A DOGE Move Toward Sovereignty?

Let’s not sugarcoat it: here in the U.S., we live in an over-engineered circus of bloated government agencies, moral micromanagement, and paper-pushing madness.

The statist machine has turned everyday living into a regulatory-based obstacle course. If you so much as try to collect rainwater or sell eggs, expect to be met with a 14-page form and a compliance officer at your doorstep.

So here’s the rebellion: Think less. Like less control. Less noise. Less government breathing down our necks. A life of sovereign simplicity — in my case, of the Taoist kind. Where you get to flow with life, not fight it. Where your freedom isn’t stamped, certified, and catalogued, but chosen.

Enter the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). Sounds like a joke, but it’s real. Some genius thought the answer to our Leviathan of a state was to make it leaner, slicker, and tech-savvy. Imagine the DMV, but with UX design. The IRS with better branding. A surveillance state, but in pastel tones.

Look, let’s give DOGE some credit—it sees the rot. It wants to trim fat and digitize workflows. But here’s where we should consider breaking ranks: you don’t fix a beast by teaching it to dance. You release yourself from the need for beasts altogether.

This is where Harry Browne crashes into the room with all the grace of a libertarian wrecking ball. His classic book How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World was for me a red-pill moment. Browne didn’t beg for reform; he opted out. He made it plain: you’re not stuck because the system’s broken. You’re stuck because you’ve been duped into thinking it’s your only option.

And that’s the Taoist kicker.

The zany-wisdom philosopher Zhuangzi would laugh his mythical butterfly wings off at our obsession with making cages cozier. Taoism isn’t about making the chaos more tolerable; it’s about flowing outside the madness. About recognizing that the more complex the system, the further you drift from natural order.

So consider this:

Maybe we don’t need government agencies managing our trash, our water, our education, our farms, our thoughts. Instead, we need community, cooperation, and a hell of a lot more personal responsibility. That’s the taoist-libertarian sweet spot—where spontaneity meets sovereignty.

How about a smaller one. No, scratch that — a limited one. The kind that guards rights, enforces voluntary contracts, and otherwise stays the hell out of our lives.

We don’t need our lives managed by bureaucrats with KPI dashboards. We don’t need permission to be free. We need the room to live. Grow tomatoes without zoning laws. Teach our kids without a state curriculum. Trade goods and services without red tape strangling us with “protection.”

What central planners never get is this: simplicity cannot be forced. You can’t mandate minimalism from a podium while flying private jets to climate summits. We can’t demand efficiency with one hand while issuing 1,400-page policy packages with the other. Simplicity isn’t a regulation. It’s a revolution.

It’s the farmer’s market, not the farm bill.

It’s the off-grid cabin, not subsidized urban sprawl.

It’s the shared meal, not the taxed transaction.

It’s what happens when people are left the hell alone.

And make no mistake, we’re not talking about scarcity. We’re not talking about living in a yurt unless you want to live in a yurt (which, to be honest, sounds kinda nice some days). We’re talking about clarity. About not having your every move translated through a bureaucratic permission slip.

DOGE is a whisper. What we need is a roar.

A sovereign scream that says:

You don’t own me. You don’t fund me. You don’t dictate how I live my damn life.

Because liberty isn’t complex. It’s radical in its simplicity. It’s a refusal to be managed. A return to natural order. A Taoist exhale.

So sure, applaud DOGE for auditing the spreadsheet. But let’s not stop there. Let’s audit the soul of the state. Ask the real questions. What do we really need the government for? What if the answer is a hell of a lot less than we’ve been told?

Harry Browne knew. Zhuangzi knew.

And deep down, if you’re reading this, you know too.

You can stay inside the fortress and negotiate your chains.

Or you can climb the wall, rip off the suit, and run barefoot into the wild simplicity of your own sovereignty.

Personally, I’ve made my choice.

I’m not here for optimized oppression.

I’m here for lean liberty.

You in?