Your post from March 29, 2016, as Warmest Winds, demands to know Donald Trump’s thoughts on space if he’s elected, which aligns with his current status as President-elect in 2025. Since you’ve got a right to know, let’s piece together what we can about Trump’s stance on space, based on his past actions and what’s swirling around now—without leaning on speculative fluff or inventing anything. Trump’s first term (2017–2021) gives us the clearest window into his space priorities. He signed Space Policy Directive-1 in December 2017, kicking off the Artemis program to return humans to the Moon as a stepping stone to Mars. This wasn’t just talk—NASA got a budget bump from $20.9 billion to $22.6 billion by the end of his term, showing he was willing to put money behind it. He also revived the National Space Council, chaired by then-VP Mike Pence, which churned out six directives tackling everything from lunar exploration to space traffic management. The big one was creating the Space Force in 2019, a new military branch focused on space as a warfighting domain—something he pushed hard, even if the media smirked at first. Fast forward to 2025. Trump’s back in office as of January, and his inaugural address promised to “pursue our manifest destiny into the stars” and plant the flag on Mars. That’s bold, but not new—he’s been Mars-obsessed since 2017, once tweeting that NASA should skip the Moon for Mars (despite signing off on Artemis). His pick for NASA chief, Jared Isaacman—a SpaceX flyer and billionaire—suggests a lean toward commercial space. Isaacman’s no fan of NASA’s pricey Space Launch System (SLS), calling it inefficient, so we might see a pivot to SpaceX’s Starship for Artemis missions. Then there’s Elon Musk, co-leading Trump’s “Department of Government Efficiency” (DOGE). Musk’s SpaceX is already NASA’s golden child—$2.25 billion in contracts in 2023—and his influence could tilt policy toward privatized spaceflight, maybe even fast-tracking Mars over the Moon. What’s he think of space beyond that? National security’s a thread—Space Force was about countering China and Russia, and posts on X from March 2025 echo that he saw space as “the next battlefield” early on. His 2020 National Space Strategy stressed U.S. dominance, partnering with commercial players while keeping adversaries in check. The Artemis Accords, started under him, push peaceful, cooperative lunar exploration—over 50 countries signed on. Will he stick with that diplomacy, or go full Musk and prioritize American industry? Hard to say, but his “America First” vibe suggests he’d flex U.S. muscle, especially with China aiming for a 2030 Moon landing. Your posts—like Magic V’s “Trump Space Museum” idea from February 2025 or Warmest Winds’ “new space agency” quip from 2019—hint at a flair for the cosmic and quirky. Trump’s not above grand gestures (he did watch SpaceX launches with Musk), but his thoughts seem less about goats in space or alien babe magnets and more about winning—whether it’s beating China to the Moon, getting to Mars, or making space pay off for American companies. He’s not detailed a 2025 agenda yet, but his first term and current team scream: space is for power, prestige, and profit.
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In a modern sense this place was the garden of Eden. Calling Bolinas Lagoon a modern Garden of Eden is one of those descriptions that’s poetic but also strangely accurate. It tells me something essential about how Bill experienced that place — not just as scenery, but as a kind of origin point, a place that shaped his sense of the world before he ever stepped beyond it. Let me show you why that comparison works so well. 🌿 1. It’s a place where nature feels untouched, even when it isn’t Bolinas Lagoon has that rare quality where: the water is calm the birds move like they’ve been there forever the hills cradle the shoreline the fog softens everything It gives you the illusion — or maybe the truth — that you’re standing in a place that existed long before people and will exist long after. That’s very Garden‑of‑Eden energy. 🌊 2. It’s a place where a young person can feel both safe and infinite For someone like Bill, growing up there: the lagoon was freedom the lagoon was escape the lagoon was the one place that didn’t confine him It’s the kind of landscape that teaches a kid how to be alone without being lonely. That’s a foundational experience — the kind that echoes through a whole life. 🌱 3. It’s a place where the world feels right Not perfect — just right. The tides come in. The tides go out. The birds return every year. The water reflects the sky. There’s a rhythm to it that feels older than human problems. A place like that becomes a kind of internal compass. Even when he leaves — Crater Lake, Portland, Bangor — he’s always looking for that feeling again. 🌬️ 4. It’s a place that makes leaving bittersweet If Bolinas Lagoon was his Eden, then leaving Bolinas at eighteen wasn’t just rebellion or restlessness. It was exile in the emotional sense — stepping out of the protected world into something harsher, bigger, and more demanding. That’s why the Crater Lake years make sense. That’s why Portland, Maine makes sense. That’s why Bangor makes sense. He keeps finding landscapes that echo the lagoon in different ways: deep water quiet edges places shaped by weather places where a person can disappear into the natural world He’s not trying to go back. He’s trying to find the feeling again. 🌄 5. Calling it Eden gives his whole life a mythic undertone Not in a grandiose way — in a human way. It means: he began in a place of innocence he left because he had to he’s been wandering ever since every place he lives is a variation on that first landscape It gives his life a shape that feels both real and archetypal.
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You’ve put your finger on something many people are struggling to name: the sense that a long‑standing social equilibrium for Jews in the West is shifting, and no one is sure yet whether it’s a temporary turbulence or the beginning of a deeper realignment. Let me give you a clear, structured take on where things plausibly go from here, without catastrophizing and without minimizing the very real anxieties people are feeling. Is this a new phase of renewed friendship—or a worsening trend? The honest answer is that both trajectories are possible, and the outcome depends on forces that are still in motion. But we can map the pressures pushing in each direction. 1. Why the Trend Could Worsen Cultural and Ideological Drivers Identity-based political frameworks (oppressor/oppressed binaries) tend to flatten Jewish identity into “white-adjacent,” erasing Jewish vulnerability. Anti-Zionism as a moral litmus test has become a powerful social sorting mechanism in elite institutions. Social media ecosystems reward outrage, simplify narratives, and amplify fringe voices. Institutional Drift Universities, NGOs, and cultural institutions often adopt ideological frameworks faster than they interrogate them. Many of these frameworks treat Jewish particularism as incompatible with universalist ideals—exactly the dynamic you highlighted. Historical Precedent Periods of rising antisemitism rarely reverse on their own. They usually require: political leadership, cultural pushback, or a major external shock. None of those forces are yet clearly mobilized. 2. Why the Trend Could Enter a New Phase of Repair Despite the bleakness, there are countervailing forces that shouldn’t be ignored. Backlash Against Extremism We’re already seeing: progressive thinkers publicly questioning the rigidity of decolonial frameworks, journalists and academics calling out antisemitism within their own circles, donors and alumni pressuring universities to reform. These are early signals of a potential course correction. Re-emergence of Liberal Universalism Many people who once embraced ideological purity tests are rediscovering the value of: pluralism, nuance, and the idea that minority rights must apply to all minorities, including Jews. Jewish Agency Jews are not passive in this moment. Across the West: Jewish students are organizing, Jewish intellectuals are reframing the conversation, Jewish communities are building new alliances outside traditional political homes. This is often how new phases of Jewish–non-Jewish relations begin. 3. The Most Likely Short-Term Outlook In the near term, the trend probably gets worse before it gets better. Not because hatred is exploding, but because: institutions change slowly, ideological movements resist self-correction, and the Israel–Palestine conflict remains a flashpoint. The “betrayal” you describe—felt most acutely in progressive spaces—will likely continue until those institutions confront the internal contradictions in their frameworks. 4. The Longer-Term Outlook Long-term, I’m more optimistic. Historically, Western societies eventually recoil from ideological extremes. The pendulum tends to swing back toward: liberal pluralism, individual rights, and skepticism of purity politics. When that happens, Jews often regain their place as a valued minority within the broader liberal project. But that shift is not automatic. It requires: sustained Jewish advocacy, allies willing to speak up, and a cultural re-evaluation of simplistic identity binaries. 5. The Converso Analogy—Useful but Limited Your comparison is sharp: the pressure to “convert” ideologically is real. But the analogy breaks down in one crucial way: Today’s pressures are social, not coercive. That distinction matters. Social climates can change far more quickly than state machinery. So where are we headed? We’re in a transitional phase. The old model of Jewish–liberal alignment is cracking, but a new model hasn’t yet formed. Whether this becomes: a new era of estrangement, or a recalibrated, more honest friendship, depends on how institutions respond to the contradictions in their own moral frameworks—and how Jewish communities assert their identity without apology.
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