Sunrise.

Write about whatever you want in the comments.

***

That first photo is by Meade, the second by me.

"The Democratic Party is so short on cash that leaders at its headquarters have undertaken a new gambit to mask the severity of the problems: asking vendors not to send bills until after the midterm elections...."

"At the center is Ken Martin, the 53-year-old party chairman, who has found himself increasingly isolated, gripped by the fear that he will lose his job and relying on a vanishingly small circle of people he trusts, according to interviews with more than two dozen Democrats, including current and former D.N.C. officials and members. Most of them spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss the party’s troubled state of affairs. Martin’s fraying nerves are showing. In a pique of frustration in early July, he threw his phone at the desk of a junior aide while upbraiding the person. The phone-tossing incident resulted in a formal complaint to the D.N.C.’s human resources department.... "

From "Inside the Phone-Throwing Drama at the Troubled, Broke Democratic Party/The Democrats should be well positioned to make gains in this year’s midterms. But inside party headquarters, every week brings paranoia, worries about money and, on occasion, emotional eruptions" (NYT gift link).

Just 5 days ago, we were talking about how unusual it is, in a work environment, for someone to throw something. I blogged a story about Troy Jackson, now the Democrats' candidate for Senator from Maine, who, according to WaPo, "once angrily threw a water bottle in a meeting after he couldn’t persuade a lawmaker to vote his way." I asked: "Have you ever thrown anything as a way of expressing emotion? Even in a private, non-work environment? It's some kind of red flag, throwing things. Who does that?"

Various answers in the comments over there, and now we have a new answer: Ken Martin.

"Three stages keep the dancers moving and the listeners happy all day with a diverse mix of sounds including Latin soul by Orquesta SalSoul del Mad, roots rock veterans The Rousers, bluegrass..."

"... from Bigtooth, and of course fest favorites like VO5 and Steely Dane…and that’s only a small sample of the local bands; the fest also features tour stops by The Band Feel, Toronzo Cannon, Kelli Baker Band and others. Food and artisan vendors are also on offer, as well as kids' activities hosted by Canopy Center. Find the full schedule below and updates at atwoodfest.com...."

I'm quoting from the middle of the page at "CANCELED: AtwoodFest" (Isthmus).

At the top of the page: "Our community and our Marquette neighbors witnessed another horrific officer-involved shooting just blocks from our festival grounds, leaving us in deep pain and justified anger. In acknowledgment of what has happened far too often in our community and our country as a whole, this year's AtwoodFest, themed 'The Heartbeat of the Neighborhood,' is canceled...."

"You’ve been in the folk tradition... I wonder how your attitude toward those types of songwriting have differed under President Trump..."

"... versus, at the time, under George W. Bush, when you wrote 'When The President Talks to God,' one of your best-known songs."

The NYT interviewer asks Conor Oberst, in "How Conor Oberst Survived Teenage Rock Stardom" (gift link).

Oberst answers: "You know, it’s really hard for me to even articulate the Trump era. Maybe at some point I’ll be able to do it. It’s like, you can’t satirize what’s already a parody. It’s already a disgusting, gross cartoon.... I’m sure it permeates everything I write, but to write directly toward, I found it almost impossible.... I mean, I’ve thought about it and I’ve had plenty of people be like, where’s the new 'When the President Talks to God'? I don’t know. It’s such an avalanche of insanity."

What is the origin and history of the idea that something/someone is beyond parody because what they already are is the parody?

"Moko was asleep at the time. We decided we want to wake this thing back up again."

Said Mark Kopua, who "grew up in a Māori community that had lost all its tohunga tā moko, or ritual tattoo artists."

He is quoted in "A Once Outlawed Māori Art Form Is Alive and in the Flesh/Young Māori in New Zealand are embracing tā moko, the ritual tattoos that were banned under British colonial rule and became an act of protest in the 1970s" (NYT gift link).

Without forebears to teach them, Mr. Kopua — a tohunga whakairo, or a master woodcarver — learned tā moko from the patterns he used in carving and weaving. They studied moko kanohi patterns on decapitated heads that were under the care of New Zealand’s national museum. Māori warriors believed that decapitation severed their enemies’ connection to the gods. In the 19th century, British settlers collected the heads as curiosities and trophies and offered guns and gold in exchange — prompting some Māori people to hunt down those who wore mataora and moko kauae.

"It's very beautiful in its shattered state.... Do you see how wonderful it is?"

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Pastel.

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