Anne Frank could be a 87-year-old woman living in Boston today. But was denied a US visa.
“As President Trump prepares orders to wall out Mexicans and shut out refugees from America, today marks one of the most hateful days in our nation’s history… Today the Statue of Liberty weeps over President Trump’s discrimination. President Trump is beyond the wrong side of history. He is driving our nation off a moral cliff. When President Trump uses national security as a guise for racism, he doesn’t strengthen our national security. He compromises our national security by engendering disrespect for America by people around the world. Make no mistake, suspending visas for citizens of Middle Eastern and African countries is not called national security. It’s called prejudice.
President Trump is now exacerbating the largest global refugee crisis in history. His slamming America’s doors on the starving, the wounded and the abused is a grotesque blot on our nation’s history of freedom. The President’s actions are an embarrassment to the timeless vision of America as inscribed by Emma Lazarus to “give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” Demonizing refugees and immigrants, and spending billions of taxpayer dollars to keep them out of our nation, will go down in American history as one of the most tragic deviations from our national conscience.”
- Statement of Steven Goldstein, Executive Director of the Anne Frank
Center for Mutual Respect
Reyna is stiff and doesn’t move. Years of sleeping in the barracks at Camp Jupiter taught her that. Shes also a very light sleeper.
Jason is similar though since moving into the Zeus Cabin he sleeps much easier. He also snores like a freight train.
Leo sleeps sprawled out wherever exhaustion take ahold often falling asleep on top of projects.
Piper sprawls out on her bed and also snores though she’s not as bad as Jason. But she kicks in her sleep too so there’s that.
Annabeth sleeps soundly when at camp but very lightly when elsewhere, years of training and dodging monsters with Luke and Thalia gave her that particular skill. If she and Percy are napping together she’s the big spoon despite him being physically bigger than her.
Percy still drools. He loves being The little spoon when he and Annabeth nap together. He sleeps like a rock. Seriously the world could end and he wouldn’t wake up.
Frank sleeps as a bulldog. He finds it more comfortable that way though even he’s not sure why. It also allows him to curl up in Hazels room without risking Nico’s wrath, something he’s keen to avoid.
Hazel sleeps on her side and generally pretty fitfully, nightmares of the war and her first death haunting her. She only sleeps soundly when Frank the Bulldog is there which is pretty much the only reason Nico doesn’t kill Frank for sneaking into his sisters room.
Nico sleeps curled up in a ball so he takes up as little space as possible. Will thought it was cute until he found out why. It’s a habit somewhat left over from sleeping in crevices in caves that connect to the underworld but now a days it’s a leftover from Nico’s stint in the bronze jar where he didn’t even have enough room to breathe let alone anything else. This information made Will want to cry and also explained Nico’s severe claustrophobia.
Will sleeps sprawled on his back unless Nico is there. If the son of death is present the son of Apollo will curl up around him in his sleep. This is one of the only things, save a blessing from a child of Hypnos, that keep Nico’s nightmares of Tartarus and the Jar at bay.
in the country where my dreams are like bark peeled off by lightning I was with her […] while the wolf had the moon by the throat I said I love you in the field of honor and she was like a colt and she was water I held in my hands and she was the canoe I worked through the river and she was the flash at two-thirty in the morning of the suicidal knife and she was a fire of pine cones who ran like a deer and she was a butterfly that lit on the float of my pole and she was night herself she was the cape I drew over my body
Frank Stanford, lines 4906-4917, from The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You (Lost Roads Publishers, 2000)
I caught the moon
Flinching behind the trees.
It was a white flower
Afraid to be cut down from its dark stalk.
In the summer things like the moon
Grow outside my window.
Before light when my voice
Is a trout under the rocks,
I look at them. The window
Changes at night, becomes a blue mirror
Frank Stanford, from “Willet,” What About This: Collected Poems of Frank Stanford (Copper Canyon Press, 2015)
Think of it as plastic memory, this force within you which trends you and your fellows toward tribal forms. This plastic memory seeks to return to its ancient shape, the tribal society. It is all around you—the feudatory, the diocese, the corporation, the platoon, the sports club, the dance troupes, the rebel cell, the planning council, the prayer group … each with its master and servants, its host and parasites. And the swarms of alienating devices (including these very words!) tend eventually to be enlisted in the argument for a return to “those better times.” I despair of teaching you other ways. You have square thoughts which resist circles.
Blue became percys favourite colour because sally had an argument with Gabe Ugliano and to show that she was right she made blue food. The colour reminds percy of the strength and stubbornness of his beloved mother.