Stop lying, @ChristineDrazan "Oregon Governor Tina Kotek did not personally create new tax breaks for data centers, but existing state enterprise zone programs have allowed these facilities to receive millions of dollars in property tax exemptions under long-standing laws."

What is the Hannibal Directive? How and why was it activated on Oct 7th, as the Israeli defense minister admitted? And how many Israelis were killed as a result of it on Oct 7th? My full deep-dive for Zeteo on the third anniversary of the Hamas attack: zeteo.com/p/what-is-the-hann…

At this point it’s not about party, it’s about saving America! I can’t tolerate the Susan Collins ADs as she says she had nothing to do with RVW ending! This Republican Party is 100,000% responsible for the current raping of the constitution!

🚨Sloppy Alert DHS issued roughly $84 BILLION in immigration fines. Now ad federal judge says the mass-enforcement process was likely unlawful. The question nobody can answer yet: HOW MUCH OF THAT $84 BILLION SURVIVES?

Al-Hammami did not learn to fly in Britain. He did a distance-learning course while living in the Middle East and working for Oman Air. itv.com/news/2026-10-03/co-p…

The Guardian has said it will be ending its use of casual staff (who are not formally employed with the paper) and creating roles for “rota shortfall” staff, resulting in a loss of work for up to 315 people

SCOOP: While Trump was doing midterm rallies last week, two of his top political advisers were in Republika Srpska helping its pro-Russian government. @JamesBlairUSA & @ChrisLaCivita were paid hundreds of thousands of dollars each for election advice. nytimes.com/2026/10/06/us/po…

Researchers move on to whatever funding announcement had the newest acronym attached. The news moved on because news is built to move. The market moved on because markets are built to move. Politicians moved on because elections move. Algorithms moved on because attention moves. Everybody moved on. Except— … their bodies. Their bodies didn’t get the memo. Their immune systems didn’t read the press release. Their heart rate didn’t check the trending tab. Their brain fog didn’t say, “Oh shit, guys, pandemic’s over. Wrap it up.” Their muscles didn’t see the headline. Their autonomic nervous system didn’t watch the State of the Union. Their post-exertional crash didn’t get bored with the story. Their disability didn’t say, “Fair enough. People seem tired of hearing about me.” You moved on— they woke up with it. You moved on— they went to another specialist. You moved on— another specialist shrugged. You moved on— another blood draw. Another intake. Another portal. Another password. Another survey asking them to rate on a scale from zero to ten something they no longer have language for. You moved on— they learned pacing. You moved on— they learned compression. You moved on— they learned acronyms they never wanted to know. POTS. PEM. MCAS. Dysautonomia. You moved on— they learned the geometry of energy: If I shower now can I make dinner later? If I make dinner can I answer email? If I answer email can I work tomorrow? If I work tomorrow what happens Thursday? If I go Thursday what do I lose Friday? Saturday? Sunday? You moved on? They’re planning a fucking shower like NASA plans reentry. So don’t tell ’em move along, whole world singing a different song, symptoms persist but the feed scrolls on, public memory six seconds long— click, flick, skip that clip, new crisis lands and the old one slips, new headline hits and the language shifts, while somebody’s calculating spoon-size risks— Can-I-stand-can-I-drive-can-I-think-can-I-read, can-I-work-can-I-walk-can-I-give-what-they-need, can-I-parent-can-I-pay-can-I-make-this-call, can-I-push-through-this-or-do-I-lose-it-all— hold up— Because that’s the part. The part we keep missing. “Moving on” sounds like movement. But what if you can’t? What if the metaphor itself is cruel? What if everybody’s yelling— come on, come on, come on— from fifty yards ahead to somebody whose body changed the definition of distance? ⸻ So maybe they know. Maybe they know better than anybody. The world moved on. The conversation moved on. The cameras moved on. The money moved on. The urgency moved on. The concern moved on. And that’s exactly why they keep talking. Not because they don’t know. Because they do. Not because they’re trapped in 2020. Because some of them are trapped in consequences that came home from 2020— or 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024, 2025, 2026— and unpacked a suitcase. I hear you. That’s what I wanted to say. When I’m buried in a manuscript— I hear you. When I’m crunching numbers— I hear you. When I’m making slides for students who will someday work in a world that still hasn’t learned what clean air should mean— I hear you. When I’m coding some page at one in the morning and somebody in a Space says, “Nobody understands what this is like…” I hear you. I just don’t always grab the mic. And maybe that’s useful. Because while everybody else is talking— I’m collecting the words. Afraid. Disconnected. Moving on. Three words. But underneath them? A whole world. And I don’t think we’re anywhere near finished talking about it. Because those were only the three words I heard yesterday.

Then another voice comes through. Different person. Different story. Same ache underneath it. They said they felt— outside. Not geographically. Existentially. Like everybody boarded something. Train left. Doors shut. And somehow they’re still standing on the platform. Watching. World going by. Birthdays. Weddings. Promotions. Vacations. Seasons. People posting: BEST YEAR EVER!!! while you’re trying to remember what your own baseline felt like. And that’s when I heard word number two. Disconnected. Yeah. Disconnected. And damn, that one stayed with me. Because how could you not be? Disconnected from friends who stopped asking. Disconnected from doctors who don’t know. Disconnected from science that moves in increments while your life is moving in years. Disconnected from politicians who discovered the miraculous medical intervention of changing the subject. Disconnected from institutions whose emergency ended considerably earlier than some people’s emergency did. Disconnected from a world that somehow got louder while your world got smaller. And meanwhile— the feed keeps feeding, the screen keeps screaming, the market keeps moving, the algorithm keeps choosing which catastrophe gets eighteen seconds before the finger starts swiping— war, heat, smoke, flood, bomb, border, ballot, missile, market, meme— next. Next. NEXT. There’s Trump in the feed, Insurrection Act in the chatter, martial law language ricocheting around while another election gets closer, cities under sirens, families under rubble, oceans breaking temperature records, surface heat climbing, smoke crossing borders that humans drew on maps but lungs don’t recognize— and then another rumor— Russia, plague, quarantine, worker dead— wait— what happened? who confirmed it? what’s the source? does the math even work? and suddenly your nervous system remembers what it was like when facts arrived late, language arrived softened, certainty arrived manufactured, and every institution somehow learned the same magic trick: make the danger disappear without making the danger disappear Change the dashboard, change the standard, change the language, change the banner, change the metric, change the message, change the manner that we measure what’s the matter— then announce it doesn’t matter. See the pattern? No? Scatter it. Call the sick dramatic. Call precautions problematic. Call the damage anecdotal. Call the outcome multifactorial. Call the signal complicated. Call the evidence “still debated.” Wait another year. Another paper. Another cohort. Another layer. Meanwhile somebody’s life is buffering— buffering— buffering… while everybody else’s loads. Disconnected. [at a whisper] That’s the word. ⸻ But the third one… the third one pissed me off. Not because of the person who said it. Because I knew exactly what they meant. Somebody said how triggering it is when people act like— don’t you know? Haven’t you noticed? Everybody else has… moved on. Moved on. Man. You think they don’t know? You think people with Long COVID somehow missed the announcement? You think they’re sitting at home going, “Gee, I wonder why nobody’s talking about COVID anymore.” Bro. They know. They know the world moved on. They watched it move. They watched the masks come off. They watched the signs come down. They watched the filters never go up. They watched the dashboards disappear. They watched the numbers get harder to find. They watched protections become preferences. Preferences become politics. Politics become personality. Personality become— “Why are you still talking about this?” Still? Still? You don’t think they know you moved on? They watched you move on. They watched workplaces move on. Schools move on. Hospitals move on. Airlines move on. Restaurants move on. Governments move on. Media move on. Friends move on. Family move on.

👇 "Fear is needing normal so badly that anybody who interrupts the illusion becomes the problem."

THREE WORDS A freestyle-shaped spoken verse built from the words of people living with Long COVID I listen. Probably more than you know. I’m in the Space but I’m not in the Space. You know? Little purple bubble glowing on my phone while I’m staring at another screen, cursor blinking, paper open, sentence half-built, three references missing, reviewer two asking a question reviewer one already asked six pages ago— and somebody in my ear says, “I just wish people understood.” And I stop typing. Just for a second. Then somebody else talks. And I start again. Data open. Numbers running. Regression, revision, resubmission. Lecture tomorrow. Slides unfinished. Website broken in Safari for some reason. Student email. IRB language. Another manuscript waiting for review. Coffee cold. Space still playing. And sometimes I want to grab the mic. Believe me. Sometimes you say something and I have a whole paragraph loaded— but I can’t. I’m working. So I listen. And maybe that’s why I hear certain things. Because when you aren’t waiting for your turn to speak… you hear the words people repeat. Not hashtags. Not talking points. Words. Yesterday I heard three. And I’ve been carrying them around. ⸻ First— somebody was talking about home. Not hospitals. Not governments. Not the CDC. Home. The place that’s supposed to be the smallest circle of safety. Kitchen light. Shoes by the door. Somebody you love walking past you toward whatever comes next. Dinner. Work. School. Concert. Airport. Restaurant. Life. And you’re standing there thinking: You watched what this did to me. You saw it. You saw the appointments. You saw the plans disappear. You watched me learn words I never wanted in my vocabulary. You watched me calculate energy like somebody counting the last dollars in an account that doesn’t refill on payday. You watched me become a person who has to negotiate with Tuesday. So how— how can you look at what happened to me and walk into the same fire like fire forgot how to burn? And then somebody said it. So casually. That their own family— the people living in the same house— weren’t even… afraid. … Afraid. And that’s a strange word now. Because they called us afraid. Remember that? Afraid to go out. Afraid to live. Afraid of people. Afraid of air. Afraid of getting sick. Afraid. Like caution was cowardice. Like observing what happened to your own body was some kind of character defect. Like the courageous response to learning a bridge can collapse is driving faster across it. No— you know what fear is? Fear is watching somebody drown and convincing yourself water has nothing to do with it. Fear is needing normal so badly that anybody who interrupts the illusion becomes the problem. Fear is seeing the smoke, smelling the smoke, watching somebody cough in the smoke— then getting mad at the person who says, “Hey. Maybe there’s a fire.” See, I think we’ve got the word backward. Because I hear people with Long COVID talk about fear all the time— but half the time they’re not talking about their fear. They’re talking about everybody else’s fear of knowing. Fear of changing. Fear of admitting. Fear of the sentence that starts: “If this is true…” because everybody knows what comes after those four words. If this is true— then maybe we should clean the air. If this is true— maybe infection isn’t trivial. If this is true— maybe disability wasn’t an acceptable externality. If this is true— maybe “back to normal” wasn’t a scientific conclusion. Maybe it was a business decision wearing a lab coat. … And I keep typing. Because I’m still at work. ⸻ 👇

So AI companies are building AI models that they do not understand and have no control over but they are making big money so its all grand

Trump last month spoke repeatedly about how he was going to all 35 of the most competitive races and how he wouldn't have time for less-competitive races. Since then, he's gone to Alabama and Oklahoma, and is now going to New York for a candidate trailing by double-digits.

Mom-and-pop investors are aggressively piling into long-duration Treasuries: Retail investors acquired over $200 million of the 20+ Year Treasury Bond ETF, $TLT, over the last several trading sessions, their largest purchase on record. Year-to-date, mom-and-pop investors have bought over $500 million of $TLT shares. On Wednesday alone, they purchased over $60 million, their largest daily purchase ever. The recent buying is also more than 5 standard deviations above its historical average. The surge comes after a severe selloff, with long-term Treasuries falling nearly -8% in Q3 and $TLT down -55% from its 2020 peak, its largest drawdown on record. Retail investors are betting that the surge in long-term government bond yields is overdone.

Global bond markets are on fire again today. The shock is radiating out from Europe to everyone globally. The epicenter of what's happening is France, but Italy, the UK and Spain are also under pressure. Safe havens like Switzerland are getting bought... robinjbrooks.substack.com/p/…

Not a great day for the US Treasury to auction $39 billion of 10-year bonds, and yet here we are. It has become the big risk event of the day.

We stand by the characterization of the political donor and his firm. As our article makes clear, the Department of Homeland Security bought five airplanes from Daedalus at a substantial markup, a deal approved during Ms. Noem's tenure. Daedalus’s chairman is William Walters, who gave $10,000 to the American Resolve political action committee, a group that existed to support Ms. Noem. Read the full story: nytimes.com/2026/10/04/us/po…

DHS agreed to pay $108 million for a luxury 737 that Daedalus bought for under $90 million months earlier, per the Times. Daedalus's chairman gave $10,000 to Noem's PAC. DHS has paid the firm $464 million for 10 planes, mostly idle. The contract should be public.

3/ Proven changes and harm to the frontal lobe. Changes and harm to the immune system. Changes and harm to children's development. We know, we absolutely know, what Covid can do and is still doing to people of all ages, the world over.

2/ You might think, after all these years/waves, that we'd have learned something. There are, after all, nearly half a million studies confirming the damage caused by SARS-COV-2. Thousands of these peer-reviewed papers set out the harm & changes in children caused by the virus.

Here in the UK, we're now in the eighth school year since the start of the pandemic. We are also in the midst of the thirteenth wave of Covid-19. Illness... Harm... Change... Disruption... It's never stopped. 🧵