| SOA | https://danjewett.net |
| Location | Lawrence, KS USA |
Yesterday, I met this sad young fox at the U of T campus. He'd collapsed under a shrub, panting. But he got up and wobbled his way over to a nearby pond for a drink. I stayed with him and called the city. He's now at the Toronto Wildlife Centre.
They've cared for more than 2300 critters this year, and have nearly 500 at their clinic today. They're funded mostly by donation.
Please consider injecting some positivity into the world by donating. I did.
Now into the part of Moby Dick that can only be described as gruesome.
As if the whole first half description of Leviathan, monster, and terror of the sea, was apologetics for man being far worse.
By now you've probably seen this unedited footage of Trump's birthday parade with the mostly empty bleachers so quiet that all you can hear is the squeaking of the tank.
And as funny as this is, I want to call your attention to another aspect of this that seems to have not been reported on so widely - and that is how utterly joyless MAGA people and gatherings are.
I live in Seattle, where the No Kings protest was basically a non-stop party in Cal Anderson Park all day long. There were musicians, dancers, performers, my god people put on fully acted PLAYS about Lady Liberty beating the shit out of "King" Donald. People were laughing and singing and chanting. There were jokes told, some people were handing out free snacks and bottled water. It was a party! No, strike that, it was a HANGOUT. It was like hanging out with 50,000 of your best friends.
Now, watch the clip I posted again. Look at the people in the stands. Really LOOK. Zoom in if you have to. They're TIRED. They're wet, they're exhausted, some of them are angry. Most of them are just standing there immobile, miserably filming the one tank driving past them on their mobile phone as some droning voice gives them instructions about how to spend money at Coinbase from offscreen. There's no music. There's no laughter. There's no JOY.
This is Trump's America. A joyless, artless tiresome wet blanket filled with the squeaking of tank treads and the cold sound of boots on asphalt.
We could have had joy. But we got this instead.
Ian Hember
George Takei 
π³οΈβπππ½
πΏπΆππΆ "not yet begun to fight"
Jon Henshaw
Vee