By Carl Tuckerson, Meditations from the Hammock

Friends, allies, co-op board members,

Today, I want to take you on a journey—not to the quiet forests of Vermont or the artisanal kombucha stalls of Brooklyn—but to the front lines of democracy. And by front lines, I mean a rally held in a gentrified park, complete with food trucks, free Wi-Fi, and a deeply spiritual DJ set by DJ Woketopus.

Our guides on this revolutionary road? None other than Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders—a duo so progressive, their combined carbon footprint is negative and their vibes are certified conflict-free.

Scene One: The AOC Entrance (Cue Wind Machine)Scene One: The AOC Entrance (Cue Wind Machine)

The crowd hushes. A soft breeze flutters through sustainably grown hemp banners. Suddenly, she appears—AOC—draped in a blazer that screams “legislative power” and sneakers that whisper, “I could out-dance your entire state legislature.”

She speaks with a cadence forged in the fires of Instagram Live and Twitter threads. Every word is like a spoken-word poem wrapped in policy suggestions that will never pass but look so good on a T-shirt.

She calls Trump a threat to democracy—and everyone nods, because yes, obviously. But also because they’re still unsure if that last part was a policy point or a spoken-word interlude.

Somewhere in the back, a guy with a ukulele weeps softly.

Scene Two: Bernie Time (All Caps Optional, Volume Not)Scene Two: Bernie Time (All Caps Optional, Volume Not)

Then comes Bernie—the only politician who can yell about billionaires and still make you feel like you’re being tucked in by a democratic socialist grandfather.

His hair is unbrushed. His heart? Unbreakable.

He shouts about wealth inequality while standing in front of a solar-powered stage built with union labor and good intentions. He points at the sky like he's mad at God for not nationalizing the clouds.

The crowd roars. Someone faints from emotional over-stimulation—or dehydration from sipping too many organic yerba mates.

He calls Trump a fascist, which is legally required in Act II of any progressive rally. Everyone cheers. Then someone yells “cancel student debt!” and Bernie yells louder—because he was going to do that anyway.

Scene Three: The Ritual Chanting of BuzzwordsScene Three: The Ritual Chanting of Buzzwords

What follows is a flurry of chants so thoroughly poll-tested they could cure electoral apathy:

• “Healthcare is a human right!” (Yes.)
• “Tax the rich!” (Always.)
• “Eat the rich!” (Too far, but okay if they’re vegan.)
• “No Trump! No KKK! No Billionaire DNA!” (Unclear what that last one means, but we’re vibing.)

Volunteers pass out pamphlets written in Comic Sans because irony. Every QR code leads to a Substack.

AOC calls for mutual aid. Bernie calls for a revolution. The crowd calls for a bathroom that isn’t just three compostable porta-potties guarded by an anarchist who failed the bar exam.

It is, in a word, activism.

Final Scene: Nothing Changes, But the Vibes Were ImmaculateFinal Scene: Nothing Changes, But the Vibes Were Immaculate

After hours of chanting, cheering, and posting Instagram Stories tagged #ResistButMakeItFashion, the rally ends.

Trump, somehow, still exists.

But that’s okay, because we felt something. We were seen. We were heard. And most importantly, we posted about it.

No laws were passed. No systems dismantled. But our hashtags slapped. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what democracy is all about?

Stay outraged. Stay hopeful. Stay performatively progressive.

We’ll see you tomorrow—for a march, a meme, or a minor policy concession that makes us feel like we changed the world.

Peace, love, and unsubtle slogans,

— Carl