Category Archives: The Liminal Times

We The Jury


Donald Trump is officially a criminal. The former president has been found guilty in the hush money trial. This isn’t just the end of a high-profile saga; it’s a resounding affirmation that the rule of law remains intact.

For far too long, Trump and his gaggle of sycophants have peddled the ludicrous notion that his actions were shielded by presidential immunity. This brazen bullshit has been nothing short of a trial balloon for authoritarianism.

The American legal system, often maligned but fundamentally sound, has proven its ability to withstand the pressures of power and money. Trump’s defense team, a clown car of legal mediocrities, tried to spin the trial as a politically motivated witch hunt, Trump’s favorite golden oldie.p. They painted themselves as martyrs, wronged by a system out to destroy their client. Yet, the meticulous legal process laid bare their lies.

The verdict delivers a much-needed kick in the teeth to the delusional notion of presidential omnipotence. The presidency isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card. Trump’s conviction is a potent reminder that the office is a public trust, not a personal playground for criminal activity.

Trump’s assertions of absolute immunity and his incessant efforts to undermine the judicial process were naked power grabs.

The judiciary’s response reaffirms that in America, the rule of law is sacrosanct. We must acknowledge the indispensable role of an independent judiciary.

Or, in a few months, we’ll lose it entirely.

Glimmer on The Trail of Tears

Susanna Pierce

I knew only one grandparent.

The ones on my father’s side died before I was born. So did the grandfather on my mom’s half, leaving me with Daisy Mae Johnson.

Granny was a tough lady. She lived alone in tobacco country in North Carolina. Smoked like a chimney, carried a spit can for her chewing tobacco, and kept a revolver in her purse in case anyone wanted to fuck around and find out.

I used to marvel at the Johnson sisters. Mom and her three siblings each outlived their spouses and hardly shrunk in grief when left on their own. They kept jobs, raised kids, and held more than their own at a time when women weren’t allowed to hold much other than their children.

Where does that toughness come from? How is it forged in hardship?

I may have found out. More importantly, I may have seen what it looks like.

My aunt Lessie shared a history I knew nothing about. My great-grandmother was a Tuscarora Native American. In the early 1800’s, mom’s grandparents were forced out of North Carolina and sent on the Trail of Tears, the displacement and murder of more than 60,000 Native Americans.

Desperate, mom’s forebears took a chance and left her grandmother on the doorstep of a white family in the hopes that they would adopt and raise her as one of their own.

They did, naming her Susanna Pierce and spawning a family line that kept its Carolina roots. They remain there to this day.

Recently, ChatGPT announced new generative Artificial Intelligence that takes a seismic leap in collaborations in design, including photography. I uploaded some pictures of my grandmother, along with some details of great granny’s Tuscarora heritage. The AI program extrapolated bone structure to get an approximate rendition, as there are no actual pictures of the family back then.

The above picture is the first of my great grandmother. Meet Susanna Pierce.

Beautiful, isn’t she?


The Subtle Art of Moving Forward

October Whispers

You left on a quiet night,
as October whispered its final secrets.
Now, sunrise paints a picture
of empty spaces where your light withdrew.

The chair by the window sits untouched,
a silent witness to the stories you chose not to share.
Moments we collected now sepia,
fading into corners of rooms you couldn’t bear.

I search for you in the breath of wind,
in the blood moon stillness.
I gather pieces you left behind,
trying to map the contours of your absence.

Yet, amidst the quiet of echo,
I feel the embrace of each dawn anew.
In the subtle art of moving forward,
there lies a form of homage to the resilience you never knew,
but never lost.