ICE out for good – Roanoke

I am in Roanoke, Virginia.

I saw the videos.
Not clips.
Not screenshots.
Not the “context” people sell like coupons.
The videos.

I know the truth.

It does not need to argue.
It does not need a thread or a podcast or a guy pointing at captions.
It just sits there.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.

It. Was. Murder.

Say it slow and it stops being controversial.
Say it plain and it stops being abstract.
Say it at all and people get uncomfortable.

Good.

Because comfort is the luxury of people who did not watch.

History is still watching.
And the truth does not need permission to exist.

Filmation’s #TheHardyBoys perform “Those Country Girls” in the episode “What Happened at Midnight?” ABC, Saturday, November 1, 1969.

#ByronKane-#JoeHardy #FentonHardy #DallasMcKennon-#FrankHardy #ChubbyMorton #PeteJones

#JaneWebb-#WandaKayBreckenridge #GetrudeHardy

#FilmationHardyBoys

ICE does *not* get special shoot-on-sight powers. Nobody does.

Leaving the scene does not justify deadly force.
Only an imminent threat to life does – and that must be proven, not asserted.

Does ICE have any authority to shoot someone leaving the scene of an incident?

Answer:

❌ No – not merely for leaving
❌ No – not for refusing orders
❌ No – not for blocking traffic
❌ No – not because they are ICE
✔️ Only if the person posed an immediate, unavoidable threat of death or serious bodily harm at that exact moment.

Anything short of that is unconstitutional, regardless of the agency.

Was there an immediate, unavoidable threat at the moment shots were fired?

If the answer is no, then the shooting is unjustified, and any Federal authority does not save it.

School in Minneapolis has been cancelled for the rest of the week due to ICE inflicting terror on the area.

As masked men murdered Renee Nicole Good, a nearby elementary school had to go into lockdown.

ICE then went three blocks down the road to a Minneapolis high school where they chased and tackled at least one person, pepper sprayed students, and were defended on social media by the Trump regime.

The district cancelled school to preserve student safety.

Source: https://kstp.com/kstp-news/top-news/apparent-ice-presence-at-roosevelt-high-school-causes-chaotic-scene/

MIL just now, fresh from book club, carrying that satisfied glow that suggests something important has just happened.

“I read a book about two months ago, and it deeply affected me.”

This is how myths begin.

“Awesome,” I say. “What was it called?”

“I don’t remember.”

Naturally.
So I adjust course.

“What was it about?”

“I forget.”

Okay, fair enough. Books are slippery creatures. I try again.

“What about it affected you most? A character, a plot point?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, serenely. “But it was excellent.”

At this point the book has achieved a kind of Platonic perfection. It exists only as Impact.

“How did it affect you?” I ask, carefully.

“I don’t know,” she says, without irony. “But it was really life and outlook changing.”

I nod, because this is clearly not a problem that can be solved with follow up questions.

“I’m glad you got something out of it,” I say, and I mean it.

“I’d like to read it again,” she continues. “Can you help me find it?”

“Sure,” I say. “What criteria should I use to search for it?”

She looks at me kindly, the way one looks at a child asking about taxes.

“I don’t know. You’re the tech guy.”

So I do what tech guys do. I pull up her tablet and present evidence.

“Here are all the books you’ve read in the last three months. Do any of these ring a bell?”

She reads about four books a week, give or take. There are roughly thirty of them staring back at her.

She scans the list.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”

“Well,” I say, doing some quick math in my head, “now you have thirty books to reread and find out.”

Here is the thing. Her memory outside of books is a steel trap. Names, dates, conversations from decades ago, all locked in and retrievable on demand. But the moment she finishes a book, its contents are immediately flushed like a temporary file. Characters vanish. Plots dissolve. Titles evaporate.

All that remains is the emotional aftertaste and the firm conviction that it was excellent.

Some people collect books. Some people collect knowledge. She collects the feeling of having been changed, again and again, by stories she can no longer name.

Honestly, that might be the most literary approach of all.

Here’s a spoiler-heavy breakdown of The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi. Full spoilers below.

Today in Roanoke felt like a reset that hit again like it was on a timer.

Morning came in gray layers, the kind that stack quietly over the valley until you realize the light has already been there for a while. The mountains were partially erased, then redrawn as the clouds shifted, their outlines softened like someone had rubbed an eraser over the edges and decided to stop halfway. It was cold, but not sharply so. More a reminder of when we had snow.

The city has moved past the holidays now. You can feel it. Decorations linger in a few stubborn yards, lights still blinking out of habit, but most things have returned to their working posture. Traffic resumed its usual patterns. Coffee cups were carried with purpose. The pause has ended, gently but firmly.

Our one visitor left today. No ceremony, just a wave and “see you in summer” Just bags gathered, a few last words exchanged, the door closing with that particular final click that sounds louder than usual. The house noticed immediately. Rooms shifted back into themselves. The air felt rearranged, as if it was remembering how it normally circulates.

The rest of the family will probably be heading back soon too. You can sense that approaching adjustment already, the way conversations start to tilt toward logistics and timelines. The holidays loosen their grip one departure at a time. What remains is familiarity, settling back into place.

Outside, everything seemed to be recalibrating as well. Birds returned to routine business, no longer lingering like they had an excuse. Squirrels resumed their efficient negotiations with gravity and fences. The ground stayed damp and dark, holding onto the memory of recent weather without making a fuss about it.

The light never really committed today. It hovered. Even at midday, it felt like winter was keeping its voice low. By late afternoon, the valley took on that familiar steel-blue tone, the one that makes the distance between houses feel larger and the space between moments feel longer.

This is not a day that asks to be remembered. It does not offer a story or a lesson. It simply shows up, does what it is supposed to do, and hands the calendar back to you with a nod. January is good at this. It clears its throat and says, “All right. Let’s continue.”

Tonight, Roanoke settles into its regular breathing again. The house does too. The mountains stay where they have always been. Tomorrow will add its own small adjustments.

I note the day. That seems sufficient.

The government discontinued pennies. Therefore, your two cents are no longer needed.

Having a rough year already? Maybe some otters in ponchos might help.

I keep thinking about the Peaks of Otter,  the way you might think about a book you haven’t read yet but already feel fond of. It sits out there quietly, not asking anything from me, just existing as a future possibility. Sometime this year, I want to go – not urgently, not as a quest, just as a gentle agreement with myself. I’ve been here for years and still haven’t headed over to that neck of rhe woods yet.

It makes me laugh that the name promises otters, and everyone knows you probably won’t see one. That feels solid somehow. A place that doesn’t guarantee its mascot. You show up for the idea, the shape of it, the sound of water and wind, and the way the mountains lean toward each other like they’re in on a secret.

I imagine the drive first: the slow unspooling of roads, trees reflecting the seasons, the radio half-listened to. That soft mental shift where Roanoke loosens its grip and your thoughts stretch their legs. By the time the peaks come into view, you are already different, even if only by a degree or two.

If we go and there are no otters, that will be fine. We will have seen ridgelines and old stone and the lake holding the sky like a comfy hammock. We will have walked a little and stood still a lot. We will have proven that the point was never the animal, but the act of going, of saying yes to a day that asks nothing more than your presence.

And if by some cosmic joke an otter does appear, slick and brief and unimpressed with us, that will just be a bonus. A footnote. The real entry will already be written in advance, in the wanting to go, in the quiet promise that sometime this year we will.

https://www.virginia.org/listing/peaks-of-otter/7079/

#Roanokeva #peaksofotter #doodle #otter #ottersinponchos