#journalism and writing

[loboboss57]

Political Apathy Will Cost Us

State of Affairs

By: Diego Lopez

Apathy. What a word. Merriam-Webster defines it as a lack of feeling, emotion, interest, or concern. It’s a word we use often to describe political disengagement, but today it feels appropriate to describe what’s happening right here in Cibola County.

On December 3, in a meeting that lasted just 15 minutes, the Cibola County Board of Commissioners made a decision that flies in the face of one of the most fundamental principles of American government: Representation.

The commission voted unanimously to nominate State Representative Harry Garcia to fill the House District 6 seat vacated by Eliseo Lee Alcon for health reasons.

At first glance, Garcia seems like an excellent choice. He’s experienced, respected, well-liked, and he truly cares for Cibola County. But there’s a glaring problem: Harry Garcia doesn’t live in District 6.

This isn’t just a geographical technicality; it’s a constitutional requirement. Article 4, Section 3 of the New Mexico State Constitution clearly states:

“If any senator or representative permanently removes his residence from or maintains no residence in the district from which he was elected, then he shall be deemed to have resigned.”

House District 6 covers the western half of Cibola County, including Thoreau, Bluewater, Pinehill, Ramah-Navajo, and the Village of Milan. Harry Garcia resides in District 69, which covers an entirely different area. The commission’s decision to nominate someone who is ineligible to serve under the constitution is baffling and deeply troubling.

Let me be clear: this isn’t just about geography. This is about Representation.

The people of District 6 deserve to have their voices heard in Santa Fe. They pay taxes. They contribute to the community. But this decision effectively strips them of their Representation in Santa Fe, violating the very principle of “no taxation without representation” that this nation was founded upon.

Was this decision intentional? I’d like to believe it wasn’t. Maybe it was a rushed move made with the excitement of giving Garcia another shot at legislative service. But intentional or not, it was wrong. And if it stands, the consequences will be severe.

By nominating an ineligible candidate, the Cibola County Commission has handed McKinley County the opportunity to select a nominee who does meet the constitutional requirements. If McKinley’s choice is someone who resides in District 6, that person will automatically become the only qualified candidate for the governor’s consideration. In one fell swoop, Cibola could lose a legislative seat it has held for nearly two decades.

This is more than a political blunder. It’s a civic failure—a failure to understand and uphold the basic principles of our government. It’s a reminder that we need to do better, not just elected officials but as a community. Civics education isn’t just for kids in classrooms. It’s for everyone, especially those entrusted with making decisions that affect us all.

Cibola County has made incredible progress in recent years. But this decision threatens to undermine that progress and silence the voices of the people in District 6. I hope there’s still a chance to reverse it, to correct this mistake before it costs us something we can’t afford to lose.

Politics aren’t easy, and they certainly aren’t pretty. But they matter. Representation matters. And in this case, the stakes couldn’t be higher.

[catssavril]

[mournfulroses]

Anne Truitt, from a diary entry featured in Daybook: The Journal of an Artist

[k9effect]

Reblog for a larger sample size!

No "show results", if you're not a fanfic writer just be patient.

I saw a post about an anon saying it was embarrasing to have an ao3 account in your 30s (it's absolutely not), so I want to do a poll and see what the age range actually is.

[malusokay]

Journaling prompts to reinvent yourself ౨ৎ

how do I want the world to see me, and does it match how I see myself?

how do I show up for others, and how do they show up for me?

what about my life feels like love and what doesn't?

where does my time go, and where do I wish it would go?

who do I admire most, and what about them speaks to my soul?

is the way I live aligned with the life I dream of, or a I just coasting?

what qualities in others feel the most magnetic to me? Do I reflect those?

what’s inside my bag, and what does it say about me? (be honest, even the gum wrappers count.)

if I could script my perfect morning, how would it begin?

what passions have I ignored that I would like to reclaim?

what’s one small, powerful shift I could make today to move toward my dream life?

write a tender letter to the future version of yourself. What do you hope they’ve become, and what do you want them to remember about now?

As always, please feel free to share your own prompts and check out my insta for more of me! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[aquatixwitch]

By the way. If yall want to do a small and energy-saving act of resistance...start keeping a journal. No I mean seriously. Document everything about your daily life. Not so much the headlines, but I mean how things are for YOU, personally, every day. Your joys, pains, struggles, lights in the dark. Document it, because there are gonna be a lot of lies and gaslighting down the road in the future, and yes, historians read these and they're important to keep an account of everything happening.

Don't let them erase you from history. Don't let them make up lies to feed the future. We don't inherit the world from our parents, we borrow it from our children. Make sure they have a means to know the truth.

[midnightserene]

[sosuperawesome]

Writer's Medic Bag // Galen Leather Co

[yeoldenews]

A selection of strange and cryptic personal ads from The New York Herald, 1860s to 1890s. 14/?

[loboboss57]

Wow. This stirred some anger.

In response to that anger, I contacted the US Attorney’s Office and they verified that this information is accurate.

I will run a correction because Valtierra and Porras were searched, not arrested, and I apologize for that.

Im not trying to make anyone look bad. This story is what it is, I’d don’t create nor participate in the action that made this a reality. I’m simply doing my job reporting on it.

[witherby]

imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

[somerabbitholes]

i sold my couch and replaced it with a mattress. it feels like i just moved in, but also i love sitting on the floor and spreading out my stuff around me

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from a journal entry featured in "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath,"

[satoruan]

God, was your boyfriend unsuspecting. He was so sweet to you in public. Holding every door open, never disrespecting or disagreeing in front of others, bringing you flowers every-time he picked you up from work. He always used his manners and treated you with respect. The public thought you were the perfect couple, your friends thought it was too good to be true. No man could ever be this sweet. They even joked how he must be taking his anger and frustration out in another ways…you laughed it off, but little did they know of the hickeys and hands marks underneath the expensive clothes he bought you. They didn’t know that he would spend hours fucking and punishing you when you got home. They didn’t know he liked coming home to you sitting next to the door in nothing but a thong, mouth open, waiting to please him. They didn’t know how disrespecting and dominating he got in bed. The degrading and filthy words he spat at you as he made you beg and cry for him. You may have been his princess is public, but he never let you forgot you were his whore in private.

[malusokay]

What's the point of a diary if you're not lying in it?

On Anaïs Nin, literary self-mythologizing, and why personal writing should always be slightly dishonest. (from my substack)

If you’re not lying in your diary, you’re just journaling, and journaling is for people who don’t know how to edit.

A diary is not a record of events; it is an act of creation. The best diarists know this instinctively. Anaïs Nin knew it better than anyone. Her diaries were not mere confessions but performances, half-lit mirrors where the truth shimmered, distorted but no less real.

Nin understood that life is not lived in a single register. Her diaries are a study in contradiction—one moment, she is in love; the next, repulsed. She is independent yet wholly consumed by those around her. But contradiction isn’t falsehood; it’s literature. She rewrote and edited her diaries, sculpting herself into the character she wanted to be. And is that really so dishonest?

People love to be outraged by the idea of a diary that is not entirely factual. But fact is not the same as truth. Diaries, at their best, are emotional truths, shaped by mood, by desire, by the need to impose a narrative on the chaos of daily life. Nin was not interested in being objective—she was interested in being immortal. She once wrote, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” But why stop at tasting? Why not rewrite, reshape, embellish? If we can curate the lives we present to others, why should we not do the same for the versions of ourselves we leave behind?

Nin herself was a master of this. She edited her diaries before publication, removing, refining, turning herself into a protagonist. She blurred lines, shifted timelines, made herself more alluring. She called it shaping reality. Others call it lying. The truth, of course, is that all personal writing is selective. Even in confession, there is curation.

The danger, of course, is that history will take the performance at face value. That the diary, once private, will harden into biography. But this, too, is a kind of truth. A diary is not a static object. It lives, it breathes, it deceives, but always in service of something larger than the mundane details of existence.