Esoteric Meandering Shouting Into the Void

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

For years, we’ve been told to fear technology. Phones are rotting our brains, social media is destroying democracy, and cameras are apparently the reason no one can enjoy brunch in peace anymore. And yet—surprise twist—we may finally owe technology a thank-you note. Not a full Hallmark card, mind you. Just a cautious nod of appreciation. Because it turns out this administration didn’t plan for one small, glowing rectangle in everyone’s pocket: the cell phone camera.

They planned for fear. They planned for uniforms, masks, badges that say trust me, and guns held with the confidence of people who swear they’re doing “government business.” They planned for secrecy, intimidation, and the age-old assumption that if you say “national security” loudly enough, no one will ask follow-up questions. What they didn’t plan for was millions of concerned citizens quietly hitting “record.”

It’s amazing how much courage dissolves when a camera shows up. Suddenly the tough guys with face coverings don’t want to give names. The people enforcing vaguely defined authority get real shy about explaining which law they’re enforcing and for whom. Accountability, it turns out, is their kryptonite. Not lawyers. Not press conferences. Just a regular person holding a phone, documenting reality in real time.

And here’s the thing: this isn’t radical. This isn’t rebellion. This is the Constitution doing its job with a software update. The First Amendment didn’t anticipate iPhones, but it absolutely anticipated citizens bearing witness. The Fourth Amendment didn’t imagine livestreams, but it did imagine limits on power. Technology didn’t break democracy—it accidentally gave it receipts.

For years, we’ve been lectured about “a good guy with a gun” as the solution to everything. But in this moment, the more effective counterforce has been a good guy with a cell phone camera. No trigger. No escalation. Just documentation. Just truth. Just the unglamorous, undeniable evidence that becomes very inconvenient when someone later claims, “That’s not what happened.”

Because when everything is recorded, lies have a shorter shelf life. When actions are documented, spin becomes harder. And when citizens can show, not just say, what’s being done in their name, power loses its favorite hiding place: plausible deniability.

So yes, maybe we can be grateful—just this once—for technology. Not because it’s perfect, not because it’s neutral, but because it’s made secrecy expensive and abuse visible. In a time when authority expects obedience without questions, the camera quietly asks the most dangerous question of all: Why?

And maybe that’s the real takeaway. What stops a bad guy with a gun? Sometimes it’s not another gun. Sometimes it’s a witness. Sometimes it’s evidence. Sometimes it’s a shaky video shot by a regular person who refuses to look away and refuses to forget.

Turns out the most threatening thing to unchecked power isn’t force. It’s proof.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Ah yes, February 1 is creeping up—that magical time of year when Americans gather their receipts, open their tax software, and prepare to be scolded by the government like a disappointed parent who somehow still wants rent money.

Everyone’s supposed to be worried about doing their civic duty. Paying taxes. Funding the nation. But a growing number of us are quietly wondering: why exactly are we paying for this? Is it for roads? Schools? Healthcare? Or is it for militarized agencies, corporate bailouts, and whatever ideological fever dream is currently burning a hole through the federal budget?

Because here’s the fun part: if you’re a gig worker—driving, freelancing, hustling, duct-taping together an income—you’d better not get too creative with those deductions. Took off your internet bill? Audited. Wrote off part of your rent because you work from home? Audited. Tried to deduct mileage, supplies, and the sheer psychological damage of existing? Congratulations, enjoy your audit letter printed in aggressive government font.

Meanwhile, multimillionaires are out here playing Tax Jenga. Deductions stacked on deductions, shell companies inside holding companies inside “family offices” registered in places that technically exist but spiritually don’t. They write off yachts as “mobile meeting spaces” and call private jets “essential travel.” They lose money on paper every year while somehow buying a third vacation home. The IRS looks at them and says, “Wow, very complicated. Anyway, carry on.”

But you? You’re just trying to keep the lights on. Literally. And every deduction you claim has to be justified like you’re on trial for crimes against capitalism. You don’t get accountants, lawyers, or offshore anything. You get a spreadsheet, a prayer, and the constant fear that a $300 write-off will trigger an investigation that costs more than your annual income.

So yes, it’s almost February 1. Everyone’s worried about their taxes. But a lot of us are wondering why the burden of “supporting the country” always seems to land on the people who can least afford it—while the people who’ve hollowed it out get rewarded for knowing which loophole to crawl through.

Pay up, citizen. Democracy isn’t cheap.

Apparently neither is being poor.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

At some point, humanity sat down—probably without a formal meeting—and decided to become a very confident art director for the universe. Angels? Wings. Obviously. Evil? Horns, tail, maybe a little goatee if we’re feeling extra. No vote recorded. No footnotes. Just vibes.

What’s strange is how arbitrary it all is. Wings don’t imply goodness; flies have wings and they are universally despised. Horns are worn by goats, who are mostly just judgmental-looking lawn equipment. Tails belong to dogs, who are morally superior to most of us. Yet somewhere along the line, we decided feathers equal virtue and bone protrusions equal damnation, and then never revisited the decision.

Maybe it was about convenience. Wings let angels hover just above us—close enough to care, far enough to stay clean. Horns and tails make evil visually loud, impossible to miss, like a warning label you can spot from across the room. Subtle evil would’ve been far more troubling. Imagine if villains just looked… normal. That would’ve required introspection, and humanity has historically tried to outsource that whenever possible.

I suspect the real tell is that these symbols say more about us than about good or evil. We associate good with lightness, escape, upward motion. Evil gets stuck with what juts out, drags behind, or threatens to poke you in the eye. It’s less theology and more projection—our fear of what feels heavy, animal, or inconveniently honest.

And maybe that’s the most revealing part: we didn’t design angels and demons to explain morality. We designed them to make ourselves feel a little safer, a little clearer, in a world where good and evil almost never bother to dress according to the rules we gave them.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Einsatzgruppen isn’t a word most people know—unless they’re German, a historian, or someone who’s noticed how history loves to recycle its ugliest ideas with a fresh coat of patriotic paint. It sounds foreign, academic, safely locked in black-and-white photos. And that’s the point. When atrocities wear unfamiliar names, they’re easier to dismiss as “over there” and “a long time ago,” not something we’d ever recognize while it’s happening.

The Einsatzgruppen were sold as necessary. Temporary. Patriotic. They were just doing hard things to “save the country.” You know—rounding people up, deciding who belonged, who didn’t, and acting like paperwork turns cruelty into duty. The language was clean. The uniforms were crisp. The results were anything but.

Fast-forward, swap out the German compound nouns for bureaucratic English, and suddenly we’re told this is all about “law and order.” About safety. About protecting “real” Americans. History lesson bonus round: that’s always how it starts. No one ever says, “We’re the bad guys.” They say, “We have no choice.”

The problem isn’t that people don’t know the word Einsatzgruppen. The problem is that they recognize the playbook and still pretend not to. If “never again” means anything more than a slogan for museums and hashtags, then maybe—just maybe—we stop defending agencies that operate on fear, dehumanization, and the fantasy that brutality somehow equals national strength.

We don’t need a better PR campaign. We need to get rid of ICE. Because history has already shown us where this road goes, even if the vocabulary has changed.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Let’s take a moment to applaud the stunning logic swirling around the aftermath of the Alex Pretti shooting — because nothing says “we love the Constitution” quite like arguing that you’re totally allowed to carry a gun… as long as the federal government doesn’t mind shooting you first for doing it.

Yes, that’s right: Alex Pretti — a licensed concealed-carry permit holder in Minnesota — showed up with a holstered firearm at a spontaneous confrontation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents in Minneapolis. That’s entirely legal under Minnesota law and the Second Amendment. It was on his hip the whole time. Video footage shows him holding his phone when the escalation started — not brandishing, not threatening, not trying to shoot anyone. 

But hold on: because once a federal agent wrestled him to the pavement, snatched that holstered gun off his body, and then emptied a magazine into him — all while he was down — the official line magically changed to:

“Well, he had a gun!” “You simply cannot bring a firearm to a protest!” “Also, the Second Amendment doesn’t apply in this context!”

This is the intellectual gymnastics where decades of professed devotion to the right to bear arms go to nap. It’s like watching someone in a bumper car proudly proclaim they love driving, as soon as someone else t-boned them. 

It gets better. Suddenly after Pretti is killed — shot at point-blank range by a Border Patrol agent — the same voices that once cheered for armed protesters in other cities are now lecturing: “Oh dear, maybe you should have left that gun at home.” That’s rich. Because just a few years ago we had Kyle Rittenhouse, who literally did brandish and fire his weapon, killing people in the process — and was cheered and legally vindicated by many of these same commentators precisely because he exercised his Second Amendment rights. So let me get this straight:

Brandishing and using a gun to kill people = fine. Carrying a gun lawfully on your hip without ever drawing it = unforgivable, and also justification for deadly force by federal agents.

What sorcery is this? By that logic, the Second Amendment is now the Second Suggestion. You can have it… unless the government in question doesn’t like your political position, the shirt you’re wearing, or whether Fox News thinks you’re on the “right” side of an issue this week.

Let’s be clear: Carrying a firearm lawfully — including at a protest — is constitutionally protected. The mere presence of a gun does not justify being executed by federal agents. Lawful possession doesn’t suddenly evaporate because someone decides you look like trouble. And deadly force isn’t endorsed by the Constitution just because someone’s Sense of Decorum™ gets ruffled. 

But here we are: the defenders of the Second Amendment scream bloody murder when the government suggests restrictions on guns, yet when the government itself pulls the trigger on someone for exercising that very right, the response is… what, exactly?

“Don’t bring your gun to a protest”?

“Maybe just leave the Constitution at home next time”?

This isn’t reasoning. It’s professional unseriousness masquerading as principles.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Ah yes, Donald’s Board of Peace—a bold, historic innovation in diplomacy where peace finally gets the leadership it deserves: one man, indefinitely, with an optional billion-dollar cover charge. It’s really a beautiful setup. So beautiful, in fact, that Donald himself never has to leave it. President, ex-president, private citizen, defendant—none of that matters. The Board of Peace is eternal, and so is its chairman. World peace may be fragile, fleeting, and complicated, but Donald’s seat? Rock solid. Bolted down. Probably engraved.

And let’s talk about the membership model, because nothing screams “moral authority” like a $1 billion lifetime buy-in. Not for defense, not for humanitarian aid, not even for infrastructure—just vibes. Where does the money go? Excellent question. The documents are elusive, the accounting mysterious, and the transparency… well, let’s just say it’s very on brand. One assumes the funds are carefully allocated to the pursuit of peace, which in this context appears to mean luxury, loyalty, and maybe a few gold accents. You don’t end wars with diplomacy anymore—you Venmo a billionaire and hope for the best.

The name itself is inspired. “Board of Peace” sounds noble until you realize it’s probably spelled P-I-E-C-E, not P-E-A-C-E, because this isn’t about the world living in harmony—it’s about Donald getting his piece. His piece of power. His piece of relevance. His piece of history where he’s not just a former president but a permanent global decider, hovering over geopolitics like a timeshare owner who refuses to check out.

And that’s the genius of it all. While actual peace requires compromise, humility, and accountability, Donald’s version requires only money and admiration. No elections, no term limits, no awkward exits. Just a self-appointed chairman of harmony, selling serenity at a premium, assuring us that as long as he is comfortable, the world should probably calm down. After all, what could possibly go wrong when peace is privatized, monetized, and run like a personal brand? Surely this is how history’s great conflicts have always been resolved: one ego, one board, one billion dollars at a time.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Oh good — we’re at that phase of American governance. The one where the body count quietly ticks upward while everyone in power pretends they’re waiting for a more “appropriate” number before acting concerned. Apparently one dead American citizen at the hands of ICE is a tragedy, two is “complicated,” and three is still not quite enough to interrupt the regularly scheduled authoritarian cosplay.

We are told, very seriously, that none of this is alarming. Federal immigration agents killing U.S. citizens is just an unfortunate byproduct of “enforcement.” Marines being sent to places like Maine — Maine, for God’s sake — is totally normal, nothing to see here, please ignore the sound of boots on democratic norms. And when people react with outrage, the response isn’t reflection or restraint; it’s a threat. Behave, or Daddy will dust off the Insurrection Act.

That’s the real irony. The same administration that still whispers lovingly about January 6 now seems almost eager for unrest — not because chaos is bad, but because chaos is useful. Protest becomes “insurrection,” dissent becomes “threat,” and every dead citizen becomes another brick in the road toward justified military crackdowns. The question isn’t whether force will be used; it’s how much blood needs to be spilled first so it can be framed as “necessary.”

So here we are, watching federal agents gun down Americans while officials argue over optics, not lives. Waiting for the magical number — the one where outrage finally outweighs ambition. Until then, we’re told to stay calm, trust the process, and remember: this is all being done in the name of law and order.

Funny how law and order always seem to survive just fine.

It’s the citizens who don’t.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Ah yes, here we go again. January has arrived, winter has done that shocking, never-before-seen thing called being cold, and suddenly the climate-change denial circuit is back on tour like a washed-up classic rock band that only knows one song.

There’s an Arctic blast in Georgia and northern Texas, which apparently means global warming has been officially canceled. Someone alert the scientists, shred the data, and unplug the satellites—Debra’s porch thermometer dipped below freezing, and that’s all the peer review we need. Climate science, defeated by a hoodie and a Facebook post.

This happens every year, like clockwork. Winter shows up, temperatures drop, and a chorus rises: “If the planet is warming, why am I cold?”—as if climate is supposed to pause politely for regional weather and seasonal patterns. By that logic, summer heat waves disprove winter, and umbrellas invalidate droughts.

Of course, the same people will be mysteriously silent when it’s 112 degrees in October, when hurricanes are turbo-charged, or when wildfires turn entire states into barbecue pits. That’s just “weather.” But a cold snap in January? That’s a smoking gun. Case closed.

So welcome back, climate denial. Enjoy your brief seasonal resurgence. We’ll see you again next January, riding in triumphantly on a snowflake, confidently explaining that because it’s cold outside today, physics itself must be a liberal conspiracy.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

This administration, and the Republicans cheering it on, have developed a truly remarkable relationship with the Constitution: they treat it like a buffet. The First Amendment? Sacred—when it’s their speech, their flags, their grievances. The Second Amendment? Oh, practically tattooed on their souls. “Shall not be infringed” is recited with the confidence of someone who’s never read another line of the document.

They even remember the Fifth Amendment—mostly because mob movies taught them the phrase “I plead the Fifth,” which comes in handy when subpoenas start flying and microphones get dangerous.

But somewhere between Amendments Two and Five, a few pages seem to have fallen out of the book. The Fourth Amendment—yes, the one about unreasonable searches and seizures—has apparently been reclassified as a suggestion. ICE tramples over it daily, and the administration shrugs like, “Well, that’s just how things work now.” No warrant? No probable cause? No problem. Efficiency over legality—very on brand.

And while we’re here, the right to counsel (hello, Sixth Amendment) also seems to vanish the moment the person involved has the wrong accent, skin tone, or zip code. Funny how constitutional rights are treated as universal until they become inconvenient.

In other words, they treat the Bill of Rights exactly the way they treat the Ten Commandments: loudly brandish the ones that justify their behavior, quietly ignore the ones that restrain it. “Thou shalt not tread on me” is gospel—right up until they’re the ones doing the treading.

The Constitution, it turns out, isn’t their moral compass. It’s just a prop. And like any prop, it’s only brought out when it helps the performance.