It’s Mrs. Fink. Hey! I haven’t been here much. Besides my daughter, my husband loved (LOVED) this blog and this community more than anything.
So, it’s hard for me. Baby Fink, as Homer lovingly called her, had to witness his death in our Brooklyn Heights apartment. That she, or ANY of our children have to witness the death of our country and our ideals on the playground we frequented? NOPE. No fucking way.
We took Baby Fink to Adam Yauch Park when it was named. We spoke of his truths, his faith, the songs good and silly, and that he left this world peacefully. We did this because we knew some of the people involved, we shared a love of music and, well. Our right to party!
I’m waiting for people to “teenage prank” this away. Maybe it’s true, but, frankly, I don’t care. Not one fucking iota. You don’t get to (incorrectly I might add) paint swastikas where our children play. Not precocious, not cute, just really, really racist.
My husband loved this community, this blog, the power of US. Do NOT let us down. Just fucking don’t do it.
Let’s fight for our rights to justice,