Anti Tea Party, Anti Republican, & Anti Fox News League
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La Republicana.Un pequeño museo dentro del establecimiento. Ubicado en la zona de El Tubo, centro neurálgico del tapeo, lleva a sus espaldas más de 30 años de servir cafés, comidas y raciones.
Note for my americans followers :
In France "republican" isn't as strongly tied to a party as it is in the US. We do have the party "Les Républicains", which was once a big party... Then did only 4,7% on the presidential elections of 2022.
Here "Republican" is tied to this street "Le Boulevard de la République".
Un coureur à pied s'entraîne sur le boulevard de la République.
Par ces temps de réchauffement climatique accéléré, voici un sage citoyen attaché à l'idéal républicain. :-))
"We are the party of white racial grievance. We believe those marching in Black Lives Matter protests are “thugs.” We see the term “systemic racism” as an unfair attack on white people. We support keeping Confederate monuments on their pedestals, and we have no idea why anyone would consider Confederate flags a problem. We are equal-opportunity racists. We see Latino immigrants as “bad hombres.” And we believe that using the racist term “kung flu” to describe covid-19 is hilarious, not least because we are convinced the covid-19 pandemic is basically over, anyway. Who cares what pointy-headed “experts” might say, we know in our hearts that patriotic Americans don’t wear masks." - Eugene Robinson, Columnist, The Washington Post
Same one as before, just with a Spanish Republican flag and from the front. Almost entirely Mat's design.
Runa Photography © 2014
© All rights reserved, don´t use this image without my permission
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Un homenaje a los 189 años de la fundación de la República de Bolivia
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El 9 de febrero de 1825, el mariscal Antonio José de Sucre y Casimiro Olañeta, abogado de Chuquisaca y sobrino del mencionado general, convocaron a todas las provincias altoperuanas para reunirse en un congreso que debía decidir el destino de la nación.
Pero, el destino de la nueva república estaba sujeto a tres posibilidades que se abrían en el seno de la asamblea, proseguir la unidad con Buenos Aires, incorporándose al conjunto de las Provincias Unidas, mantener la adhesión al Perú reconociendo las medidas de incorporación dictadas por el virrey Abascal como resultado de la revolución del 25 de mayo de 1809 en Chuquisaca, o sostener con decisión la independencia absoluta del Alto Perú, no sólo con relación a España, sino también con referencia al Provincias Unidas del Río de la Plata y al Perú. Tanto como el gobierno de Buenos Aires y el Perú admitían esta tercera alternativa, en cambio, Bolívar, si bien no desautorizó públicamente a Sucre le reprochó en carta privada esta iniciativa, pues entendía que alentar en ese momento un acto de soberanía de esa naturaleza, conspiraba contra los intereses de la Gran Colombia, ya que el territorio de la Real Audiencia de Quito podría pretender el mismo trato que la de Charcas.
El Congreso General Constituyente de Buenos Aires, por decreto de 9 de mayo de 1825, declaró que «aunque las cuatro provincias del Alto Perú, han pertenecido siempre a este Estado, es la voluntad del congreso general constituyente, que ellas queden en plena libertad para disponer de su suerte, según crean convenir a sus intereses y a su felicidad», despejando el camino a la independencia altoperuana.
Sucre, un tanto molesto por el reproche que le hacía Bolívar, después de demostrar sus razones, anunció que obedecería lo mandado, pero que también abandonaría el país, porque lo que se le ordenaba no compartía con su criterio, más al contrario, chocaba con su conciencia y comprometía la fe de su palabra.
Convocada nuevamente la Asamblea Deliberante en Chuquisaca, el 9 de julio de 1825, y concluida se determinó la completa independencia del Alto Perú, bajo la forma republicana, por soberana de sus hijos. Finalmente, el presidente de la Asamblea José Mariano Serrano, junto a una comisión, redactó el Acta de la Independencia que lleva fecha del 6 de agosto de 1825, en honor a la Batalla de Junín ganada por Bolívar.
El acta de independencia, redactada por el presidente del Congreso, José Mariano Serrano, en su parte expositiva dice en tono vibrante:
El mundo sabe que el Alto Perú ha sido en el continente de América, el ara donde vertió la primera sangre de los libres y la tierra donde existe la tumba del último de los tiranos. [...] Los departamentos del Alto Perú protestan a la faz de la tierra entera, que sus resolución irrevocable es gobernarse por sí mismos.
Fuente: wikipedia
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TORM REPUBLICAN cruises past Caloundra after leaving Brisbane and on its way to Zhoushan, China.
Under the Denmark flag.
Chemical Tanker
Gross Tonnage of 29,242t
Deadweight of 46,920t
Length overall of 183.2m × Breadth of 32.2m
Built in 2006
Caloundra, Queensland, Australia.
The Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore (Italian pronunciation: [katteˈdraːle di ˈsanta maˈriːa del ˈfjoːre]; in English "Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Flowers") is the main church of Florence, Italy. Il Duomo di Firenze, as it is ordinarily called, was begun in 1296 in the Gothic style with the design of Arnolfo di Cambio and completed structurally in 1436 with the dome engineered by Filippo Brunelleschi. The exterior of the basilica is faced with polychrome marble panels in various shades of green and pink bordered by white and has an elaborate 19th-century Gothic Revival façade by Emilio De Fabris.
The cathedral complex, located in Piazza del Duomo, includes the Baptistery and Giotto's Campanile. These three buildings are part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site covering the historic centre of Florence and are a major attraction to tourists visiting Tuscany. The basilica is one of Italy's largest churches, and until development of new structural materials in the modern era, the dome was the largest in the world. It remains the largest brick dome ever constructed.
The cathedral is the mother church of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Florence, whose archbishop is currently Giuseppe Betori.
Santa Maria del Fiore was built on the site of an earlier cathedral dedicated to Saint Reparata. The ancient structure, founded in the early 5th century and having undergone many repairs, was crumbling with age, according to the 14th-century Nuova Cronica of Giovanni Villani, and was no longer large enough to serve the growing population of the city. Other major Tuscan cities had undertaken ambitious reconstructions of their cathedrals during the Late Medieval period, such as Pisa and particularly Siena where the enormous proposed extensions were never completed.
Giotto's bell tower (campanile)
The new church was designed by Arnolfo di Cambio and approved by city council in 1294. Di Cambio was also architect of the church of Santa Croce and the Palazzo Vecchio. He designed three wide naves ending under the octagonal dome, with the middle nave covering the area of Santa Reparata. The first stone was laid on September 9, 1296, by Cardinal Valeriana, the first papal legate ever sent to Florence. The building of this vast project was to last 140 years; Arnolfo's plan for the eastern end, although maintained in concept, was greatly expanded in size.
After Arnolfo died in 1310, work on the cathedral slowed for thirty years. When the relics of Saint Zenobius were discovered in 1330 in Santa Reparata, the project gained a new impetus. In 1331, the Arte della Lana, the guild of wool merchants, took over patronage for the construction of the cathedral and in 1334 appointed Giotto to oversee the work. Assisted by Andrea Pisano, Giotto continued di Cambio's design. His major accomplishment was the building of the campanile. When Giotto died in 1337, Andrea Pisano continued the building until work was halted due to the Black Death in 1348.
In 1349, work resumed on the cathedral under a series of architects, starting with Francesco Talenti, who finished the campanile and enlarged the overall project to include the apse and the side chapels. In 1359, Talenti was succeeded by Giovanni di Lapo Ghini (1360–1369) who divided the center nave in four square bays. Other architects were Alberto Arnoldi, Giovanni d'Ambrogio, Neri di Fioravante and Andrea Orcagna. By 1375, the old church Santa Reparata was pulled down. The nave was finished by 1380, and by 1418, only the dome remained incomplete.
On 18 August 1418, the Arte della Lana announced an architectural design competition for erecting Neri's dome. The two main competitors were two master goldsmiths, Lorenzo Ghiberti and Filippo Brunelleschi, the latter of whom was supported by Cosimo de Medici. Ghiberti had been the winner of a competition for a pair of bronze doors for the Baptistery in 1401 and lifelong competition between the two remained sharp. Brunelleschi won and received the commission.
Ghiberti, appointed coadjutator, drew a salary equal to Brunelleschi's and, though neither was awarded the announced prize of 200 florins, was promised equal credit, although he spent most of his time on other projects. When Brunelleschi became ill, or feigned illness, the project was briefly in the hands of Ghiberti. But Ghiberti soon had to admit that the whole project was beyond him. In 1423, Brunelleschi was back in charge and took over sole responsibility.
Work started on the dome in 1420 and was completed in 1436. The cathedral was consecrated by Pope Eugene IV on March 25, 1436, (the first day of the year according to the Florentine calendar). It was the first 'octagonal' dome in history to be built without a temporary wooden supporting frame. It was one of the most impressive projects of the Renaissance. During the consecration in 1436, Guillaume Dufay's motet Nuper rosarum flores was performed. The structure of this motet was strongly influenced by the structure of the dome.
The decoration of the exterior of the cathedral, begun in the 14th century, was not completed until 1887, when the polychrome marble façade was completed with the design of Emilio De Fabris. The floor of the church was relaid in marble tiles in the 16th century.
The exterior walls are faced in alternate vertical and horizontal bands of polychrome marble from Carrara (white), Prato (green), Siena (red), Lavenza and a few other places. These marble bands had to repeat the already existing bands on the walls of the earlier adjacent baptistery the Battistero di San Giovanni and Giotto's Bell Tower. There are two side doors: the Doors of the Canonici (south side) and the Door of the Mandorla (north side) with sculptures by Nanni di Banco, Donatello, and Jacopo della Quercia. The six side windows, notable for their delicate tracery and ornaments, are separated by pilasters. Only the four windows closest to the transept admit light; the other two are merely ornamental. The clerestory windows are round, a common feature in Italian Gothic.
During its long history, this cathedral has been the seat of the Council of Florence (1439), heard the preachings of Girolamo Savonarola and witnessed the murder of Giuliano di Piero de' Medici on Sunday, 26 April 1478 (with Lorenzo Il Magnifico barely escaping death), in the Pazzi conspiracy.
For further information please visit en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piazza_del_Duomo,_Florence
Florence (/ˈflɒrəns/ FLOR-əns; Italian: Firenze [fiˈrɛntse] ( listen)) is the capital city of the Italian region of Tuscany and of the Metropolitan City of Florence. It is the most populous city in Tuscany, with approximately 382,000 inhabitants, expanding to over 1,520,000 in the metropolitan area.
Florence was a centre of medieval European trade and finance and one of the wealthiest cities of the time, is considered the birthplace of the Renaissance, and has been called "the Athens of the Middle Ages". A turbulent political history includes periods of rule by the powerful Medici family, and numerous religious and republican revolutions. From 1865 to 1871 the city was the capital of the recently established Kingdom of Italy.
The Historic Centre of Florence attracts 13 millions of tourists each year, and Euromonitor International ranked the city as the world's 89th most visited in 2012, with 1.8 million visitors. It was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1982. The city is noted for its culture, Renaissance art and architecture and monuments. The city also contains numerous museums and art galleries, such as the Uffizi Gallery and the Palazzo Pitti, and still exerts an influence in the fields of art, culture and politics. Due to Florence's artistic and architectural heritage, it has been ranked by Forbes as one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Florence is an important city in Italian fashion, being ranked in the top 51 fashion capitals of the world; furthermore, it is a major national economic centre, as well as a tourist and industrial hub. In 2008, the city had the 17th highest average income in Italy.
For further information please visit en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence
While Mitch McConnell and other Republicans have hinted that their opposition to investment in the Big Three is all about busting the unions, Jim DeMint refreshingly came out and admitted it yesterday on NPR.
Norris: Now, you know the unions are saying this is also a political ploy on the part of the Republicans to try get rid of unions and use the auto industry troubles to do just that.
Besides cutting union wages in half,,lets get rid of those other corporate headaches like health care, paid holidays, paid overtime, vacations, child labor laws, anti-discrimination, equal rights, mine safety, weekends, retirement benefits, any benefits,,,
and everything the unions have fought and died for for the last 100 years,,,
The 2000 Joint UP/CSX Republican special heads through Pine Junction, Indiana.
It was a fine June 22, 2000 morning.
The college republicans held a party on November 4, 2008 just before they announced the new president. School of Nursing senior Kelly Courteny and LSA senior Andrew lorelli were upset as they listen to CNN announce to the world that Barrack Obama was the new President. (KRISTA BOYD / Daily)
Someone has to say it. It might as well be me. I didn’t have the space to write all of the pejorative things that I might have. Those who are on the right side of history know this.
IN ENGLISH BELOW THE LINE
Fotografies de la zona de combats de la Batalla del Ebre (1938).
Al sector de Els Barrancs, entre Vilalba dels Arcs i La Pobla de Massaluca, s'ha rehabilitat un sector del front republicà. Tota aquesta part de la linea al nord de Vilalba no va patir cap ofensiva feixista en tota la batalla, i fou abandonada els darrers dies per retirar-se cap als ponts de Riba-roja i Flix.
La batalla de l'Ebre (25 juliol - 16 novembre de 1938) fou la més important i mortifera de la guerra civil espanyola. Hi ha que també la consideren també la més decisiva, però crec que per desgracia la guerra ja estava decidida de molt abans, com a minim des del trencament del front d'Aragó el 9 de març del mateix any.
Tot i que l'exèrcit republicà creuà l'Ebre el 25 de juliol del 1938 per molts punts entre Mequinensa i Amposta, la major part dels combats de la batalla es donaren a la Terra Alta, a la zona entre Vilalba dels Arcs, La Fatarella, Camposines i Gandesa, a més de la Serra de Pandols.
www.sbhac.net/Republica/Fuerzas/EPR/EprL/GCE_EXT_AntonioQ...
ca.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batalla_de_l%27Ebre
ca.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vilalba_dels_Arcs
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This is part of the Ebro battlefield (1938), in Southern Catalonia.
North of Vilalba dels Arcs there's a sector of the Republican frontline that has been cleanded and restored; it's called Els Barrancs. All the Ebro front from Vilalba dels Arcs to La Pobla de Massaluca and up to the river was a quite inactive one, and stod fixed from the 26th of July to the early days of November, when the Republican forces withdrawed towards the Ebro bridges of Riba-roja and Flix.
The Battle of the Ebro (July 25 - November 16, 1938) was the most important and deadlier of the Spanish Civil War. There are those who also consider it the most decisive, but I think that unfortunately the war was already decided long before, at least since the breaking of the front of Aragon on March 9 of the same year.
The battle began with the greatest offensive made by the Republican forces, when they crossed the river Ebro between Mequinensa and Amposta (especially between Riba-roja and Miravet), and advanced to the line La Pobla de Massaluca -Vilalba dels Arcs -Gandesa - Serra de Pandols . But in just 48 hours, the dazzling advance was stopped short. Then Franco decided to crush the republican forces hill by hill (with massive artillery and bomber barrages), in a battle of attrition identical to the First World War for which the Republicans had no resources or alternative, especially with the river behind them. The main assaults, which lasted from August 10 to October 29, were concentrated in a very small and devastated area: the triangle Vertex Gaeta - Corbera - Camposines.
Finally, a final offensive on October 30 occupied the ridge of the Serra de Cavalls, making the entire Republican bridgehead unsustainable, which managed, however, to withdraw in an orderly manner until November 16. But the damage was already done, and there were no forces left for a proper defense of Catalonia, which fell three months later. Then, fascist darkness.
www.sbhac.net/Republica/Fuerzas/EPR/EprL/GCE_EXT_AntonioQ...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxQZ_gKCHtk
From Limekiln Point - looking north across the mouth of Little Swanport Lagoon to the Saltworks. East coast Tasmania.
There were significant shellfish middens in this area. The evidence of over 60,000 years of our first people's custodianship of this island.
Unfortunately for the locals, the tories turned up using emprisoned Irish Republicans, Scots separatists and the ground-down, displaced rural english poor as the shock troops and slave labour.
Of course the message has been massaged over time but the divine right of money to lie, dissemble, confuse, generate and distribute dis/misinformation while sowing ignorance and mass-hysteria continues.
Apple iPhone 14 Pro Max. Moment camera app.
Camera: Pentax K-1000
Lens: SMC Pentax-M 1.4/50
Filter: Yellow
Film: HP5 plus 400 @ 200 ISO
D-76 1+1 10 Min. 68°
Scanned from print developed in Caffenol-C (bleached, redeveloped, and slightly bleached again) on Adorama RC Perle
SEE THE CAMERA AT THE LINK BELOW:
Bain News Service,, publisher.
[Pennsylvania delegation at the 1912 Republican National Convention held at the Chicago Coliseum, Chicago, Illinois, June 18-22]
[1912] (date created or published later by Bain)
1 negative : glass ; 5 x 7 in. or smaller.
Notes:
Title devised by Library staff based on information from the source: Flickr Commons project, 2008.
Original title, "Penn. Del. - Chic.," from unverified data provided by the Bain News Service on the negatives or caption cards.
Forms part of: George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress).
Subjects:
Chicago
Format: Glass negatives.
Rights Info: No known restrictions on publication.
Repository: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA, hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print
General information about the Bain Collection is available at hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.ggbain
Higher resolution image is available (Persistent URL): hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ggbain.10588
Call Number: LC-B2- 2418-8
This man in the chair wanted to share the good news with me... The good news of Mr Trump. My wife shushed me. Wives are good....
Dobby for President 2028... Why do you hate so much... Be Happy... My 2028 platform included let us stop hating each other... Let us Love... Let us take care of the peoples best interest for once.
Cúpula de la iglesia de Belchite antiguo.
Ocurrió entre el 24 de agosto y el 6 de septiembre: el pueblo grande, o la pequeña ciudad, tuvo la mala suerte de quedar atrapado en una de las ofensivas republicanas más importante hasta la fecha: el ataque sobre Zaragoza.
Según algunas fuentes, la resistencia de Belchite, y sobre todo el empecinamiento de los republicanos en tomarla, fue uno de los factores para que la ofensiva principal fracasase; según otras, fue precisamente fracaso en la toma de Zaragoza lo que hizo al Ejército Popular tornar sus ojos sobre Belchite, como una operación propagandística que sirviese para camuflar el fiasco.
Fuese por la razón que fuese, lo cierto es que en Belchite la batalla tuvo una crueldad extrema: miles de atacantes y miles de defensores se batieron calle por calle y casa por casa en mitad de un calor infernal y con centenares de cadáveres pudriéndose en las calles. Al menos así es como lo cuentas la mayor parte de las crónicas.
Franco prohibió su reedificación y ha quedado como mudo testigo del horror de todas las guerras y de la Guerra Civil española en concreto.
After leaving Clyde, I headed for home. I am looking up stream seeing a few islands. River is low now since we have been in a drought.
I've replaced the elephant with a goat!
www.mentalfloss.com/article/23805/how-did-donkey-elephant...
As it is, Republicans can not understand the concept of a "transgender person", nor do most try. How could they possibly deal with an ambassador who has multiple genders and is urgently in need of the facilities?
Please don't misunderstand-I feel that their focus on restroom assignment is totally inappropriate and an insult to all Americans. My attempt was to ridicule the perpetrators, not the situation.
A.I was used in part to create this image.
1937 and now, Spanish Civil War. Siege od Madrid, aftermath of a bombing. Two republican soldiers.
Martin de los Heros street, about 500 meters far from the frontline and close to the center of the city.
Madrid suffered bombings during the entire war, specially in the center and in this area, Argüelles, a district close to the frontline. Artillery and air bombings killed over 1500 people during the first months of the siege.
www.flickr.com/photos/ramonoria/8330367402
When Madrid was attacked by Franco forces in November 1936, many of the city's inhabitants fled to safety.
www.flickr.com/photos/ramonoria/23910190941/
By the end of November over 250,000, about one-fifth of the city's total population, had relocated themselves to safer zones in Valencia and Barcelona. When the fighting stabilized in December this spontaneous and voluntary emigration slowed dramatically. Then the government waged a campaign to encourage people to leave the capital.
www.flickr.com/photos/ramonoria/14617357470
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Madrid
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(Gracias a PEPCOR, por ayudarme a localizar el lugar hace un par de años)
1937 y ahora, sitio de Madrid durante la Guerra Civil. Tras un bombardeo. Dos soldados republicanos.
Calle Martin de los Heros, a unos 500 metros de la línea del frente, y a menos de 2 kms del centro.
Madrid sufrió frecuentes bombardeos durante la guerra, especialmente en el centro y en los barrios cercanos al frente. La destrucción en éste, Argüelles, fué considerable. Gran cantidad de ciudadanos dejaron sus viviendas, pero no todos.
Las autoridades republicanos contabilizaron alrededor de 1500 víctimas solo durante los primeros meses del cerco, causadas por artillería y bombardeos aéreos.
www.flickr.com/photos/ramonoria/8330367402
En el mes en que comenzó el sitio, en noviembre de 1936, alrededor de 250.000 habitantes abandonaron la ciudad.
www.flickr.com/photos/ramonoria/23910190941
Pero pronto el frente se estabilizó y las salidas disminuyeron. El gobierno animó con campañas a la población a abandonar Madrid.
Warning: Contains content that some viewers might find offensive.
At the Jubilee protest on the day of the Jubilee pageant in June.
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3rd person
Sunday, December 19th, 2010
“Fifteen dead, and thirty wounded in a shooting at the inauguration of the commissioner James Gordon. The two gunmen were sporting clown masks and orange Arkham jumpsuits have been apprehended. Upon being detained all they did was laugh. The police fear it’s the return of the mainiac dubbed: “The Joker,” who disappeared four years ago just shy of the first Batman sighting..” A man clicks a remote shutting off the television.
In a dark secluded room sits two people tied down to chairs, a man and a woman. A third chair sits there with a faceless body. “Channel Five, am I right? Just a bunch of libtards and republicans fighting amongst themselves over who’s dumber. We live in a society, and this one needs a little bit of anarchy,” The man’s voice calls from the darkness as his faint silhouette emerges.
The silhouette moves over to a sink and turns on a light. The shadow forms into a man as the light shines onto him. He’s tall and skinny dressed in a purple suit and an orange vest that seems too short for his stature. On his left pocket hangs a yellow flower. Beautiful, though a strange spout pokes out from the middle. Yet there’s something off about him. He lacks a face, as if it were cut off like the third man in the chair. He puts on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and grabs some green hair dye. The man runs it through his hair, then pulls out a comb to comb it through after the fact, all while humming the tune of Little Drummer Boy. He grabs the severed face of the man in the third chair and starts stapling it to his head. He pulls one corner to his temple. Click. The blood drips out. He runs his finger along and does the other temple. Click. He goes down to the end of his jaw. Click. The other side. Click. He admires his work. But he isn’t done. He goes and fills the outline of the face making sure it’s secure. Mending them together. He then grabs oversized paper clips and puts them through the ends of his cheeks and the ends of the face’s lips, creating a permanent smile. Blood slowly pours out, he wipes it off with a handkerchief, gleefully.
The man is the long lost Clown Prince of Crime- The sadistic Joker. He turns around and walks over to the two remaining hostages. The face he put on has been bleached beforehand, leaving it a gleaming white, eye holes cut out showing red circles around his eyes, perpetually open. The Joker’s yellow teeth poke through his flesh. The flesh around them resembles a red lipped smile. He pulls up a chair and sits in front of the woman. She shudders and tries to pull away.
“What’s wrong? Is it the face? Yeah it’s new. Still breaking it in. The previous owner left it in really bad shape.” He looks over to the third chair with the lifeless body sitting there. Smiling, he looks back and cracks his jaw. “Wow so silent. Oh yeah, I forgot,” He removes the tape from their mouths.
The man spits on the Joker. “You sick freak. You better let us go! Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the boss! I control Gotham!”
The man is wearing a three piece blue suit and white cufflinks. He has three beautiful children and a loving wife. Then bang. The man’s life leaves his body, the woman screams and the Joker puts his gun back in his pocket. Blood splatters on his shirt and the yellow flower in the left jacket pocket “Sorry about that ma’am. Now tell me. What’s your name?”
She shudders a bit before answering. “V-Vicki. Vicki Vale.”
“Ah of course! Victoria! How could I not recognise you! You’re from Channel 6. The good news channel!” The Joker exclaims with excitement. “Now, say your famous sign-off line”
“This is Vicki, reporting for your Gotham City. Signing off...“ She trails off with tears trickling down her face along with her makeup. Bang. The Joker shoots his gun. A red flag comes out the barrel saying the very word ‘bang.’ He laughs for a minute. She screams for her life.
He then smacks Vicki across the face with the butt end of the gun and grabs her face. “Oh we’re gonna have some fun.”
————
Jim Gordon’s POV
Tuesday, December 21st, 2010
I stand there in shock. Three bodies. One without a face, male, no identification. Bled to death. One fully nude, bent over a sink, female Vicki Vale of Channel 6 News. Shot in the head. No exit wound. Lastly, one shot between the eyes. Male, Salvatore Maroni “The Boss.” What kind of man could’ve done this extremely wicked, shockingly evil and vile thing. My heart starts racing. I can feel myself sweating, I need a patch. I look in my pocket for one and pull up my sleeve. There’s already one on there. I need something stronger. I reach into my pockets and find a cigarette and lighter. I run out to the street on the corner of Finger and Kane. I put the cigarette in my mouth and light it. “Commissioner, call for you,” Captain Bullock says while handing me a phone. I nod, take the phone and put it up to my ear. “Those will kill you by the way,Thought you quit anyway.” A voice says clearly using a voice changer being the infamous Batman.
“What’s In there will kill me first.” I reply referring to the crime scene. “Speaking of, did you
see anything we didn’t?”
“Depends, what’d you see?”
“A sadistic man’s brothel.”
“Me too.” He replies wearily.
————
Bruce Wayne’s POV
Tuesday, December 21st, 2010
I hang up on the commissioner and think back to five years ago in 2005 before I was the Batman. The take over of city hall. The murder of Mayor Galavan. I then snap back into reality. The tip line, that’s how they found the crime scene. “Computer, tap into the GCPD tip line. Date: twenty-one twelve ten.” The screen lights up, reacting to my voice command. I scroll through the tips and spot one from a blocked number at 9:25 am. “Hi, I’d like to report a disturbance. I heard gunshots and loud laughs then screams. It came from the abandoned apartment building on the corner of Finger and Kane. Please send help.” The recording stops. It’s a female voice. I run it through the system trying to get a match. I first go through known associates of the clown. No match. I put it through a sub system testing every recorded conversation in Gotham city in the past two years. One match. Harleen Quinzel. Deceased. Ex-doctor at the Arkham institute for the criminally insane. I triangulate the location of the call to a phone booth by the GCPD precinct. Strange. How can she have used the tip line if she’s dead? One man would know this. Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot, the one man in Gotham who knows everything. I make my way over to the armoury to prepare for the confrontation.
The glass doors of the case open with a hiss. The grey armour platings sit with the black soulless mask and cape staring back at me. A dark reflection of who I truly am… and once was. I turn around and walk back into the suit as it decompresses, opening it. The under armour shocks the case, having the armour close onto my body. The mask goes onto my head. The lens light up with infrared flashlights invisible to the human eye. The metal clasps onto me sending a shiver down my spine. I exit the cast and go to pick up my utility belt. “Going out sir, should I call master Todd?” Alfred says from the darkness.
“No, I’m doing this one solo.” I reply bitterly.
“Very well sir, I’ll get the car ready.” He walks over to the port and scans his hand on the side. “Chariot mode,” Alfred bluntly says. The car responds by turning on the afterburners, headlights and opening the cockpit. The sleek, black exterior with red highlights running through it sit there welcoming me into the abyss. I walk over and pull myself in and ready everything. “Iceberg lounge, route four.” The batmobile complies and goes zero to eighty within a second, sending me speeding down the tunnel towards the heart of Gotham.
The streets are dark and quiet, almost dead. The car rolls through and parks behind the lounge. I exit the cockpit and step on the cold street. I grapple up to the domed roof of the nightclub. The wind rushes past my face as I go up until I land. A metal air vent peeks out, just big enough for me to fit through. I walk over to it, pull off the metal grate and crawl through into the vent. The abrasive music shakes up the club. The song appears to be “The Bridge Is Over” by Boogie Down Productions. I find the office of Cobblepot and drop down a small burst EMP device. Off go the lights. “What the hell?! Someone go fix the generator!” Cobblepot yells in his thick cockney accent. I drop down silently behind him. After his goons leave and close the door, I toss a locking chip onto the handle of the door locking them out for the time being. I click my gauntlet turning the lights back on. “Hello Cobblepot.” I say bluntly. He screams and goes for a hit. I catch his fist and put his arm in a grappling hold.
“Ah god damn it stop! What do you want?!” He yells at me. I release my grip and shove his face on his desk, breaking his monocle with an audible crack. His arm falls to his side. He grips his wrist, tending the wound as I walk to the other side of his quartz slab of a desk. The goons hang on the door trying to get. “I want a location, the address of Harleen Quinzel,” I ask.
“Oh her? You’re not the first person to come here looking for her.” He chuckles a bit and lights a cigar. Who else would want her?
“Who else came through here?”
“The Valeska brothers, arrested in ‘04 for: assault, battery, attempted murder, murder itself and of course breaking and entering. The smart one, Jeremiah, came through looking for her.” Interesting, they never go anywhere separately.
“The address, now.” He laughs a bit more.
“That’s the funny part. After that she disappeared, no trace.”
“When was this?” I ask,
“About three days ago.” I squint slightly. Why would the Valeska Brothers be looking for her? “Where can I find them? I know you know Cobblepot, don’t play games with me.” I ask with fury,
“They said to find them at 278 Laingholm Drive,” He answers,
“Thanks.” I turn off the lights and exit through the same vent gracefully
———-
3rd Person
Wednesday, December 21st, 2010
“Come they told me, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. A new born King to see, pa-rum-pum pum-pum. Our finest gifts we bring, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum. To lay before the King, pa-rum pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum,” The Joker sings through the halls of a chemical plant, “I have no gifts to give, pa rum pum pum pum!” A small ginger man by the name of Jeremiah Valeska makes his way towards the mad man at a fast pace. “She’s ready for you sir.” If the clown wasn’t smiling already, he would be now. He makes his way down the halls towards the locker rooms where a woman stands wearing a small leather jacket, red on the left side and black on the right, cheerleading gear under it with blonde pigtails right side sipped in black and the left in red. She lastly has white face makeup with black diamonds around her eyes. This woman is, “Harley Quinn my dear! You look wonderful.” Exclaims the Joker excitedly.
“Thanks Mr. J” She replies with a thick Boston accent. She grins as Joker’s gaze falls to a spot of blood on her jacket. “There’s blood on your jacket dear.” His hand rises and collides with her face sending her to the floor. Her nose begins to bleed. “Clean it up, and wipe your nose”
“Sorry Mr. J, I’ll get right to it.” She strains to get up and runs along. Valeska walks with Joker down the halls the opposite way. “Valeska, status on my old friend James Gordon and his loving daughter?”
“Same routine, date night is this sunday at Chipotle. Also sir, your face.” Valeska of course is referring to how three staples came out.
‘‘Oh sorry about that.” Joker exclaims. He pulls a stapler out of his jacket pocket, holds his face up and staples. Click. One. Click. Two. Click. Three. He clicks his jaw a couple of times and pulls out an eye dropper. He drips a couple of drops in each eye keeping them moist. “What a time to be alive, am I right Valeska!”
-----------
Jim Gordon’s POV
Wednesday, December 21st, 2010
Four years, it’s been four years and that mainiac still scares me. The funerals. The dead. Gotham was never the same after him and now he’s back. To think I was once friends with that mad man. No, I wasn’t friends with the Joker. I was friends with Arthur Napier. We met in the Academy. He quit after a couple years. The stress was too much for him. Became a comedian. Not a very good one at that. Then the incident happened. He found his wife cheating on him with my very own brother. That was the last straw. He wasn't always right in the head. Had significant OCD. Borderline personality disorder When he saw this happen he grabbed an Exacto knife and slit both their throats. That’s how it started, I could’ve stopped it. I should’ve stopped it. That wasn’t it. He didn’t stop with my brother and his wife. He went for my nephew. It spiraled out of control and didn’t stop until that fateful christmas day. We actually got him. Then not three days later he wasn’t in his cell anymore and the only thing there was his face. Just a face. How he escaped no one knows.
“Jim? Are you okay?” I snap back into reality as my loving wife, Lee Tompkins, walks into the study. “You’ve been acting strange since the shooting. You took up smoking again, been going to the gun range more. How can I help?”
“I don’t think you can Lee. He was my best friend for years.”
“He wasn’t, Arthur Napier was. The Joker is someone else.”
“He killed my brother. I can’t just brush that off like he just forgot to pay me back for something. I know he’s coming for me next. I just don’t know how he is.“
“Who says he’s even back. What if it’s a copycat? Or another one of the Riddler’s schemes?”
“The Riddler wouldn’t do anything this malicious.” I reply. “But Arthur, he would. He would. All it took was one bad day.”
----------
Bruce Wayne’s POV
Thursday, December 22nd, 2010
Harleen Quinzel, the Valeska brothers, the supposed return of the Joker. How are they connected? “Jason!” I call into the darkness of the cave. A woosh goes past me as my gaze pans towards the top of the batcomputer where my ward, Jason Todd, has perched himself. He sits there in his suit. Red base with green highlighting the chest and abdomen black on the other side. Black cape with a small domino mask covering his eyes, securing his identity. “Yeah, boss?”
“I need you to watch a stakeout an address, 278 Laingholm Drive. South side of Gotham. I’ve put the address in the batmobile. It should take you there and then come back. Don’t make contact. Report back if there’s any movement.”
“Will do.” He nods and makes his way to the batmobile and leaves in a flash..
------------
Jason Todd’s POV
Thursday, December 22nd, 2010
I arrive at the address being a small suburban house, two levels. Don’t contact my ass. I make my way around the house to a back window and break it open with my elbow. The glass falls on the floor with giant shatters. It’s a small room. Nice, has a chair. A smaller sized bed. Pink wallpapers. Like it was made for a young girl. That’s not the important part. I open the door into the hallway slowly. I peek through to see four men in the main room. All wearing clown masks. Two have bats, one has a machete and one is empty handed. So I do what any one man army would do. I walk into the room, clear my throat, and speak. “Hey ladies, you know where I can find Harleen Quinzel?” They all look at me. One of them speaks. “No, but we can find you an early grave.” I drop a smoke pellet, grab my bo staff and grin.
The goons flail, trying to hit me. I run in and slide on my knees through them, whilst doing this I swing the staff against one of their knees, shattering the patella. I spin back around and throw a birdarang at the hand of the man with the machete. He grabs his hand in pain and falls to the ground. This doesn’t stop him however. He picks it up with his other hand as the smoke clears. He runs at me with it and goes for a slice. He hits the staff as I block the blade and elbow him in the jaw, knocking him down for the count. Two left. One with a bat, the other empty handed. I throw a concussion grenade disorienting them for a tad while take the bat and break it across his head. Last one. “Okay, last chance. Where’s Harleen Quinzel.” I ask. A female voice with a thick, high pitched Boston accent calls out of nowhere.
“Right here toots!” I turn around quickly only to see a woman with a white face and mallet. Then. Black.
———-
3rd person
Sunday, December 24th, 2010
“Okay and you have my cell right?” Gordon asks in a worried tone as he and Lee make their way out the door for a Sunday night date. The babysitter inches them out.
“Yes I do, go have fun. Babs and I will be fine.” She says in a reassuring tone closing the door on them. She turns around to face the ten-year-old red haired girl. Her accent changes revealing her true self. Harley Quinn. “Okay Babs, what are we doing today?” The girl, Barbara Gordon smiles cheerfully. “Um, I have dolls!” She answers with glee. Knock knock knock. Harley rises and answers the door. The Joker walks through, smile and all. “So this is the Commissioner's sweet daughter.” His tone changes from gleefully to unimpressed and blunt. “So cute; Harley my dear. Have you gotten the bird?”
“Why yes puddin’ Everything’s ready for our grand entrance!” The Joker’s eyes light up. He’s happy.
----------
Bruce Wayne’s POV
Sunday, December 24th, 2010
“Jason, come in. Report back to the cave. Jason?” He hasn’t reported back for two days. Something’s wrong. He may be hot headed and a rule bender but he always reports back. I get up and go down to the batmobile. “Chariot mode.” The car opens and lights up. I input the destination of 278 Laingholm Drive. Where I last sent him. The cockpit closes me in, I flick a switch turning on the internal lights and press the accelerator.
The car pulls up to the suburban home. I exit the car. “Trojan mode.” It deactivates everything and camouflages itself like a chameleon hiding from prey. The door to the house is askew. Strange. I go in and see nothing but a television sitting on a cart in the living room. On the screen is a timer. T-minus 10 minutes. What’s happening in 10 minutes. I send out a small drone to scan the house for a bomb or people. Nothing to be found. What happens in 10 minutes
------------
Jim Gordon’s POV
Sunday, December 24th, 2010
Ten minutes till Christmas. Funny. The year went by so fast. From one case to the next. The Riddler, the return of Bane, even the Batman copycat. Boy, that was a strange one. Lee and I exit the restaurant and make our way to the lot. The rain pelts down like bullets. I grab my phone out of my pocket to call the sitter and tell her we’re on our way. I grab the cold phone and dial the number. I can hear its ringing and going through. No answer. I call again. No answer. What’s going on? What the fuck where is the babysitter that I overpay? My body takes over as my mind becomes disengaged. It’s happening. Arthur’s going for Barbara. That sick bastard. Going for my ten-year-old-daughter. I start running. I don’t stop running. I won’t stop running.
———-
Bruce Wayne’s POV
Sunday, December 24th, 2010
Three minutes until the timer is done. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. Two minutes. The screen goes black, then a boy holding drums appears. “Today we have a special broadcast of little drummer boy,” a man announces on the small television unit. The boy looks distraught. Then he starts singing. I press my comlink to the cave, “Alfred, is this broadcasting to all of Gotham?”
“Sadly yes.” What’s he planning?
“Can you triangulate his location? Alfred?” No response.
Monday, December 25th, 2010
Bang. A bullet goes through the child’s head and the Joker goes on stage “Hello Gothamites, Merry Christmas! It is I, your not so friendly clown prince of crime, the Joker! Today we have a very special presentation this fair Christmas. We have your dark knight’s boy wonder, Robin!” The wall falls behind him revealing Jason, tied to a chair. “And of course we have the commissioner’s loving daughter Barbara.” A woman brings the young Barbara onto the stage, hands tied behind her back and gagged. “Look at this ray of sunshine, little cutie pie. Now, both of them will die in five minutes unless James Gordon and the Batman can get here in time. Here is the Channel 6 building by the way. Toodle loo.” The unit shuts off. Then a tick tick tick. A bomb. I pull up my cape to shield me from the blast. Boom. I’m not thrown back. Nothing happened but some confetti. No matter I need to get to them. I make my way to the building as fast as possible. No time to lose.
-------------
3rd Person
Monday, December 25th, 2010
“While we wait, boy wonder, I’m just gonna beat you with this crowbar.” The joker picks a gold rusty metal crowbar off the ground and starts hitting Robin senselessly. He laughs for the world to hear. “Let’s try it with my eyes closed.” The mad man puts his left hand over his eyes and swings. The end of the crowbar goes into the boy’s eye. He screams, however he isn’t dead. Upon removing the crowbar a small chunk of brain matter leaves it. Laughs echo throughout the bones of Gotham. Then a crash through the door and a scream from James Gordon himself, “Arthur! Let them go!” He checks his watch.
“Nope, you’re late.’’ He pulls out his gun and shoots Jason in the head.
He turns to shoot Barbara but a shadow breaks through the window tackling her. The Joker still shoots. The bullet flies through the air and makes its home in the stomach of the child. She screams. Gordon puts his gun away and makes his way to his daughter. The Batman rises up and looks to the body of Robin. “What did you do!” He asks furiously with only rage in his heart.
“You were late. I did what I must.” The Batman screams as he goes to tackle the mad man. He places his hands around the Joker’s throat and squeezes. The Joker struggling to breathe presses a button on his wrist. Acid sprays out of the flow on his chest hitting the mask of the Bat, melting away a portion of it by his left eye and making it visible showing a man who lost everything Batman stumbles back. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.” The Joker exclaims.
Batman gets back up as the Joker grabs the door handle towards a hallway. He throws a batarang at his hand, impaling it. He doesn’t even flinch and still opens the door, blood dripping from his hand. “You’re not getting away.” Batman mutters under his breath. He runs after him. Gordon calls an ambulance and follows the bat.
They get through to the hallway. Gordon follows close behind. “Arthur! What did you do?!” He yells into the abyss.
“You know James, one thing I’ve always wondered about you is, why so serious?” The Joker chuckles after saying this and pulls the blade out his hand and throws it back at the bat. He catches it upon arrival placing it in his belt. “You need help Arthur!” The Joker’s tone changes.
“You don’t know what I need! You never did. When I needed help you just brushed it off. You don’t know anything about me. Arthur is dead. The Joker is all that’s left.” He shoots three times at them. The bullets hurtling through the air all hitting various points upon the floor and wall. Batman pulls out his grapple and fires it at the Joker’s leg. It impales his thigh squirting blood around the wound.
“Harley dear, I could use some help.” The woman Harley Quinn, formerly Harleen Quinzel, comes out of one of the rooms down the hallway and swings a mallet at the Bat. He catches it and punches her in the face twice each with more force the second breaking her nose with a crack. Her grip loosens and he breaks it over his knee. He tosses her to the ground with his face bloodied. “Your lackey can’t stop me Napier.” Batman retracts the grapple pulling him towards them. All sense of morality leaves the dark knight’s body as he punches the mad man’s face. Again and again, and again. He punches to no end. Each one with more anger and furiosity. Anger for Jason. Joker’s face starts coming off as he laughs. Gordon stops Batman.
“You’ve done enough.” He rises up and then begins to leave. “I like you Batman. We’re destined to do this for a long time.” He laughs again. And doesn’t stop. Batman leaves, fists bloodied. Anger in his heart. Anger that won’t leave for a long time. He’s failed his parents. He’s failed Gordon. He’s failed Jason. He’s failed Gotham.
———-
-hero
Title.
October Sun.
B♭ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
P.S.2
Model. Photography. Text. Novel.
All me. 😄
( iPhone 13 Pro shot )
Motosuka Beach. Kujūkuri Coast. Sanmu City. Chiba, Japan. October 9, 2025 … 0.8 / 16
(Today’s photo. It has not been published yet.)
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
English lyrics and Japanese translation
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 19😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
Twilight sank over the harbor town, dimming the air as the rusted girders along the pier turned a burnished red.
The park in Red Hook was nearly empty; the chains of the swings stirred in the wind, clinking faintly.
Children’s laughter drifted from afar, only deepening the stillness that hung over the place.
Amir stood outside the wire fence, gazing at the scene, and something half-forgotten stirred within him.
There had been evenings, too, in the rubble of Gaza.
Out from the ruins of broken houses, his mother would appear—
breathless, dust clinging to her clothes, coming to find him, to hold him close.
He could still recall the scent of her hair, the warmth of her arms.
“Let’s go home,” she had said.
Even if “home” was nothing more than a collapsing shell of stone and dust, her voice alone had led him back.
A mattress laid atop debris.
A room with no walls, only wind.
Yet each time his mother’s hand brushed his forehead, that place became, undeniably, home.
Amir’s gaze returned to the New York children swaying on the swings.
The innocent rhythm between mothers and sons was repeating itself again, bathed in the soft light of dusk.
It was a world untouched by weapons or blood.
“Rafi,” he murmured, barely louder than the wind,
“maybe… we don’t have to go on.”
Rafi didn’t look away.
His eyes were clouded with the sediment of Gaza—blood and dust, the memory of ruin.
His father’s body fallen in shadow.
Walls blackened with fire.
Dreams torn apart.
What filled him was not tenderness, but a cold and merciless anger.
“Don’t forget, Amir,” he said, his voice hard as stone.
“In the same place where your mother held you, our fathers were slaughtered.
Those ruins are not just ruins.”
Amir fell silent.
The river’s surface rippled red in the twilight; across the East River, the towers of Manhattan shimmered faintly, blurred at the edges.
Peace and destruction, memory and hatred—
they mingled together in the same wind.
Behind the wire fence, children’s laughter still rang out.
But to the two men, it sounded only like an echo from another world.
The setting sun sank quietly, staining the bridge’s iron joints red as the heat beneath it trembled in the air.
Rainwater pooled in the cracks of the concrete, reflecting a thin sheet of gold.
A faint steam rose from the damp air, and the salt from the harbor clung to Amir’s nose.
The boarded door of an abandoned factory hung loose,
the wind pushing in old newspapers and leaves, swirling them into tiny spirals.
From afar came the cry of cicadas, and a city bus exhaled a sigh through its brakes.
Beneath the bridge stood Amir, Rafi, and several others scattered in silence.
Some wiped sweat from their brows, eyes lowered to the ground;
others rested hands upon the girders, gazing out toward the distant light.
At intervals, the shadow of a parent waiting for a child passed by,
a white-roofed van gliding through the heat.
Amir rubbed his back, the sweat clinging to his shirt, and sat down in the shadow of the bridge pier.
Rafi stood a short distance away.
Their shadows stretched long, wavering under the harsh westering sun.
No one among their comrades moved; their stillness was a kind of breathless waiting.
“Can’t we stop here?” Amir’s voice wavered into the humid air.
In his mind, he saw again his mother’s hand reaching through a crack in the stone wall—
that small, dirt-stained hand that once touched his cheek.
The desire to return to that warmth still flickered faintly in his chest, like an ember refusing to die.
Rafi clenched his jaw, and spoke through his teeth, his words as brief and cold as a stone cast into the sea.
“Don’t forget, Amir.
If you forget that night, we’ll betray the dead.”
His voice merged with the creak of metal underfoot, irreconcilable with the laughter of children or the cry of cicadas drifting in the distance.
Amir narrowed his eyes, watching the flow of light beyond the railing.
Across the river, windows shimmered in layers—
places where life went on, where dinners were being served,
where children’s laughter and footsteps would echo softly through the gardens.
A deep shadow cut across Rafi’s face.
His fists were clenched, the veins on his hands taut and bright.
“That wish of yours,” he said quietly,
“do you know it might become someone’s gravestone?”
Amir’s gaze fell to a small white rabbit doll at his feet.
It was caked with dust, one eye missing.
Perhaps it belonged to a child who once played beneath this bridge—
or perhaps it had simply wandered here by chance.
Either way, to Amir, that single missing eye seemed like a fleeting glimpse of a world quietly disappearing.
Silence spread between them.
The wind hummed low through the iron beams.
Around them, the world went on moving.
A van door shut.
A parent touched a child’s shoulder.
A bus turned the corner.
Their comrades drew shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the ground or the far horizon.
Without looking back, Amir began walking toward the city beyond the bridge’s shadow.
Behind him came a single breath from Rafi—
a sound that carried the stillness of a corpse.
The summer dusk slowly swallowed the bridge.
The men beneath it remained as faint silhouettes,
poised between the red of sunset and the cold gleam of steel.
Rafi quietly unzipped his bag and drew out a tablet.
His fingers trembled slightly,
but he took a slow breath to steady himself,
and aimed the camera at the mark of “B♭” at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.
A dark screen flickered to life, revealing a deep-layer QR code.
Without hesitation, his finger slid along the words:
“C4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.”
That movement sent a faint tremor through the tension of the men beneath the bridge,
blending with the dry scent of rust and the damp summer air.
From the far side of the East River, under another bridge,
sparks began to rise—one, then another—
tiny flashes glowing red in the dark.
The light quivered across the shadows,
and the sound of metal striking metal echoed low.
Rafi’s eyes followed the fading silhouette of Amir’s back.
The others stepped silently away,
drawing a little farther from the bridge.
Moist air clung to Rafi’s skin,
and the mingled red of dusk and chill of steel filled the space around him.
In the hush beneath the bridge,
each flash and creak formed a strange rhythm in his chest.
A cicada cried once in the distance.
The city’s murmur faded to a far-off haze.
Pressed beneath that wave of tension,
the men held their breath,
confirming each other’s presence only through glances and the rhythm of their breathing.
The summer dusk slowly—yet surely—
swallowed the bridge, the city,
and the shadows that remained.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
１０月の太陽。
僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット） ……. Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
追伸２。
モデル。撮影。テキスト。小説。すべて、オレ。😄
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。10月９日。2025 … 0.8 / 16
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images.
ONE OK ROCK - We are [ LIVE ]
youtu.be/uyaKoj7wABY?si=l5TIci49GRdoYQDD
英詞と和訳
youtu.be/wOS8u80wvEs?si=g2ghwRsJRmqn3C22
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第19弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
夕暮れは港町の空気を沈ませながら、埠頭に錆びついた鉄骨を赤銅色に染めていた。
レッドフックの公園は人影もまばらで、遊具の鎖が風に揺れ、かすかな音を立てていた。子どもたちの笑い声が遠くにひびき、かえって静けさを際立たせているようだった。
アミールは金網の外からその光景を見つめ、胸の奥に忘れかけていた感覚を呼び戻していた。
かつてガザの瓦礫の町にも夕暮れはあった。
破壊された家々のあいだから、母の姿が現れた。息を切らし、砂埃をまといながらも、彼を探して抱きしめに来る母の匂いを、アミールは今も覚えていた。
「家に帰ろう」と母は言った。
家とは呼べないほど崩れかけた場所であっても、その声だけが彼を導いた。瓦礫の上に置かれた布団、壁もない部屋に流れ込む風、それでも母の手が彼の額を撫でるたび、そこは確かに家だった。
アミールの視線は、ブランコに揺れるニューヨークの子どもたちへと戻った。母と子の無邪気な時間が、夕暮れの柔らかな光のなかで繰り返されている。
その光景は、武器や血とは無縁の世界だった。
「ラフィ……俺たちは、もうやめてもいいんじゃないか」
低く呟いた声は、風に溶けるほど弱かった。
ラフィは目を逸らさなかった。その瞳には、ガザの砂塵に埋もれた血の記憶がよどんでいた。
倒れ伏した父の影、焼け焦げた壁、裂けた夢。彼の胸に満ちているのは、優しさではなく、冷たい怒りだった。
「忘れるな、アミール」
声は硬い石のように響いた。
「母の腕に抱かれた記憶と同じ場所で、父たちは殺されたんだ。あの瓦礫はただの瓦礫じゃない」
アミールは唇を閉ざした。
夕暮れの川面が赤く揺らぎ、イーストリバー越しのマンハッタンの高層ビルの影がかすかに滲んでいた。
平和と破壊、記憶と憎しみが、同じ風の中で混じり合っていた。
金網の内では、子どもの笑い声がまだ響いていた。
しかし、ふたりの耳にはそれが遠い世界の残響にしか思えなかった。
///////////////////////////////////
夕陽は鉄の骨の継ぎ目を赤く染めながら、橋の下の熱気に揺れつつ静かに沈み込んだ。
コンクリートの裂け目に溜まった水が、夕陽を映して薄い金色に光っている。湿った空気にわずかな湯気が立ち、港から流れる潮の匂いがアミールの鼻腔に絡んだ。
廃工場の戸板は半ば外れ、風が古い新聞紙や枯れ葉を押し込み、小さな渦をつくっていた。蝉の声が遠くから響き、路線バスのブレーキ音が一度、吐息のように洩れた。
橋の下には、アミールとラフィのほかに、数名の仲間たちが散らばって立っている。肩をすくめ、汗を拭いながら地面に視線を落とす者もいれば、鉄梁に手をかけ、遠くの光景をじっと見つめる者もいた。
時折、子どもを待つ親の影と、白い屋根の送迎車が通り過ぎる。
アミールは汗で張り付いたシャツの背中をさすり、橋げたの影に腰を下ろした。
ラフィは少し離れて立った。影は長く伸び、照りつける西日に揺れていた。仲間たちは微動だにせず、息を殺すようにその場にいる。
「ここでやめられないのか」
アミールの声は、蒸し暑い夕暮れの空気に溶けかけた。脳裏には、母が崩れた石壁の隙間から差し出した小さな手が浮かんでいた。母の手はいつも、汚れた掌で彼の頬を撫でてくれた。そこに帰りたいという欲が、胸の奥でまだ微かに温かく息をしている。
ラフィは奥歯を噛みしめ、舌先だけで言った。簡潔で、海に投げる石のように冷たい。
「忘れるな、アミール。あの夜のことを忘れたら、俺たちは死んだ者たちを裏切る」
その声は、波打つ鉄板の軋みと混じり、遠くの子どもたちの笑い声や蝉の声とは相容れなかった。
アミールは目を細め、橋の欄干越しに流れてゆく光を見た。向こう岸に、きらめく窓が幾重にも並んでいる。そこには暮らしがあり、夕飯の匂いが立ち、子どもたちの笑い声や庭先で遊ぶ足音が、柔らかく響いているはずだ。
ラフィの頬に深い影が刺さり、拳を握りしめている。手の甲の血管が鋭く浮いた。
「お前のその願いが、誰かの墓標になることを、お前は知っているのか」
アミールの視線は、足元に落ちた小さな白いうさぎのぬいぐるみに止まった。埃にまみれ、ひとつの目が欠けていた。
そのぬいぐるみは、橋の下で遊んだ遠い誰かのものかもしれない。あるいは単に迷い込んだだけかもしれない。どちらにせよ、アミールにはその欠けた目が、消えていく日常の一瞥に思えた。
沈黙がふたりを隔てた。風が、橋げたの鉄梁を低く鳴らした。
周囲の世界は動き続ける。送迎車の戸が閉まり、親が子の肩を叩く。バスが一台、角を曲がる。仲間たちは微かに息を整え、視線を地面や遠方に巡らせたままだ。
アミールは振り返らず、橋の影から街のほうへ歩き出した。
後ろでラフィの吐息が一つだけ聞こえた。それは骸のような静けさを残し、夏の夕闇が緩やかに橋を飲み込んでゆく。橋下の仲間たちは、かすかな影のまま残り、夕陽の赤と鉄の冷たさの間に佇んでいた。
ラフィは静かにバッグを開き、タブレットを取り出した。指先に、微かに震えはあったが、心を鎮めるように深く息を吸い、mellow-echo.netの最下部にあるB“♭（フラット）”に、ミュートリーダーのカメラをかざした。暗い画面にディープレイヤーQRコードが浮かび上がると、指先はためらうことなく、“C4-ID:Vanta+Core/Ready.”の文字に沿って滑った。その手の動きは、橋下に残った仲間たちの緊張を微かに揺らし、乾いた鉄の匂いと湿った夏の風に溶けた。
イーストリバーを挟んだ対岸の橋下から、火花が一点、また一点と立ち上り、暗がりに赤く瞬いた。小さな光は、橋下の影を揺らし、鉄梁にぶつかる音が低く響く。ラフィの視線はアミールの背に残る影を追い、仲間たちは無言で後退りし、橋下から少しずつ距離を取った。
湿気を帯びた空気がラフィの肌をまとい、夕陽の赤と鉄の冷たさが入り混じる。橋下の静寂の中、火花の閃光と小さな軋みが、ラフィの胸の奥に奇妙な律動を生んだ。遠くで蝉が一声鳴き、街のざわめきは遙か彼方に霞んでゆく。
その緊張の波に押されるように、橋下の仲間たちは息をひそめ、視線と呼吸だけで互いの存在を確かめあった。
夏の夕闇は、まるで橋を、街を、そして残された影を静かに、しかし確かに飲み込んでいった。
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
18
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54840848974/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54829426478/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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More than 3200 people turned out for the No Kings 3.0 Rally in Vero Beach, Florida on March 28th, 2026. One of over 3,300 demonstrations that were held, with at least one protest in every state, and several taking place in other countries in support. In the USA an estimated 8 to 10 million people took to the streets in the largest single-day protest in American History. This widespread participation highlighted the collective sentiment against fascism, the Trump Administration, the war in Iran, as well as ICE violence and killings. Resist!
"The men and women who serve in our battlefields may be Democrats and Republicans and Independents, but they have fought together and bled together and some died together under the same proud flag. They have not served a Red America or a Blue America - they have served the United States of America."
Barack Obama, August 28, 2008
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As our country prepares to officially cast our ballots tomorrow to elect the 44th President of the United States of America, here are some things to think about:
There are currently over 23,532,000 living veterans (in war and peace) that have put their lives on the line to protect our right to vote among our other freedoms and approximately 1,190,098 of our brave men and women have died defending all of our rights throughout our country's history.
There are 195 countries in this world and out of the 140 countries that hold elections, more than 100 still limit important civil and political freedoms. That leaves only a handful of countries around the world that have the same type of rights to vote as Americans do.
Only 33% of all Americans eligible to vote, voted and chose our last president.
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"Who can vote? The right to vote is sometimes referred to as "suffrage." The right of suffrage in the United States is currently enjoyed by all citizens over the age of eighteen. However, this has not always been the case. In the early years of the republic, the eligible electorate consisted primarily of white, male, property owners. States gradually relaxed property-ownership requirements until most male citizens of twenty-one years or more were allowed to vote. After the Civil War, the right to vote was extended to all citizens, regardless of race, by the 13th Amendment to the Constitution. The Women's Suffrage Movement succeeded with the 19th Amendment and the extension of the right to vote to women (some states already allowed women to vote, but the Amendment required all states to do so). The 23rd Amendment allotted electoral votes to the District of Columbia, thereby giving its residents the right to vote in presidential elections. And the 26th Amendment, ratified in 1971, granted the right to vote to every citizen eighteen years of age or older.
Simply because voting rights are formally extended by the Constitution, however, does not mean they are actually exercised. Most notably, black voters did not fully enjoy the right to vote for many years after the ratification of the 13th Amendment because of intimidation, discrimination and tactics such as literacy tests and poll taxes. Moreover, many people who have the right to vote simply choose not to exercise it. Millions of eligible voters have not even registered to vote." - ThisNation.com
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It's pretty obvious who I support in this election.
Please understand, it doesn't matter who you support, but it certainly matters if you don't vote.
As I watched Joe Biden’s and Kamala Harris’ memorial service at the Lincoln Memorial for the over 400,000 Americans who have died of COVID-19, I was overwhelmed. I hadn’t felt this sense of humanity in four years, and I didn’t know how to process it. My body had forgotten what it felt like. It suddenly occurred to me, Donald Trump’s depravity and lack of empathy had held me hostage during his presidency. And, like those held against their own will by terrorists or bank robbers, now that it’s over, it will take time to adjust—to get back to any semblance of well-being and trust. That feeling of “fight or flight” and the level of cortisol in my body will not go away immediately. It is going to take me time to heal.
But the new year has brought little relief so far. There are people who don’t think I—we were ever held hostage. Georgia’s Republican Congresswoman and QAnon conspiracy adherent Marjorie Greene has already filed articles of impeachment against President Biden for misusing his power as Vice President when his son, Hunter Biden, served on a Ukrainian energy company’s board. She’s the representative who wears facemasks that say “Trump Won” and “Stop the Steal.” And, even though former President Trump has left Washington, she continues to peddle his lies. Millions of Americans still believe he won the election. Despite the facts, MAGA is still alive.
Before his term ended, the House voted to impeach Trump for the second time for inciting the insurrection at the Capitol that killed five people, including a Capitol Police officer. Every Democrat representative plus a record ten Republicans voted to impeach him. But, suddenly, the GOP is talking “unity” as a way to ignore his actions. They have appropriated the word President Biden has used as a building block for his new administration and reframed its meaning. Biden is searching for enough common ground to pass legislation that will end the pandemic, ease people’s economic struggles, deal with climate change, and repair America’s international policies. He has no illusions we will all be singing https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KumbayaKumbaya.
Republicans are using the word to sidestep the transgressions of last four years and their role in perpetuating them. Texas Senator Ted Cruz said an impeachment trial after Trump has left office is “vindictive” and “punitive.” “We’re in the middle of twin crises,” he stated, “a global pandemic and an economic crisis with millions of people out of work. But, instead of focusing on those jobs, the Congressional Democrats seem obsessed with their hatred for Donald Trump.” Cruz speaks as if he’s always believed in the primacy of Americans’ welfare.
Both Cruz and Missouri Senator Josh Hawley voted to reject the lawful Electoral College tallies hours after the insurrection. Many of Cruz’s former aides were “disgusted” by his actions. Amanda Carpenter, who worked for the Senator, said, “she could have never envisioned that the political career of a legal scholar with a reverence for the Constitution would ‘culminate in a stand to potentially cancel votes in a way that defied any standards of federalism and constitutionalism.’”
Senator Hawley gave a fist pump in support to rioters as he walked the grounds of the Capitol that day. After his actions, his hometown newspaper called him on his behavior. The Kansas City Star stated in an editorial, “No one other than President Donald Trump himself is more responsible for Wednesday’s coup attempt at the U.S. Capitol than one Joshua David Hawley, the 41-year-old junior senator from Missouri, who put out a fundraising appeal while the siege was underway.” Hawley’s mentor, former Republican Senator John Danforth, said, “I thought he was special. And I did my best to encourage people to support him both for attorney general and later the U.S. Senate and it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.” By ignoring his actions, Republicans become complicit in them.
Both Cruz and Hawley want to run for president in 2024. And both are drooling over at the 70+ million voters who cast their ballots for Trump last November. By supporting Trump’s “stolen election” lie and by supporting his call to storm the Capitol, they have put their interests ahead of the country’s. Worse, they have supported an insurrection against the Constitution they have sworn to uphold. This is sedition, not unity.
Trump has needed enablers like Cruz and Hawley. They and other GOP leaders are the choirboys and choirgirls spreading his gospel of nativism, White supremacy, and economic good fortune for the rich. They perpetuate his lies and alternate truths. Or worse, they look the other way. In doing so, they are just as responsible for over 400,000 Americans lost to COVID and the millions who have lost their jobs and their businesses. And now, with both the executive and legislative branches in the Democrats’ hands, all of a sudden, they’re talking unity? It’s an empty attempt to avoid their responsibilities to the American people.
Every false prophet has their supplicants to sing their praises. This isn’t about the crucifixion of Donald Trump. This is about his deification. He’s no god and doesn’t deserve the perks. He denounced the science of the pandemic, and Americans have died because of it. His lies incited others to storm the Capitol. And people died because of it. So before we can contemplate unity, those who supported these mistruths must take responsibility and be held accountable for their actions.
Ephesians 4:25 says, “Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body.” Privately, many Republican legislators abhor Trump’s presidency and what he stood for. If the Senate vote to convict him was private, they would find Trump guilty. But since the vote is public, no Republican has the fortitude to speak up. Some, like Cruz and Hawley, are in it for themselves. Others, like Greene, are conspiracy addicts. And some fear for their safety and the safety of their families. Continuing this charade will hurt all conservatives and destroy the Constitutional thread that binds us as a people.
For more than a decade, honest and fruitful debate in Congress has been impossible. If we really want unity, then stop the destructive partisan rhetoric and let’s begin this administration as members of one American body. I’m pissed the new year still feels like 2020. Donald Trump may no longer be president, but he still has his hands on the bully pulpit. I’m tired of being held hostage by him and the likes of Cruz, Hawley, and Greene (and let’s not forget Mitch McConnell). It’s all about power and control. And none of it is about the welfare of Americans. Trumpism has become a systemic problem. Lies built upon lies left uncontested by the party of Lincoln. Like unity, ending MAGA distrust and conspiracy theories will be a long process. Republicans, you have the power to do it. You just don’t have the courage.
Feel free to pass this poster on. It's free to download here (click on the down arrow just to the lower right of the image).
See the rest of the posters from the Chamomile Tea Party! Digital high res downloads are free here (click the down arrow on the lower right side of the image). Other options are available. And join our Facebook group.
Follow the history of our country's political intransigence from 2010-2020 through a seven-part exhibit of these posters on Google Arts & Culture.
A NOTE ON THIS PICTURE: This picture appeared alongside an article in which the author made a case against people across the political spectrum incorrectly using the term Nazi to identify one's political ideology. The correct analogy would be to equate Obama's policies with those of the National Socialist Party.
Do I believe that Obama is a Nazi? No, that is ludicrous, but the article was a hard-hitting critique of the controversy surrounding people slinging the term Nazi around these days, hence the photo was appropriate. If it offends you, look away.
Thanks for reading.