This farmer explains what he does to protect his cattle from flies.
Your Daily Dose of Inspiration
You are not what was done to you.
You are what you became in spite of it.
Richard Norris Williams
Richard Norris Williams was an extraordinary figure whose legacy bridges one of history’s greatest disasters and remarkable athletic triumph. Born on January 29, 1891, in Geneva, Switzerland, Williams was aboard the RMS Titanic when it struck an iceberg and sank on April 15, 1912. He survived the tragedy despite spending hours in the frigid waters of the North Atlantic. Doctors recommended amputation due to severe frostbite, but he refused—and that decision would soon define his resilience. Not only did he recover, but he also went on to dominate the tennis world. He won the U.S. Open singles title in 1914 and 1916, and in 1920, he captured the Wimbledon doubles championship, partnering with Chuck Garland. His powerful play and steadfast determination made him a standout in early American tennis.
Beyond his tennis victories, Williams’ life was a testament to perseverance. He represented the United States in the Davis Cup and earned a bronze medal in mixed doubles at the 1924 Paris Olympics. In 1957, his contributions to the sport were formally recognized when he was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. His story is more than one of athletic prowess—it’s the arc of survival and triumph. The visual depiction of him playing tennis against the backdrop of the Titanic captures this duality perfectly: one man, shaped by catastrophe, yet undeterred in his pursuit of greatness. Williams remains a symbol of grit, endurance, and the indomitable human spirit.
Norway Launches Robotic Fish That Eats Plastic Waste from Harbors
In Oslo, Norwegian marine engineers have released a fleet of biomimetic robotic fish that autonomously swim through polluted harbors, detecting and swallowing floating plastic without disturbing wildlife.
The robots, nicknamed “Cleanfins”, are about the size of a tuna and equipped with infrared cameras, sonar, and chemical sensors that identify microplastic clusters, wrappers, and bottle debris. Once detected, a soft internal vacuum gently pulls the plastic into a biodegradable holding chamber.
Powered by solar-charged batteries, they can operate for up to 48 hours per swim, filtering thousands of particles before returning to a floating dock for unloading and diagnostics. Their tail-fin propulsion mimics real fish, reducing noise pollution.
Field trials in Bergen and Oslofjord removed over 3,000 kilograms of plastic debris in just one month. AI swarms let them communicate and divide search zones to maximize coverage.
Norway is now producing them for use in coastal resorts, industrial ports, and fishery zones — a scalable solution for autonomous microplastic removal.
Wind Turbine Blades To Shelters
Denmark is turning discarded wind turbine blades into stylish bike shelters. This creative use of hard-to-recycle materials promotes sustainability while providing practical public infrastructure.
A Letter From George
Dear Tom,
We sent them ten simple questions.
Ten clear, values-based questions on life, family, freedom, and truth.
And what did Tasmania’s political class do?
They ran for cover.
The Labor Party, the Liberal Party, the Greens, the Nationals, and the Shooters, Fishers and Farmers Party did not respond to our questionnaire.
Not one had the basic decency to be transparent with the public.
This isn’t just silence. It’s cowardice.
They don’t want to be accountable to you.
They don’t want to be pinned down on abortion, gender ideology in schools, parental rights, religious freedom, or the right of faith-based schools to employ staff who actually believe in their mission.
And sadly, this refusal to engage tells you everything you need to know.
Let’s be blunt: Labor and the Liberals have both abandoned our values.
Labor, under Dean Winter, has already pledged to maintain taxpayer-funded access to late-term abortion, with no conscience safeguards. They plan to criminalise prayer and counselling that doesn’t affirm gender ideology and sexuality, through a sweeping “conversion therapy” ban.
They are committed to defending Tasmania’s radical Anti-Discrimination Act, which already erodes religious liberty and offers no protection to faith-based schools trying to uphold their values. And let’s not forget, every single Labor MP voted in favour of Tasmania’s euthanasia legislation in 2021, helping to make it one of the most extreme assisted suicide laws in the country.
Labor is proudly flying the flag of the hard Left, and they’re coming for your conscience.
And the Liberals? They helped them do it.
Premier Jeremy Rockliff’s Liberals have vowed to reintroduce their own conversion-practices ban, one that opens the door to criminalising parents, priests, and counsellors who simply dare to disagree. They have refused to commit to any protections for life, parental rights, or freedom of speech.
They’ve said nothing about safeguarding the most basic freedoms for families and people of faith in this campaign. And yes, seven Liberal MPs, including then-Premier Peter Gutwein and now-Premier Jeremy Rockliff, voted in favour of the euthanasia bill in 2021. The party refused to take a stand, and that enabled the bill to pass.
Rockliff calls himself a moderate, but in reality, he’s just tagging along with the same activist agenda.
The minor parties showed us nothing better.
We expect the Greens to be against our values. The Nationals, and the Shooters, Fishers and Farmers are supposed to be conservative, but when given the opportunity to prove it, they went completely silent.
Not a word. Not a reply. Not a single answer.
They want your vote without earning your trust.
Only one independent candidate, John Macgowan in Clark, had the courage to engage with the issues, answering thoughtfully and in full. Mr Macgowan answered “Yes” to nine of our ten questions, and, while staking a personal pro-life position, he did not support rolling back abortion laws, stating he would only consider doing so if there were clear public support.
This election has revealed a brutal truth: the political establishment in Tasmania is either hostile or indifferent to your values.
They’re afraid to answer your questions because they don’t represent you.
They don’t believe in your freedom.
They don’t believe in your family.
They don’t believe in your faith.
So now, it’s up to us to make that truth known. Loudly. Publicly. Unapologetically.
Let’s show these politicians that ignoring the silent majority comes at a cost.
For life, family, and freedom,
George Christensen and the team at CitizenGO
Japan’s Shocking mRNA Vaccine Revelations: 21 Million Vaccination Records Expose Alarming Death Trends
Japan’s Shocking mRNA Vaccine Revelations: 21 Million Vaccination Records Expose Alarming Death Trends
Peak in deaths occurs 3 to 4 months after vaccination
f you thought the mRNA vaccine saga couldn’t get any wilder, Japan just dropped a bombshell that’s shaking the narrative to its core. A group of 350 Japanese volunteers, led by the United Citizens for Stopping mRNA Vaccines, has unleashed a staggering 21 million vaccination records—yes, you read that right—obtained through Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests. This isn’t some small-fry dataset; it’s a colossal trove of vaccination dates, lot numbers, and, most chillingly, deaths. And what it reveals? Well, let’s just say it’s not the “safe and effective” mantra we’ve been spoon-fed.
By analyzing the 21 million records, Prof Murakami of Tokyo Science University uncovered a disturbing peak in deaths 90–120 days after mRNA vaccination, with higher doses showing earlier death peaks. That’s right—folks who got more jabs died sooner, suggesting a cumulative toxicity that builds with each shot.
Murakami estimates that 600,000 to 610,000 Japanese may have died post-vaccination, a figure that aligns eerily with Japan’s excess death statistics. But here’s the kicker—why haven’t these deaths been plastered across headlines? Prof Murakami suggested that they’re happening three to four months later, slipping under the radar of official reports because doctors do not see them as cause of deaths if they are not within a few days after vaccination. The government’s not connecting the dots, folks, and it’s no surprise why. These delayed deaths don’t fit the narrative of “safe and effective.” Instead, they point to a silent crisis that’s been swept under the rug.
The good news is this: while Big Pharma pushes forward with its next pet project—the self-replicating mRNA vaccine (aka replicon vaccine)—the Japanese public isn’t buying it. Out of 4.2 million doses rolled out last October, only 10,000 were administered. That’s a measly 0.24% uptake rate. Let that sink in. The people of Japan, armed with growing skepticism and fueled by groups like the United Citizens, have rejected this experimental jab en masse. And they’re not just sitting quietly—over 100,000 signatures were submitted to Japan’s Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare, demanding a halt to mRNA vaccinations.
Why the resistance? The replicon vaccine, hyped as a “next-gen” solution, is already raising alarms. According to the press conference, the pharmaceutical company behind it (Meiji Seika Pharma) has admitted to higher rates of adverse effects and deaths compared to the original Pfizer and Moderna jabs. If the first round of mRNA shots was bad, this self-replicating version sounds like a sci-fi horror show. No wonder Japan’s saying, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
This isn’t just Japan’s battle—it’s a global wake-up call. The United Citizens group, with 70,000 supporters and 3,000 volunteers, is pushing for international collaboration to stop mRNA vaccines, including a planned influenza shot set for fall 2025.
The group’s database, though currently Japanese-only, is being prepped for English translation, and they’re inviting researchers worldwide to dive in.
But it’s not all smooth sailing. The group’s facing heat—legal heat. Meiji Seika Pharma has slapped a lawsuit on Congressman Kazuhiro Haraguchi and others for speaking out against the replicon vaccine. Haraguchi himself claims he developed lymphoma post-vaccination, with spike proteins found in his lymph cells. Coincidence? You tell me.
This 21-million-record bombshell isn’t just numbers on a spreadsheet—it’s lives, families, and a healthcare system that’s failed to ask the hard questions. The peak in deaths at 90–120 days, the staggering estimate of 600,000+ deaths, and the public’s rejection of the replicon jab scream one thing: people are waking up. Japan’s data, painstakingly gathered by volunteers, is a clarion call to rethink the mRNA experiment before more lives are lost.
Want to dig deeper? The database is online. Contact the United Citizens for Stopping mRNA Vaccines to join the fight. This isn’t over, folks. Share this, spread the word, and let’s keep pushing for the truth.
Because if we don’t, who will?
Signing off for now
A17
Finish reading: https://open.substack.com/pub/pharmafiles/p/japans-shocking-mrna-vaccine-revelations
Bladeless Wind Turbines
France built a wind turbine with no blades — and no moving parts
On a windswept plateau in Normandy, engineers have unveiled one of the most elegant energy systems ever made — a wind turbine without blades. No spinning arms. No gears. No noise. Just a slender tower that quietly vibrates in the breeze — and turns those movements into clean, usable electricity.
The system is called a vortex wind generator, and it works on a principle most people have never heard of: vortex shedding. When wind flows past a vertical cylinder, it creates alternating zones of low pressure on either side, causing the structure to gently sway. That oscillation is then harvested using piezoelectric materials and magnetic induction, converting it directly into power.
Because it has no moving parts in contact — no blades, bearings, or gearboxes — this generator needs almost zero maintenance. It doesn’t grind. It doesn’t spin. It doesn’t kill birds or disturb neighbors. From a few feet away, it looks more like a minimalist art sculpture than a power system — and that’s exactly the point.
Each unit generates around 100 watts — not much on its own, but ideal for rooftops, rural sheds, off-grid homes, and places where traditional turbines can’t fit. When deployed in clusters, these silent columns form low-profile microgrids, capable of powering lights, small appliances, or emergency systems even in cloudy regions where solar doesn’t work well.
Perhaps the most revolutionary aspect is how durable and modular the system is. Without high-speed rotation or lubrication needs, the unit’s failure rate is incredibly low. It’s light, easy to transport, and requires no heavy concrete base. A farmer could install a dozen of these by hand. A refugee camp could deploy power in hours instead of months.
With France rolling out pilot projects across the countryside, this design could soon be powering homes, farms, and shelters with nothing but vibration and wind. In a world that needs quiet, modular, and ultra-low-maintenance power, the vortex turbine might be the sleekest solution yet.
Thank A Teacher
“Today, a 7-year-old told me I was useless.”
That’s how my last day as a public school teacher began.
No smirk. No attitude. Just a plain, indifferent voice—like he was commenting on the weather.
“You don’t know how to do TikTok. My mom says old people like you should retire.”
I smiled. I’ve learned not to take it personally.
But still… I felt something crack a little deeper inside.
My name is Mrs. Carter.
I’ve been teaching first grade in a small town outside Columbus, Ohio, for 36 years.
Today, I packed up my classroom for the last time.
When I started in the late ‘80s, teaching felt like a calling. A sacred bond.
We were trusted. Even admired.
We weren’t paid much, but there was respect—and that made up for a lot.
Parents brought brownies on conference nights.
Kids drew me birthday cards with misspelled words and crooked hearts.
And when little ones finally read their first sentence out loud?
There was a kind of joy no paycheck could ever match.
But something’s changed.
Slowly. Quietly. Year by year.
Until one day, I looked around my classroom and didn’t recognize the job anymore.
It’s not just the iPads and smartboards—though they’ve taken over, too.
It’s the exhaustion.
The disrespect.
The loneliness.
I used to spend evenings cutting out paper apples for bulletin boards.
Now I spend them documenting every incident on a student behavior app, just in case a parent threatens to sue.
I’ve been screamed at in front of my class.
Not by students—by parents.
One told me, “You clearly don’t know how to handle children. I watched a video of you on my son’s phone.”
He was filming me while I tried to calm another child having a meltdown.
No one asked how I was doing.
No one cared that I was holding it together with gum, caffeine, and sheer will.
Kids are different now, too.
And it’s not their fault.
They’re growing up in a world that’s too fast, too loud, too disconnected.
They come to school sleep-deprived, overstimulated, addicted to screens.
Some are angry. Some are scared.
Some don’t know how to hold a pencil, how to wait their turn, or how to say “please.”
And we’re expected to fix it all.
In 6 hours. With no aides. With 28 students. And a budget that wouldn’t buy snacks for a birthday party.
I remember when my classroom was a little haven.
We had a reading nook with bean bags.
We sang songs every morning.
We learned to be kind before we learned to multiply.
Now?
Now, I’m told to focus on “learning targets,” “data points,” and “measurable outcomes.”
My value is based on how well a 6-year-old fills in bubbles on a test in March.
I once had a principal pull me aside and say, “You’re too warm and fuzzy. This district wants results.”
As if human connection was a liability.
I kept going, though.
Because there were always moments. Small, sacred ones.
A child who whispered, “You’re like my grandma. I wish I could live with you.”
Another who left a note on my desk: “I feel safe here.”
Or the quiet boy who finally looked me in the eye and said, “I read it all by myself.”
I held onto those moments like life rafts.
Because they reminded me I was still doing something that mattered—even when the world insisted I wasn’t.
But this past year broke something in me.
Violence increased.
One child threw a chair across the room. Another threatened to “bring something from home” after being told to sit down.
My classroom phone became a hotline for behavior crises.
The guidance counselor quit in October. The substitute list was empty by November.
The burnout was so thick you could feel it in the air—like a fog of quiet despair.
And me?
I started to feel invisible. Replaceable.
Like an outdated tool in a digital world that no longer sees the need for human touch.
So today, I packed up my classroom.
I peeled faded art projects off the wall—some going back decades.
I found a box of thank-you cards from a class in 1995.
One said, “Thank you for loving me even when I was bad.”
I cried when I read that.
Because back then, being a teacher meant something.
Now, it feels like a job you’re supposed to apologize for.
There was no party. No speech.
Just a firm handshake from the new principal, who called me “Ma’am” and looked at his phone halfway through our goodbye.
I left behind my sticker box. My rocking chair. My patience.
But I took the memory of every child who ever looked at me with wonder, trust, or relief.
That’s mine. They can’t take that away.
I don’t know what’s next.
Maybe I’ll volunteer at the library. Maybe I’ll learn to bake bread from scratch.
Maybe I’ll just sit on my back porch, sipping tea, remembering a world that used to feel softer.
Because I miss it.
I miss a time when teachers were seen as partners, not punching bags.
When parents and schools worked together.
When education meant growth, not just grades.
If you’ve ever been a teacher, you know.
We didn’t do it for the summers off.
We did it for the kid who finally learned to tie his shoe.
For the one who smiled after weeks of silence.
For the ones who needed us in ways no test could measure.
We did it for love. For hope. For belief in something better.
So if you see a teacher—past or present—thank them.
Not with a mug or an apple.
With your voice. Your eyes. Your respect.
Because in a world that moves too fast, they stayed.
In a system that crumbled, they stood.
And in a society that forgot them, they remembered every child.
Let the teachers of the past know they’re not forgotten.
Let the teachers of today know they’re not alone.
The Origin Of Chips
When a wealthy diner insulted his cooking, chef George Crum reportedly retaliated with a razor, salt, and a potato—accidentally creating one of America’s favorite snacks.
This all happened around 1853 AD at Moon’s Lake House in Saratoga Springs, New York, where George Crum, born George Speck, worked as a chef.
The story often told is that a customer sent his French-fried potatoes back, complaining they were too thick and not salty enough.
In response, Crum is said to have sliced the potatoes paper-thin, fried them to a crisp, and deliberately oversalted them.
To his surprise, the disgruntled customer loved them, and “Saratoga Chips” were born.
However, there’s more to this tale than just a chef’s pique. Some accounts, including her own obituary, credit Crum’s sister, Kate Speck Wicks, with the invention.
Interestingly, George Crum never publicly disputed his sister’s claim during his lifetime, adding another layer to the chip’s origin.
The popular “spite” narrative, while dramatic, lacks strong contemporary documentation from the 1850s. Even the identity of the picky customer, often rumored to be Cornelius Vanderbilt, isn’t confirmed by primary sources.
Regardless of the exact catalyst, George Crum did go on to open his own successful restaurant, Crum’s House, prominently featuring these new crispy chips.
Whether born of a chef’s quick thinking, a sister’s accidental discovery, or a bit of both, the potato chip undeniably changed snacking forever.