﻿“Freedom For The Black Belt”—there is too much freedom between the belt and belly now. 
But if that quote means freedom for our negro fellow workers, the mention of which is a distinction in itself, sorry to say, they can establish freedom for themsolver by organizing in the industry they prefer, in the Industrial Workers of the World (I. W. W.) an up and coming organization. 
They are not wageslaves because of their color—they are wageslaves because they are unorganized—and unemployed, consequently. 
The paleface is not a slave because he is pale—he is pale because he is slave unorganized and unemployed consequently and disorganized ultimately—want, misery, suffering and death tearing-up his vitals. 
(I omit disease, illness as insignificant, for a very good reason, in full posession of all my damned faculties—Fletcher, please note: Consider hard-times java snowwater bath (not necessarily cold) alkili soap, no towels; epson-salts, no oils—bedding 14 thicknesses of (pure) newspapers obtained in regular manner—especially for pillow (no bull) . . . pure lard rub, if not too weak.)—One thing I like about a negro fellow worker, “when he worries he falls asleep.” 
In the olden day he too had to build a shack for himself as does the proud nordic of today. 
Sometimes his shack, too, was low and the negro had to crawl in on all fours—if his then worries would get the best of him and he would burst into plaintive song: 
..”I’m going to build me. a. chimney higher; to keep those there longlegged gals front putting out my fire.”—His worry? 
Nothing per day worries a working man. 
Twenty-percent of three dollars a day worries a garageman. 
Five dollars a day worries a doctor. 
Fifty dollars a day worries a businessman. 
Five-hudred dollars a day worries a merchant prince—rich man’s son, ditto. 
Five-thousand dollars a day worries a politician—gangster, ditto. (five-grand). 
Fifty-thousand dollars a day worries a millionaire (Livermore gets gray hairs when he don’t make twenty-million between meals).— 
Thus it is we all can enjoy worry in this best of all worlds, (a specked-apple they call globe) under a provident system called capitalism (see Seegar’s cartoon. King trowing a fit of worries— olive-oil or somedumbody holding his head.) 
Now, to settle an argument— just to settle a dispute—the I. W. W., after it’s dead, will live on the strength of its name, Industrial Workers of the World. 
New Word: 
Stool-espionage. (Jack Dempsey, on the up and up, please note: It is now believed Ernie Shaaf relieved his death blow in training or in dressing room—Carnero threw away one million bucks, not knowing.) — 
TECHNOCRACY AND HAZE 
Technocracy itself will go far, for the world is coming out of a haze—(in other words, it has clicked.) Considering the ten-thousand years of fog of which the poet said, “Ten thousand years is a long long time to wail for your dreams to come true”, it is almost unbelievable that an adding machine puts the essence of victory into Labors hands. Alway, always a battle for justice and always, always the new yoke only less irritating than the old—along comes a set of mathematicians, impervious to all sentiment, and dissect the Industrial World in cold blood; render their verdict like Kennedy, the cook “there she is boys, that’s all of it—if you want more ask the boss.”— The world, especially the industrial world, is coming out of the haze so fast that had not technocracy moved it would have been just too bad and we’d be over there trying a new yoke on—as it is technocracy is the hope of mankind if Labor will but organize—Joe Hill said it!