Think of the people on 9-11 who jumped from those towers.
No going back. Life’s last gasp. An impossibly sudden knowing as certain as the sun, as true as skin, as hard as concrete.
Think of their once unfailing panorama . . .
At work I can scan liberty’s horizon, look toward home, watch the planes as they touch down and take off. My god’s eye view, our promised land, the pulse of an empire.
And now the unimaginable as the only imaginable thing to do,
A leap of desperation? Of faith? Of terminal bravery?
Yes.
Hi stranger. Terrified? Me too. Beyond all belief.
That inferno behind us, our sky in front of us . . .
What say you?
Shall we fly?
Together?
Be free?
For one last moment, maybe two?
Take my hand?”
. . . Yes?
. . . yes . . .
2025 is America’s final moment of freedom.
We are under attack.
The heat is absolute, the light we once cast being snuffed out.
But if demise is inevitable, dishonor is not.
We might yet flex freedom’s grip.
Together. All of us. With that terminal bravery.
Find a hand.
Do it now.
Jump.
It is the small ness that makes it so big, it’s not the clouds or the rain, but it is surely the strom, its energy
at a party
people talking to me i did not know
fireworks going off but all you could see was the shells losing their coller and falling aabck to earth too far away