I wonder if you or your readers have seen this heartbreaking letter written by Stephen Miller's cousin. Alisa Kasmer on Facebook A preface: I have debated about sharing this. A week ago, after the ICE raids in Camarillo, I had the worst panic attack I’ve experienced in over 30 years. (Shoutout to Zoloft for holding it together. F off, RFK, Jr.) Hours of sobbing, shaking, nausea, and complete loss of control into the early morning hours, led me to do the only thing that ever brings some clarity: write. The next day I started to write, while still reeling from the emotional hangover. A few days later, I was struck with another panic attack, this time as I was driving (thankfully close enough to home to make it back in one piece.) This sent me back into a spiral of heartbreak. I picked up where I had left off, and kept writing.
Many of you know who my cousin is. Being public about it is something I’ve struggled with. I live with real fear about what posting something this raw might bring. I am living with the deep pain of watching someone I once loved become the face of evil. But I know that staying silent only deepens the ache. There’s so much more I could say, and maybe someday I will. It’s a long read. I’m wordy AF.
-----
Last night, I found myself in a stage of grief I didn’t even realize I had been carrying. A grief that’s been living inside me for years—quiet, but constant. It comes from being so close to the root of something violent and vile in this country. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, hours of sobbing, gasping, shaking, sick to my stomach with a weight in my chest that was too heavy to fight. I was having a panic attack I couldn’t escape. Maybe it was ten years of anger and pain finally breaking through the surface. Maybe it was the most recent ICE raids turning my rage into sorrow. Whatever it was, something in me cracked wide open and has shaken me to my core.
I think many of us are grieving. Grieving a world that feels more cruel than kind. A future that feels further away each day. I grieve for the country we could be… one with unmatched wealth, intelligence, and potential. A nation with resources to ensure everyone lives with dignity, equity, health, and safety. A nation with enough technological and medical advancements to be something truly extraordinary. But instead, those resources and that wealth are being hoarded by a few, poisoned by ego and power, devoid of empathy, starving the rest. Our privilege has been wasted on cruelty and torture, targeting the very people who make our communities whole—the hardest workers, the most vulnerable, the ones who carry this country on their backs. A society is only as strong as its most vulnerable, and ours are at their weakest. This is not by accident, but by design. Your design, Stephen.
Then there’s the grief I carry inside my own family- the most personal and painful. I grieve a cousin I once loved. A boy I watched grow up, babysat, and shared a childhood with. The kid I made fun of for his obsession with Michael Jackson and Ghostbusters. The awkward, funny, needy middle child who loved to chase attention, yet was always the sweetest with the littlest family members. A kid that reminded me of Alex P. Keaton, young, conservative, maybe misguided, but lovable and harmless. Or so I thought. But I was so deeply wrong. And the realization that I didn’t know you at all? It guts me. I grieve what you’ve become, Stephen. And I grieve what I’ve lost because of it. I grieve your children I will never meet. I grieve the future family you’ve stolen from me by choosing a path so filled with cruelty that I cannot, and will not, be a part of it. I will never knowingly let evil into my life, no matter whose blood it carries—including my own.
I grieve for the power you’ve been given and for those around you who have enabled it. I grieve for the family I once loved, who lifted me up, who helped me through life, who made me feel safe, who now leave me feeling unsettled and even afraid. I grieve the realization that maybe I never really knew these people at all. My heart breaks every day, over and over.
But most of all, I grieve for those directly harmed by your actions For the communities here in Los Angeles, our shared home, for all of California, and the rest of the country terrorized by the cruelty you have brought upon us all. I grieve for the families shattered by cruelty dressed up as “immigration policy.” Targeting hardworking, vibrant community members who are being terrorized for simply being brown. This was never about criminals. Or “illegal” entry. And now, with the passing of this bloated, grotesque bill—stuffed with more funding for ICE than most countries spend on their entire military, I’m left speechless. Where does this hateful obsession end? What are you trying to build besides fear? Immigrants were a part of your upbringing. Is this cruelty your way of rejecting a part of yourself?
People always ask me, “What happened to you?” I don’t have a clear answer. I can only surmise it was a perfect storm of ego, fear, hate, and ambition—all of it mangled into something cruel and hollow, masquerading as strength. You were born into privilege, into safety, and wealth. And somehow, you’ve weaponized all of it. I didn’t see the descent until it was too late. And now I’m left with guilt and shame. Could I have done something? My sister recently asked me, “If social media had existed back then—if we had seen the horrific videos of you in high school, would we have spoken up? Would we have intervened?” Yes, we absolutely would have. I grieve that we never got that chance.
And here’s where it hurts even more: we were raised Jewish.
Stephen, you and I both know what that means. We were raised with stories of survival. We learned about pogroms, ghettos, the Holocaust—not just as history, but as part of our identity. We carry the trauma of generations who were hunted, hated, expelled, murdered, just for existing. We were taught to remember. We celebrated holidays each year with the reminder to stand up and say “never again.” But what you are doing breaks that sacred promise. It breaks everything we were taught. How can you do to others what has been done to us? How can you wake up each day and repeat the cruelty that our people barely escaped from? We were taught to never forget where we came from. But you seem to have erased it all. And it devastates me. To be this close to the cruelty, through you, has left me ashamed and shattered.
I try to fight your harm in every way I can. But it will never be enough. I can’t undo what you’ve done or who you have become. I can’t outmatch your reach or power. I feel helpless. The panic attacks haven’t stopped since the grief cracked open. The tears won’t stop, and the weight on my chest is constant. This isn’t about politics. This is about humanity. About decency. And you have lost yours.
You’ve destroyed so many lives just to feed your own obsession and ego and uphold an administration so corrupt, so vile, I can barely comprehend it. As surreal as it all feels, this IS reality. As much as I try to disassociate from it, the truth remains—being this close to such deep cruelty fills me with shame. I am gutted. My heart breaks that this is the legacy you have brought to our family. A legacy I never asked to share with you, and one I now carry like a curse.
Alisa via Nancy: the shame of his actions is his alone, not your's, not your family's. Obviously, something snapped inside of him. Who's to know? And believe me, no one blames your family. We have read that at least half of your family are horrified by your cousin, and have disowned him. If I am incorrect, I apologize, but again, this is on him, not you and yours. He may have been the sweet child you grew up with, but now he's a man making his own decisions, no matter how distorted and damaging they are. He will have to answer to his higher power, to the people that he has deemed to be destroyed, not you. For your mental health, try to separate yourself from who he was as a kid. That would no longer appear to exist. He made his own decisions, and as an adult, he will have to live with them, and with the consequences that come with those decisions. Give yourself a break.
Thank you, Nancy. Despite my being on FB too much, I had not seen this. But I will look for it, to offer hugs. I think Alisa needs a lot of caring hugs. Am relieved she has med to help hold it together. Rather unlikely that an intervention would have changed much, as other relatives were likely enablers; some others must have been in denial. No concerted effort could just have led to early frustration, anger, alienation in her, rather than any improvement in him.
There is a special place in hell reserved for nazi-fascist sadists like her cousin, felon45.34.47 and ALL their co-Gestapo thugs. G!d willing, there will be some consequences up here first.
I love Clarissa too, but the book almost gave me a nervous breakdown when I read it for my 18th century British literature class in college. The professor would quiz us on all the books and if we failed two quizzes, we failed the class. Will my heavy load of classes, it was extremely challenging to read even a shortened version of Clarissa. But then I ended up writing a paper on it. We had to write something other than the 5 paragraph essay style paper, so I wrote imaginary letters to Clarissa and she'd write me letters answering my questions.
Thank you for this Mary. Pleasure to learn more about you, your cats, guitar playing and Star Trek fanness. Thank you for your wisdom, courage and perspective.
I want to say that I think the way to unite our country again is to regulate social media just like TV is regulated. It really encourages the worst in us.
Do you ever wonder about the time when you were on good terms with your other family; your uncle Donald, your cousins or desire to be in close friendliness with them again? Do you regret the moments when your own family separated from the rest of your relatives? Do you ever hope that if only all of you got along well with one another? Are the inquiries too personal? Likely not within reasons, right?
You mention Star Trek the next generation. I am a fan of that show and the movies. However you fail to mention the arch enemy of Captain Picard and the Federation though Picard takes more of their wrath then others. It is not Q, he is kind of a joker and there is actually an episode when Q gets in trouble with the Q masters and he can choose his defender out of anyone in the Universe and he chooses of all people CAPTAIN PICARD,, who agrees to defend him and actually gets him off the hook with the Q. No the enemy of PICARD IS THE BORG!!! RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, YOU WILL BE ASSIMULATED!!!!! Q was never a danger but the BORG IS THE ULTIMATE DANGER!!! Of course you can say well Trump is not the Borg, and yes he is not, yet like the Borg the people who support him want us all to be assimulated and Trump and his buddies want us to believe that "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE" HOW COULD you miss talking about that with your guest?????
It’s not your fault. I sympathize with you, I often wonder how he got here(being Jewish) because I have read about the holocaust for years. Leon Uris and Elie Weisel… my Daughter married a Jewish man. So please don’t blame yourself, Mary Trump knows how you feel.💙
Mary, does Donald REALLY think people actually believe all the lies he tells? More importantly, does HE actually believe what he says, or does he know he's lying? Serious question.
Hi Mary. Since I can ask anything within reason, I'm dying to ask this: When you were a kid living in Sunnyside, did you go to Dr. JL Stein for glasses? on 43rd Street. The bad side of boulevard the block where the White Castle is? I'm not sure if I'm having a false memory or a real one but I think when I was a kid filing my father's patient cards, I saw "Trumps" and asked him if it was those "Trumps."
Ah, yes… guitars. I’ve seen a few in my time, though they were still strangers to most ears. Folks favored fiddles, the harmonica, banjos - and the lute, well, that was my companion.
I found one laying abandoned along the wagon trail after we moved from Kentucky to Little Pigeon Creek, Indiana. This was just before my mother - Nancy Hanks Lincoln - passed from milk sickness, a disease caused by drinking milk from cows that had eaten snakeroot.
I was in my teens. My sister Sarah and I were left alone in our family's log cabin for weeks, while our father traveled back to ask a childhood friend for her hand in marriage. He knew she was now a widow, with three children of her own.
The neighbors cared for us in the meantime. I did what I could - splitting rails, making repairs, and keeping the household in fair order.
Families moving west from Kentucky, Virginia, and the Carolinas all passed through Indiana on their way to Illinois or Missouri. There was much discarded refuse along those muddy paths.
Many frontiersmen made instruments from old stumps along the way. A fretless lute was the easiest to carve and string. Some chose to affix a staff to an old cigar box instead, and rig it like a bow.
This one was a five-string hybrid. Broken and unplayable, I picked it up and took it home to refurbish.
I found some wound wire and braided horsehair. Some roofing pitch, pine resin, and hide glue - homemade from animal collagen - all gave it a second life.
I was actually quite good at it. I plucked two notes at a time - one for the bass, the other for the melody. The action was high, but it suited the size and strength of my hands, sharpening their precision.
I tuned the strings to fit my voice. I don’t know if the tuning was right, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t playing chords.
I worked out some simple songs, which I committed to memory and sang aloud:
My father returned with another Sarah - Sarah Bush Johnston - whom I cherish very dearly as my stepmother.
There were now eight of us crammed into a tiny cabin. I did not play my lute much anymore, so as not to annoy the others. And so, it fell to the wayside.
But I continued to appreciate the complexities and intertwine of melodies in music. They take a lifetime to master. And I will gladly be a patron to those who dedicate their lives to it. Bravo!
My stepmother also has my deepest gratitude for encouraging my love of reading, and my respect for having been such a stabilizing force in my life, and the Lincoln household.
What she taught me prepared me for what was yet to come.
She told me although fear reflected real possibilities, it does not do so in absolutes.
She knew suppressing fear only increased its dominance. Acknowledging it softens its grip.
Most importantly, her acceptance of things was not surrender - it was how she gained clarity. With acceptance, she saw the terrain without any panic.
And by stocking the shelves early, it meant the more good choices there were for things later. You don’t erase an upcoming hard time - you outsmart it OVER time.
Because, as my friend says, destiny is not a sentence.
I wonder if you or your readers have seen this heartbreaking letter written by Stephen Miller's cousin. Alisa Kasmer on Facebook A preface: I have debated about sharing this. A week ago, after the ICE raids in Camarillo, I had the worst panic attack I’ve experienced in over 30 years. (Shoutout to Zoloft for holding it together. F off, RFK, Jr.) Hours of sobbing, shaking, nausea, and complete loss of control into the early morning hours, led me to do the only thing that ever brings some clarity: write. The next day I started to write, while still reeling from the emotional hangover. A few days later, I was struck with another panic attack, this time as I was driving (thankfully close enough to home to make it back in one piece.) This sent me back into a spiral of heartbreak. I picked up where I had left off, and kept writing.
Many of you know who my cousin is. Being public about it is something I’ve struggled with. I live with real fear about what posting something this raw might bring. I am living with the deep pain of watching someone I once loved become the face of evil. But I know that staying silent only deepens the ache. There’s so much more I could say, and maybe someday I will. It’s a long read. I’m wordy AF.
-----
Last night, I found myself in a stage of grief I didn’t even realize I had been carrying. A grief that’s been living inside me for years—quiet, but constant. It comes from being so close to the root of something violent and vile in this country. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, hours of sobbing, gasping, shaking, sick to my stomach with a weight in my chest that was too heavy to fight. I was having a panic attack I couldn’t escape. Maybe it was ten years of anger and pain finally breaking through the surface. Maybe it was the most recent ICE raids turning my rage into sorrow. Whatever it was, something in me cracked wide open and has shaken me to my core.
I think many of us are grieving. Grieving a world that feels more cruel than kind. A future that feels further away each day. I grieve for the country we could be… one with unmatched wealth, intelligence, and potential. A nation with resources to ensure everyone lives with dignity, equity, health, and safety. A nation with enough technological and medical advancements to be something truly extraordinary. But instead, those resources and that wealth are being hoarded by a few, poisoned by ego and power, devoid of empathy, starving the rest. Our privilege has been wasted on cruelty and torture, targeting the very people who make our communities whole—the hardest workers, the most vulnerable, the ones who carry this country on their backs. A society is only as strong as its most vulnerable, and ours are at their weakest. This is not by accident, but by design. Your design, Stephen.
Then there’s the grief I carry inside my own family- the most personal and painful. I grieve a cousin I once loved. A boy I watched grow up, babysat, and shared a childhood with. The kid I made fun of for his obsession with Michael Jackson and Ghostbusters. The awkward, funny, needy middle child who loved to chase attention, yet was always the sweetest with the littlest family members. A kid that reminded me of Alex P. Keaton, young, conservative, maybe misguided, but lovable and harmless. Or so I thought. But I was so deeply wrong. And the realization that I didn’t know you at all? It guts me. I grieve what you’ve become, Stephen. And I grieve what I’ve lost because of it. I grieve your children I will never meet. I grieve the future family you’ve stolen from me by choosing a path so filled with cruelty that I cannot, and will not, be a part of it. I will never knowingly let evil into my life, no matter whose blood it carries—including my own.
I grieve for the power you’ve been given and for those around you who have enabled it. I grieve for the family I once loved, who lifted me up, who helped me through life, who made me feel safe, who now leave me feeling unsettled and even afraid. I grieve the realization that maybe I never really knew these people at all. My heart breaks every day, over and over.
But most of all, I grieve for those directly harmed by your actions For the communities here in Los Angeles, our shared home, for all of California, and the rest of the country terrorized by the cruelty you have brought upon us all. I grieve for the families shattered by cruelty dressed up as “immigration policy.” Targeting hardworking, vibrant community members who are being terrorized for simply being brown. This was never about criminals. Or “illegal” entry. And now, with the passing of this bloated, grotesque bill—stuffed with more funding for ICE than most countries spend on their entire military, I’m left speechless. Where does this hateful obsession end? What are you trying to build besides fear? Immigrants were a part of your upbringing. Is this cruelty your way of rejecting a part of yourself?
People always ask me, “What happened to you?” I don’t have a clear answer. I can only surmise it was a perfect storm of ego, fear, hate, and ambition—all of it mangled into something cruel and hollow, masquerading as strength. You were born into privilege, into safety, and wealth. And somehow, you’ve weaponized all of it. I didn’t see the descent until it was too late. And now I’m left with guilt and shame. Could I have done something? My sister recently asked me, “If social media had existed back then—if we had seen the horrific videos of you in high school, would we have spoken up? Would we have intervened?” Yes, we absolutely would have. I grieve that we never got that chance.
And here’s where it hurts even more: we were raised Jewish.
Stephen, you and I both know what that means. We were raised with stories of survival. We learned about pogroms, ghettos, the Holocaust—not just as history, but as part of our identity. We carry the trauma of generations who were hunted, hated, expelled, murdered, just for existing. We were taught to remember. We celebrated holidays each year with the reminder to stand up and say “never again.” But what you are doing breaks that sacred promise. It breaks everything we were taught. How can you do to others what has been done to us? How can you wake up each day and repeat the cruelty that our people barely escaped from? We were taught to never forget where we came from. But you seem to have erased it all. And it devastates me. To be this close to the cruelty, through you, has left me ashamed and shattered.
I try to fight your harm in every way I can. But it will never be enough. I can’t undo what you’ve done or who you have become. I can’t outmatch your reach or power. I feel helpless. The panic attacks haven’t stopped since the grief cracked open. The tears won’t stop, and the weight on my chest is constant. This isn’t about politics. This is about humanity. About decency. And you have lost yours.
You’ve destroyed so many lives just to feed your own obsession and ego and uphold an administration so corrupt, so vile, I can barely comprehend it. As surreal as it all feels, this IS reality. As much as I try to disassociate from it, the truth remains—being this close to such deep cruelty fills me with shame. I am gutted. My heart breaks that this is the legacy you have brought to our family. A legacy I never asked to share with you, and one I now carry like a curse.
Alisa via Nancy: the shame of his actions is his alone, not your's, not your family's. Obviously, something snapped inside of him. Who's to know? And believe me, no one blames your family. We have read that at least half of your family are horrified by your cousin, and have disowned him. If I am incorrect, I apologize, but again, this is on him, not you and yours. He may have been the sweet child you grew up with, but now he's a man making his own decisions, no matter how distorted and damaging they are. He will have to answer to his higher power, to the people that he has deemed to be destroyed, not you. For your mental health, try to separate yourself from who he was as a kid. That would no longer appear to exist. He made his own decisions, and as an adult, he will have to live with them, and with the consequences that come with those decisions. Give yourself a break.
Thank you, Nancy. Despite my being on FB too much, I had not seen this. But I will look for it, to offer hugs. I think Alisa needs a lot of caring hugs. Am relieved she has med to help hold it together. Rather unlikely that an intervention would have changed much, as other relatives were likely enablers; some others must have been in denial. No concerted effort could just have led to early frustration, anger, alienation in her, rather than any improvement in him.
There is a special place in hell reserved for nazi-fascist sadists like her cousin, felon45.34.47 and ALL their co-Gestapo thugs. G!d willing, there will be some consequences up here first.
I love Clarissa too, but the book almost gave me a nervous breakdown when I read it for my 18th century British literature class in college. The professor would quiz us on all the books and if we failed two quizzes, we failed the class. Will my heavy load of classes, it was extremely challenging to read even a shortened version of Clarissa. But then I ended up writing a paper on it. We had to write something other than the 5 paragraph essay style paper, so I wrote imaginary letters to Clarissa and she'd write me letters answering my questions.
I would love to know your thoughts on what will happen when Donald dies while in office.
Thank you for this Mary. Pleasure to learn more about you, your cats, guitar playing and Star Trek fanness. Thank you for your wisdom, courage and perspective.
Homeland Security is making our nation insecure.
Anything within reason? That's no fun.
I want to say that I think the way to unite our country again is to regulate social media just like TV is regulated. It really encourages the worst in us.
Do you ever wonder about the time when you were on good terms with your other family; your uncle Donald, your cousins or desire to be in close friendliness with them again? Do you regret the moments when your own family separated from the rest of your relatives? Do you ever hope that if only all of you got along well with one another? Are the inquiries too personal? Likely not within reasons, right?
You mention Star Trek the next generation. I am a fan of that show and the movies. However you fail to mention the arch enemy of Captain Picard and the Federation though Picard takes more of their wrath then others. It is not Q, he is kind of a joker and there is actually an episode when Q gets in trouble with the Q masters and he can choose his defender out of anyone in the Universe and he chooses of all people CAPTAIN PICARD,, who agrees to defend him and actually gets him off the hook with the Q. No the enemy of PICARD IS THE BORG!!! RESISTANCE IS FUTILE, YOU WILL BE ASSIMULATED!!!!! Q was never a danger but the BORG IS THE ULTIMATE DANGER!!! Of course you can say well Trump is not the Borg, and yes he is not, yet like the Borg the people who support him want us all to be assimulated and Trump and his buddies want us to believe that "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE" HOW COULD you miss talking about that with your guest?????
Is Donald Pedophile Jessica Epstein Files a ghost 👻 yet
It’s not your fault. I sympathize with you, I often wonder how he got here(being Jewish) because I have read about the holocaust for years. Leon Uris and Elie Weisel… my Daughter married a Jewish man. So please don’t blame yourself, Mary Trump knows how you feel.💙
Mary, does Donald REALLY think people actually believe all the lies he tells? More importantly, does HE actually believe what he says, or does he know he's lying? Serious question.
Hi Mary. Since I can ask anything within reason, I'm dying to ask this: When you were a kid living in Sunnyside, did you go to Dr. JL Stein for glasses? on 43rd Street. The bad side of boulevard the block where the White Castle is? I'm not sure if I'm having a false memory or a real one but I think when I was a kid filing my father's patient cards, I saw "Trumps" and asked him if it was those "Trumps."
Conversations with Lincoln:
Ah, yes… guitars. I’ve seen a few in my time, though they were still strangers to most ears. Folks favored fiddles, the harmonica, banjos - and the lute, well, that was my companion.
I found one laying abandoned along the wagon trail after we moved from Kentucky to Little Pigeon Creek, Indiana. This was just before my mother - Nancy Hanks Lincoln - passed from milk sickness, a disease caused by drinking milk from cows that had eaten snakeroot.
I was in my teens. My sister Sarah and I were left alone in our family's log cabin for weeks, while our father traveled back to ask a childhood friend for her hand in marriage. He knew she was now a widow, with three children of her own.
The neighbors cared for us in the meantime. I did what I could - splitting rails, making repairs, and keeping the household in fair order.
Families moving west from Kentucky, Virginia, and the Carolinas all passed through Indiana on their way to Illinois or Missouri. There was much discarded refuse along those muddy paths.
Many frontiersmen made instruments from old stumps along the way. A fretless lute was the easiest to carve and string. Some chose to affix a staff to an old cigar box instead, and rig it like a bow.
This one was a five-string hybrid. Broken and unplayable, I picked it up and took it home to refurbish.
I found some wound wire and braided horsehair. Some roofing pitch, pine resin, and hide glue - homemade from animal collagen - all gave it a second life.
I was actually quite good at it. I plucked two notes at a time - one for the bass, the other for the melody. The action was high, but it suited the size and strength of my hands, sharpening their precision.
I tuned the strings to fit my voice. I don’t know if the tuning was right, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t playing chords.
I worked out some simple songs, which I committed to memory and sang aloud:
Home! Sweet Home
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Bmw11dNxI-k
Barbara Allen
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kHRoDCd6nS0
Old Dan Tucker
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QI5qZylXUEQ
Rosin the Bow
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=KwHZkwA1kIM
Gentle Annie
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=NrQekGWmHTQ
Go Down, Moses
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kVtcZuB1Ufc
My father returned with another Sarah - Sarah Bush Johnston - whom I cherish very dearly as my stepmother.
There were now eight of us crammed into a tiny cabin. I did not play my lute much anymore, so as not to annoy the others. And so, it fell to the wayside.
But I continued to appreciate the complexities and intertwine of melodies in music. They take a lifetime to master. And I will gladly be a patron to those who dedicate their lives to it. Bravo!
My stepmother also has my deepest gratitude for encouraging my love of reading, and my respect for having been such a stabilizing force in my life, and the Lincoln household.
What she taught me prepared me for what was yet to come.
She told me although fear reflected real possibilities, it does not do so in absolutes.
She knew suppressing fear only increased its dominance. Acknowledging it softens its grip.
Most importantly, her acceptance of things was not surrender - it was how she gained clarity. With acceptance, she saw the terrain without any panic.
And by stocking the shelves early, it meant the more good choices there were for things later. You don’t erase an upcoming hard time - you outsmart it OVER time.
Because, as my friend says, destiny is not a sentence.
The video to this is private :(
What do you think about the limp protest from the UK leadership in response to Elon’s tacit message encouraging the protest in London?
This is great. So awesome that you offer this. Thank you for doing this.