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There are moments when leadership is revealed not by policy, but by instinct. Not by speeches, but by what is laughed at, shared, or dismissed as “no big deal.”

Recently, something ugly surfaced—an image rooted in one of the oldest and most dehumanizing racist tropes in American history. It was not subtle. It was not ambiguous. It was the kind of imagery that generations of Black Americans have known all too well: the stripping away of dignity, intellect, and humanity with a single cruel comparison.

The clip was removed after public outrage, but the damage lingered. Because removal without reflection is not accountability. And silence from the most powerful office in the country is not neutrality—it is permission.

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I have conclude God has a sense of humor.

Not a ha-ha humor. Not a sitcom laugh track humor. More like the kind of humor where He leans back, folds His arms, looks at the angels and says, “Watch this.

I have trouble kneeling. Can’t walk very far and use a wheelchair. My fingers tremble like an addict overdosing on caffeine. My hands ache. Spine aches. Knees ache. Got cancer. Still have cancer. Have Parkinson’s. And my right foot, who went to sleep perfectly fine on January 16th, tendered its resignation on the 17th. “Dude, not working today. And by the way, not sure when I’m returning.” Trust me, this stuff was never on my childhood vision board.

Meanwhile, my persistently aloof brother jogs five miles every day.

Five. Fucking. Miles.

Every. Day.

No limp. No wheelchair. No mysterious clicking noises when standing. He casually hints winning the health lottery as though one might casually say, “Oh, I built an entire home at work today and grabbed a case of beer on the way home. What one?” I’m not saying I resent him—but if I were God, I would at least have given matching symptoms, if not in fairness, but for symmetry. I often think of what happened on the assembly line. You might presume the system would distribute aches and pains evenly. Heck, you might even believe there’d be a cosmic spreadsheet (with pivot table): “Okay, this guy gets bad knees, that one gets shaky fingers, and so on. Everyone gets something.” Nope.

For some? Sampler Platter.

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Fourteen years ago, I started this blog because words felt like leverage. I wrote, people read, something moved—opinions, conversations, maybe even outcomes. That was the theory, anyway. Over time, the writing got sharper. Hotter. Sometimes angrier. I criticized people in power. I used language that reflected the moment—frustration, sarcasm, impatience. Nothing fabricated, nothing hidden. Just opinion, plainly stated.

Then two things happened.

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Last night, Kanako, a dear friend who is no longer with us, visited me in a dream. Her presence was comforting, and the message she brought was simple, yet profound. “Not too long. You’re almost there.”

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I Thirst

I am tired, but my body refuses to die. It’s the constant hum of pain. Living in a body that constantly hurts is an exhausting experience. It’s not just the sharp, stabbing moments or the dull, throbbing aches; it’s the constant, low-grade hum of pain that fills every quiet moment. It’s the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix, a deep-seated weariness that seeps into your bones and colors every thought.

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Victims associated with the Annunciation Catholic School shooting were likely saved by a dedicated, well-trained trauma response and their proximity to Level 1 Trauma Medical Centers. In fact, the hospital where I work is just a few blocks away. Thus, should I require emergency medical care, my clinical outcome improves significantly. However, due to funding cuts from the ‘Big Beautiful Bill,’ the future is bleak for rural America.

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Tales of the Week

My past week reads like Dickens.

It was the week of endings, it was the week of reckoning.
It was the loss of sound and the loss of someone dear.
It was a silence that screamed, and a goodbye that echoed.
It was the numbness of disbelief and the ache of memory.

It was a week where I still heard, but no longer understood.
It was a week where I spoke, but half my world no longer spoke back.
It was the unmaking of words — where recognition became a stranger,
and the simple gift of language disappeared behind a closed door.

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Michael Steele stated, “Donald Trump is the Golden Calf; he is the thing that they come and bow before. And that they offer up their future political support.” After reading the ‘Big Beautiful Bill,’ nothing could be truer. The President said there would be no cuts to Medicaid. However, the House Republicans passed plans to cut roughly $716 billion from Medicaid, and program cuts will hit close to home for many residents, even as some welcome the prospect of tighter rules and less government spending. Nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office estimates more than 10 million people will likely lose Medicaid and CHIP insurance under the House Republican plan.

Most Americans have a connection to Medicaid. In 2024, Medicaid surged to 78 million recipients. In rural areas, where the share of people with disabilities is higher, residents have lower incomes, and communities are reliant on industries with skimpier health benefits. Overall, about two-thirds (65%) of the public say that someone close to them has received help from Medicaid at some point, including over half (53%) who say either the program has covered them themselves or a member of their family and an additional 13% who say a close friend has been covered. Substantial shares of Democrats (52%), independents (57%), and Republicans (44%) report that Medicaid has covered them or a family member. Nearly all adults (97%) say Medicaid is at least somewhat important for people in their local community, including about three in four (73%) who say it is “very important.”

Ignoring storm clouds on the horizon, voters support lawmakers who cut Medicaid. However, voters neglected a couple of details.

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People ask, “If Trump is so bad, why do Trump supporters still like him?”

“Simple,” I replied. “The pain hasn’t arrived yet.”

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100 Days! F***’n 100 Days

It’s 1:00 AM. Leaning into the recliner’s headrest and staring through the window onto Lake Michigan, I note the moonlight glistening over whitewashed tips of gentle waves lapping across the shore. Just as I performed several times before, my thoughts slipped whispered, “I expected something.” I expected something because I was told ’a new America’ had once again arrived. Shangri-La had arrived. However, in the days since the inauguration, God sent no angels, no great trumpet heralded, and the elect did not gather from all over the world. The Lord hasn’t descended, people did not rise, and Jesus caught no one in the clouds. Instead, the new America bled supremacy, falsehood as truth, and armed in hate.

“A dizzying 100 days,” the Jewish Journal headlined. The Washington Post, ABC News and Ipsos just released a poll showing Trump’s approval rating at 39 percent—down six percentage points from February. CNN marks his approval rating at 41 percent—a seven-point drop since February. Not since the first 100 days of the Eisenhower administration have approval numbers been this anemic at this early stage of a presidency, says CNN. Meanwhile, DOGE (or the current administration eliminated approximately 120,000 federal jobs. 120,001 if you include Musk’s job. That’s 1,200 jobs a day.

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