Mission

Los Angeles is not broken because we lack money or talent—it’s broken because the story we’re living is not ours. It’s the story of corporate consultants, shadowy vendors, and political actors who are no longer listening.

With a new school board and city council, we can write a new script—where every child, every teacher, every neighbor becomes a part of the plot. The $18.8 billion that is currently drained through backdoor deals can be redirected toward shared dreams, not private schemes.

This is how we transform a city: Not by fighting the system, but by replacing the characters in the story.

Let’s begin!

In which a Pirate Captain Assembles a Crew and a Most Unorthodox Scheme is Set Afloat

Having thus laid the foundations of one model community—a place not built upon idle theory but upon practical affection and shared purpose—Mr. De Barraicua (or as some had now taken to calling him, the Pirate Captain) resolved to scale his undertaking. Not merely one hamlet of virtue, but fifteen more, each a beacon to its neighbours, would rise from the scattered soil of Los Angeles.

But how, the reader may ask, was this to be accomplished in a city so given to spectacle, where sincerity is often masked beneath layers of branding and bureaucracy?

The answer, most ingeniously, was story.

It would commence, as all modern adventures must, upon that most democratic stage: YouTube. A series, known curiously as “Yello Bit Road,” would serve as the public’s first glimpse behind the proverbial curtain. Here, amid digital landscapes and earnest conversation, the process of simulating a decentralized community—styled after the democratic freedom of a pirate ship—would unfold.

This was no ordinary mutiny. It was a careful orchestration, one whose plot unfurled in chapters.

Chapter the First bore the title “Los Angeles Dystopia,” and introduced our audience to a world not unlike their own—one teetering between decay and possibility. In this initial act, the Pirate Captain, whose charm was equalled only by his conviction, set about recruiting Crew Members—brave souls who believed, not merely in the destination, but in the voyage itself.

These crew members were invited to invest—both in coin and imagination—in three principal endeavours:

A YouTube channel, which would, through wit and earnestness, gather an audience of onlookers, allies, and the curious alike.

An application, of curious utility, which would enable the creation of pirate ships—not vessels of the sea, but communities of agency, nimble and defiant, governed by mutual care and shared knowledge.

A motion picture, titled “Los Angeles Dystopia”, a film not content to entertain but designed to onboard its viewers into the living narrative.

Through this cinematic portal, new characters—formerly unhoused, unrepresented, unseen—would be welcomed into communities determined to end homelessness not by policy pronouncement, but by practical fellowship: twenty persons at a time, until the year 2028.

Such was the plot. A bold one, no doubt. Yet in a city so long starved of sincerity, it seemed to many the only course left was the impossible one.

“It is not the certainty of success,” Mr. De Barraicua was known to say, “but the worthiness of the cause, that makes a story worth telling.”

And thus, with a wink, a wave, and a willingness to believe in the unseen, the Pirate Ship set sail.