blame, like ‘the economy’ or ‘the market.’”

“Hmmm.” Is all I add.

“It’s full-scale control! But as far as the feds go, they don’t look at everything as gaining more—”

All this money talk has my mind drifting to my lack of commissary funds. I start wondering what it would be like if my family stopped putting money on my account every other week. What would I do then?

“—because stability benefits those already at the top. It keeps the systems in place that allow deca and ceta billionaires to exist.” He stops talking again and this time takes a big gulp of coffee. “The feds are just the legal puppets for the sinister agendas of the ruling elite.”

He’s back to painting the Us versus Them narrative. “Your tone paints everything in such a dark light. What if the people at the top, controlling everything like you say, are just trying to do their best to make as many people happy as they can while making themselves rich in the process?”

“Simple. Look around. See the poor get poorer and look at the stats on how many starving children there are or people not being able to make ends meet. If the people in power actually had good intent that actually helps, do you really think so many people would be miserable over the small stuff? They could do something about it, but they choose not to because they’re greedy and selfish.”

“Listen Vaughn, I know things aren’t perfect in our world, and a lot could be changed for the better, but you sound like a hypocrite. Aren’t you the one who told me you can’t blame God for wars and starving kids just because he could intervene but decides not to?”

“That’s very different, young man. God works in mysterious ways, and it’s not for us, as his children, to question him.”

“But what kind of loving God allows all these bad things to happen all the time? And if he’s all powerful, why does he grant the devil so much power and free reign?”

“I can’t speak for God, but the devil’s whole plan was eliminating free will. In the end, we do have free will. Here on Earth, going through trials and tribulations shape us to be more like him.”

“Then take your own advice, man, and realize that the ones running the show in our society might also have our best interests at heart, even if it’s messy and comes with a lot of hardship.”

“Hardship that isn’t necessary. You’ll see I’m right one day, young grasshopper.”

“Nah, fuck that. Don’t talk down to me. Just because you know a lot doesn’t mean you’re right about everything. You can’t have it both ways. Here you are telling me how terrible the world is and everything wrong with it on one hand, and with the other you’re telling me how amazing the one who created it all is. You know what this all comes down to? Your perspective. I’m not going to sit here and get all riled up about being some victim of circumstances I can’t control. History shows that we’re not living like peasants in a feudal system.

I am thankful to my ancestors for crossing the plains with the Mormons, and before that, taking the risk of crossing the Atlantic Ocean to get to America. And even before that, when our first ancestors traveled out of the African continent to distant lands where no humans had gone before! And you know what? I’m grateful to other people’s ancestors as well, even if some of them clashed with my own race and tribes along the way. I’m grateful for everything my species has endured to create this incredibly privileged life I’ve been able to live.”

I’d like to thank the academy.

“And as far as the conspiracies you share with me each night…I’ve found them stimulating. But unlike you, I’ve been taking them with a grain of salt. The world isn’t out to get us. Just because times are hard doesn’t mean we need to point fingers and blame each other. Without all the extra dressings of Christianity, I do actually believe in living up to Christ’s standards. Loving my neighbor as myself. Forgiving others even when it’s hard. Caring for the poor and sick. Valuing humility over success, generosity over wealth…or is it being generous instead of greedy? Same thing, really. Not returning violence with violence. All the thing he actually stood for, just not the confusing transitions of the bible in-between.”

After the last word spills out of my mouth, we just stare at each other.

“Are you done?” Vaughn asks flatly.

“Sorry, I know that was a lot. It’s just… Bah! There’s so much hypocrisy nowadays. All these desperate influencers trying to get attention by creating doomsday scenarios are poison, and it sounded like you were buying into that.”

“What goes up must come down, but what goes down…”

“Doesn’t always come up,” we finish the saying at the same time.

We both let out a pent-up chuckle and the whole cell warms up.

“The dumber you are, the happier you’re allowed to be. No wonder you’re so happy,” he says, getting back to our normal banter.

“No, you’re so happy!”

“What was that, fat boy who just got cake?”

I burst out laughing and he chuckles a few more times.

“Alright alight. The feds and football are jerking each other off, and the Devil’s playing us all like a fiddle. Got it. So what do we do about it? And you can’t say pray!”

“Hey, I’m just the one who’s learned what’s going on. When it comes to change, that’s above my paygrade.”

“More like your pray-grade! Haha! Get it? Pray-grade? Like…”

“Oh, I got it. Very clever.”

We keep chatting well into the night. He tells me the story of how JP Morgan Chase commissioned the Titanic and how, for some reason, the entire Rothschild family—along with others who favored establishing the Federal Reserve System in the US—canceled their plans and never boarded. Interestingly enough though, the three most powerful people opposing such a system died on that voyage. Because of this, he says, the Federal Banking System was voted on and established the very next year.

Everyone in here is a storyteller, some better than others. I just hope my next celly isn’t so long-winded.

Yikes, my next celly. I’ve been here long enough to know that whoever I have to share this 8x10 bathroom with, I’ll find some annoying habits or traits. Although, I think as long as they’re respectful and not too dirty, I’ll be able to avoid any issues. I hope.

End of chapter 6