The short version: A guy who fixes broken things for a living decided the system is a broken thing, looked at who was running, and figured he could at least not make it worse. So he filed as a write-in. That’s the campaign.
The longer version is below, and it’s honest, because that’s the entire point.
How This Is Funded
Out of my own pocket, and not much of it. No donors, no PACs, no “people-powered movement” language — just a guy, a cheap website, and a federal spending ceiling we refuse to cross. The four things I actually stand for are on the front page. They fit on an index card.
my wife, and the reason any of this functions. She's the evidence-based brain to my "I have a feeling about this," and she's smarter than me in most rooms, including this one. When the campaign sounds like a real campaign instead of a guy improvising, that's her.
a small group of people whose primary job is to overrule my worse ideas. As far as I can tell, that's the only thing a campaign committee is actually for, and mine is excellent at it. They killed the "All-Night Party." They were right.
there's a candidate, his wife, a campaign manager, and a handful of people who know things he doesn't. No donor machine, no war room, and nobody drawing a paycheck. If this thing has reach, it's because people decided it was worth telling a neighbor about. That's the whole growth strategy. It's also the most honest one available.
It’s not slick. It’s not funded. It’s not going to promise you the world, because I’d be lying, and lying is the one thing the entire platform is against.
It’s a write-in campaign run by a tech guy, his wife, and a campaign manager on a cheap website, aimed at the modest goal of being honest, thinking clearly, caring about people, and not making things worse. If that’s too small a promise for you, I understand. If it sounds refreshingly like the truth — write me in.
Where this actually comes from
I’ll be straight about it — these four ideas didn’t come from a focus group. They come from Abiscoridism, a philosophy I’ve spent over twenty years building out of Absurdism, a bit of Discordianism, some Jung, and a great deal of getting things wrong. Strip away the jargon and it says: lead with kindness, accept that failure is inevitable, stay honest about your own blind spots, and above all don’t make things worse. A small community eventually formed around it; we call it, tongue firmly in cheek, the Cult of Brighter Days. Yes, “cult.” The name is a joke about groups that pretend they aren’t one. I’d rather you hear it from me than from a mailer. The ideas came first, and they came from trying to survive my own head, not from looking for followers. If you go digging, you’ll find all of it. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t there. That would break rule number one.
