The Bomb Builders Daughter

I will happily give you a piece of my mind. For your own safety, please wear your helmet. It's a bumpy ride. Join us for Counterpoint Tuesdays at 7:30 PM PST.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Whispers of a Rocket Scientist - Secrets Exposed https://t.co/VoCPgoGV2E

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Come check it out!
https://t.co/xTqWxuhT5O

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@PinoAmericano

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@Mr_Husky1 My grandmother (arthritic and feeble) and her sisters Lilly (Blind) and Nora (Deaf) lived together for years, they were so frail, but somehow they figured out how to take care of each other well into old age.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Hello, you are late for our talk. https://t.co/XssuNUTGcZ

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

We ride...

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

We need to talk. Come on in.

[Jason American Patriot™ @TruthJasonLee]

https://t.co/w5Ld30iuOK

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Hear Ye! Hear Ya! Tonight we Ride!

[Selene Mariposa @Selene_Mariposa]

I was thinking about all this yesterday, on the Fourth, after watching 1776, then watching the sky go gold. And I realized the day we celebrate is not quite the day it happened. So I put it to paper.

The fourth of July gets the fireworks.

It was the fifth that changed the world.

For three days they had argued in a shut room in Philadelphia, windows closed against the summer heat and the spies, coats heavy, tempers thin. They cut a quarter of Jefferson’s words to hold the fragile thing together, then stood behind what was left.

By the evening of the fourth, it was still only a decision. A vote. A single bold signature waiting on an empty page for the courage of others to join it.

Then came the night.

A block away, a printer named John Dunlap took the manuscript in his ink-stained hands and went to work. All through the dark he labored at his press, the candles guttering low, pulling sheet after wet sheet into the world one pull at a time.

Two hundred copies of a death sentence.

Theirs, or the King’s. That summer, no living soul yet knew whose.

And on the morning of the fifth, the doors swung open, and the words walked out into daylight.

They rode.

Onto the post roads, folded into saddlebags, north toward Boston and south toward Charleston and west toward the edge of everything the map knew. Men swung into their saddles with paper that could get them hanged, touched their heels to their horses, and rode into a country that did not exist yet to tell people they were already free.

Think of what those riders carried.

Not news. A new idea of what a human being is. That authority flows up from the governed and not down from a throne. That a farmer is the equal of a king.

Picture the road at night.

A single rider. A single sheet of paper in his bag. A horse beneath him, an empire against him, and miles of black country ahead.

He could hang for what he carried.

He carried it anyway.

In the days that came, the words were read aloud in the public squares of Philadelphia and Trenton and Easton, to crowds who had never once been told they mattered, and now stood in the sun hearing that they did.

Then the soldiers heard it, ragged and outnumbered around New York, listening to the thing they were about to die for. And when the last line landed, they marched to the green, threw their ropes around the gilded statue of the King, and pulled him into the dirt. They melted the tyrant into musket balls and fired him back at his own army.

That is what an idea does once it is loose.

It cannot be recalled. It cannot be jailed. It rides faster than any order to stop it, and lives in more heads than any gallows can reach.

The signatures came later. August, most of them, on good parchment. History loves the signatures. It frames them and files past them in a marble hall.

But the miracle was already gone from the room by the morning of the fifth. Out the door. Onto the road. Out to sea.

Over three thousand miles of gray Atlantic, week after week, carrying the most dangerous paper in the world toward the one man it was written against.

Until at last, on the tenth of August, 1776, it reached London. It reached the ear of King George III. The most powerful monarch on earth finally read, in plain and unhurried type, the long ledger of his own crimes, and the calm announcement that a few thousand farmers and lawyers an ocean away no longer belonged to him.

Five weeks. Three thousand five hundred miles. One idea he could not unhear.

By the time it reached his hands, it had been too late for weeks.

Too late since the harbor. Too late since the post roads. Too late since a tired printer, a fresh horse, and a young and impossible nation decided, on the fifth of July, that it would rather ride into the dark than kneel in the light.

You cannot hang an idea.

You cannot outrun one either.
🦋🇺🇸

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@TaraBull I am door dashing patriot style and then I am going to my real job, managing an Ice Cream shop..nothin' more American than that!

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@AwakenedOutlaw Happy Birthday AO

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Seems legit.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@SecDuffy @FAANews My dad passed away more then 30 years ago. But, he was one of the pioneers of supersonic flight. This is from his years at the Wright-Patt propulsion lab 👇 He would be thrilled.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@ThrillaRilla369 Chew-barka!

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@carsonkrow I am 60, with 3 grown boys and no grandchildren. I dont say that. I will not leave "this" future for those that come next. The future I will not live to see, is not for me. But, I will fight to my last breath to save it for them.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@theblaze Correction: It was a big mistake to allow them in on temporary protected status, allow them to steal jobs away from citizens, purchase housing over citizens, use taxpayer funded money to start businesses and grow roots at all. But, you want them to stay? Who's interest is served?

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@WallStreetApes They just bought up a crap ton of farm land here, 20 SW of Urbana, for data centers. There are 10 or 12 boarded up houses waiting to be demolished. It is a little freaky and one of those things that make ya go, 😒 🤔🫣

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Welcome Back America. Remember who we are, where we came from and those who laid that foundation that allows us to be free.

[Rapid Response 47 @RapidResponse47]

.@POTUS: From Athens to Rome, from London to Paris, from New York to LA, and from all other parts of the world, the great civilizations of history did not wallow in aging ruins of the past; they built new cities, they created new monuments, and they forged towering legacies that still inspire the world after hundreds and even thousands of years.

As America turns 250, we are the inheritors of these incredible traditions. We are the ones who are carrying forward the light of Western civilization because this is the very beginning of the Golden Age of America.

This anniversary is a time to be proud of our past, but it is also a time to lift our sights, expand our ambitions, and raise our expectations of what America can be. We will leave our children nothing less than the richest inheritance, most advanced civilization, and highest standard of living in human history.

THE BEST IS YET TO COME! 🇺🇸

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

You know what is missing from this conversation? You! Get in Here!

[Jason American Patriot™ @TruthJasonLee]

https://t.co/h3nfarp0RZ

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

@Itsthetruth2024 @MikeBales I secretly know this is true. I was a manucurist in the valley at the time, one of my clients was the nurse who admitted him.

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

I miss him. He has been gone for 33 years. I know that he smiles down on all those who are once again following his dream to shoot for the moon at Mach 10. He taught me so much in life and continues to lead me down rabbit holes, even though he is not here. Happy Father's Day. 🥲

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

Whispers of a Rocket Scientist - Secrets Exposed https://t.co/VoCPgoGV2E

[The Bomb Builders Daughter @sailoronarock]

When you accidently wear todays sermon to church.