In a remote desert of New Mexico lie the ruins of a city that shouldn’t exist.
No river. No farmland. No reason.
But they built it anyway. Aligned to the stars, carved into stone, and linked across hundreds of miles.
This is the mystery of Chaco Canyon.
🧵👇
USA. A house. The garage is full, so the car sleeps in the rain.
I walked past an open garage today, and I finally understand Americans.
The garage was packed to the ceiling. Boxes. A treadmill. Old chairs. Three bicycles hanging from hooks. Christmas lights in a plastic tub. No room for even one more thing.
And the family car? Parked outside. In the driveway. Getting rained on.
I stood there, deeply moved.
In Japan, we put the car in the garage and the boxes in the house. Americans do the opposite. And now I see why.
The garage is the treasure house. Inside it sleep the sacred relics: the bicycle the child outgrew, the chair no one sits in, the lights that shine one week a year. These must be protected at all costs.
The car is not a treasure. The car is a warrior. So the car is given the highest honor a warrior can receive. It stands guard at the gate, in the storm, all night, so the treasures stay dry.
The owner came out with his coffee. He saw me looking and shook his head.
"Yeah, I really gotta clean out that garage," he said.
Clean it out? I bowed to him. "You are a good man," I said. "Your car guards your home with its life."
He looked at his car. He looked at me. He said, "...thanks?"
He has never thought of it that way. But I could tell he liked it.
So now every morning I walk past, and I bow to the car in the driveway.
It has the hardest job in the family, and it never complains.
The owner waves at me now. He thinks we are friends.
We are. But mostly, I am here for the car.
This morning it was raining again. The car was soaked, still guarding the gate, still faithful.
So I gave it my umbrella.
I do not need it. I have known harder rain.
A warrior on duty should not have to stand in the storm alone.
This is probably a long shot, but if anybody happens to be in DC this weekend and plans on visiting Arlington, I would love to see a fresh photo of my husband’s grave in Section 60.
SSG Alan W. Shaw
Section 60, Grave 8451
B Co 1/12 Cav, 1st Cavalry Division
November 10, 1975 - February 9, 2007
There’s just something about knowing people still stop by, still say his name, still remember. 🇺🇸⭐🇺🇸
In 1956, a forgotten radio drama warned us that empires demand crime, bureaucracy, and engineered vice to survive and that peaceful colonies must learn to skulk or be crushed. In to the Age Of Abundance this will become magnified.
Learn how it happens:
https://t.co/ka64DoDamz
Take 29 minutes to listen to this 1956 radio transmission that has haunted me for decades.
—
The one thing that is guaranteed is bureaucrats will create unintended outcomes. In the golden age of American science fiction radio, few episodes captured the absurd machinery of bureaucracy and the quiet horror of lost history quite like X Minus One's "Skulking Permit."
First broadcast on NBC on February 15, 1956 (and rebroadcast on July 4, 1957), the episode adapted Robert Sheckley's short story from the December 1954 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction.
It remains a razor-sharp parable about how autocratic thinking devours memory, how isolation can breed innocence or oblivion, and how the rediscovery of one's true origins can shatter a civilization's self-image.
Today, as we stand on the cusp of an Al-mediated Great Forgetting, I chronicled in my writings on the Amnesia Generation, this story reads less like quaint 1950s satire and more like a warning siren for our own era.
It is the companion to the latest 5000 Days Series at https://t.co/tcKeuiQyql.
Listen in and read with us…