Chapter 1

At the end of the last century, when the Internet was young, only the Fringe Dwellers lived in it.

Possibility Thinkers who saw the potential of this new digital land flocked to it in droves.

I was one of those who joined the migration to this new world.

And just like my compatriots, we didn’t wait around for any government to permit us to go explore and prosper.

It was the new frontier.

A digital colony of unbridled freedom.

It was very, very wild.

We traded in digital currencies such as eGold and Evocash.

Created encryption and used it daily to communicate.

We built automated systems to market products and services.

Some benign, some a serious threat to nation-states.

We were lawless, unregulated, young and full of fun and vigour.

This was a whole other level of freedom.

We could do whatever we wanted.

Without anyone’s permission.

We were a motley crew of anarchists, liberationists, agorists, renegades, pirates, outlaws and badasses.

But one thing pulled us together.

Our insatiable desire, call it fanaticism, to find freedom in this unfree world.

Of course, governments didn’t have a clue what was going on.

They, along with the rest of tick-tock, thought the internet would be a flash in the pan. Here today, gone tomorrow.

And while everyone else watched from the sidelines.

Those of us in this new digital frontier were figuring out how best to create community and commerce in a way that served our needs and interest.

Government and government types were not welcome.

And that meant honing your street smarts.

Honing the skill that would keep you safe in this new land.

A land where citizens were invisible to each other.

Where you couldn’t read body language.

Couldn’t look a potential enemy in the eye.

So we mastered the art of virtual suss.

Bandied together in our little enclaves and pioneered making this internet thing work.

To all intent and purpose, we had built the equivalent of our own Galt’s Gulch.

I was part of the migration to this new world, and the community I was a part of was called PT.

PT meant many things to many people.

First and foremost, it meant Permanent Tourist.

Other derivatives included: Possibility Thinker. Perpetual Traveller. Parked Temporarily. Passing Through. Prior Taxpayer.

And that last definition was the one thing that pulled us together.

Our total contempt for government thugs who stole our hard-earned cash.

Government thugs who use the fraudulent claim, ‘for the good of society.’

The reality has always been that they steal the little people’s cash to fund their agenda.

Think the banker’s bailout.

Think the Green New Deal.

They also have an insatiable desire to garner status and power off the backs of ordinary folks.

That’s you.

And so, as PTs, we weren’t having any of it.

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