So here we are.

Whelp, I’m a hummingbird still. I suspect I will be until I finish this move and justice is done. So get ready for some puffed-up birb jokes.

Flippity-Flap Fuckers.

Anyway I wrote this ahead of time so no doubt fuckery has transpired in the meantime. Listen to these meat-bones (that means humans) play some music!.

Anyway, regardless of if you’re meat-bone or a birb you know life. You’ve lived life. I submit that even this little humble hummingbird has some perceptive.

*preens*

Anyhoo, what you all need to understand with the rules of engagement with a sword vs a baton…

what? Oh, nobody cares? Okay, fair. (This was a callback joke I’m sure you remember. Tip your servers)

So where were we? Ugh, this life. Fucking sucks, no?

Actually no. It doesn’t. Which is why you and I are still here. And it’s why if they want a piece (of our opinion on politics) they can come get some.

At any rate, we have looked into a fresh dawn and…well it might look the same.

But also, I’m writing this understanding we are all searching for meaning. There is a certain absurdity to our agonies and ecstasies. Some of us will lean into the turn and become hummingbirds. Not that there’s anyone we can think of like that.

*preens*

Anyway. Where where we? My pa was the oldest of a large, religious Scottish family and apparently it was “tradition” to send the oldest off to the seminary school to be…raised…by the Church. I’m not going to dwell overlong on this, other then to say it clearly emotionally stunted a man who grew to be one of the kindest, sweetest, gentlest people I have ever known. And who grew to have an acute sense of peace with justice. First he was my mentor, then he was my best friend.

Long story short he met my ma and was like “nutz to this celibacy thing”.

Still, pa went to church religiously (animal_rimshot.jpg). He taught me the value of good works in your community. He sang in the damn choir. I’m saying the dude was churchy.

But he wasn’t a literalist. He didn’t read the Bible as a tome of dogma. He read it essentially as spiritualist poetry. He saw between the lines (if you will) the spark of the Divine. He would say similar about the poems of Kahlil Gibran, whom we read at his passing. And he would talk to me about the Sacred that exists all around us. My point is he taught me about seeing the face of the Divine in everything around us.

And when we do we will note it’s still goofy looking. Shit’s absurd.

Your ol boy is a fluffy birb. But he asks you to vote and find somebody else to help vote.

Don’t step on the flowers. Smoke em if you got em.