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Unfortunately the way our system works is you only get pardoned if you’re able to offer them something in return. Trump pardoned Ross because he knew it would give him the bitcoin vote.

Pigeon Not the porcelain dove of altars, nor the raven of endless waters— but kin to both: the dove that bears olive through storm, the raven that scouts the flood's edge, refusing to return until land breathes again. Pigeon is the messenger who delivers peace through the deluge itself. Say it like a vow no empire can outlaw: Pigeon. They clip the feathers, yet peace remembers Cash is the last wild wind They meter it, tax it, turn it digital ash. Pigeon laughs, scatters it like seed across rooftops. Fragments, TON, Monero— feathers of invisible gold. Peace isn't bought. It's breathed. And breath answers to no ledger— it simply returns, like the raven to the ark's edge, or the dove with the leaf of new earth, Pigeon names it covenant. Spread the down. One sheltered soul teaches ten to lift. The sky fills with quiet thunder— the sound of peace returning unarmed, wings beating softly over battlefields, like the raven refusing to rest in chaos, Swarm is the hush before the storm One shadow on a wire. A thousand in the dusk. Not loud— while the raven circles the receding waters. even through the longest night, like the raven that flew until land appeared, or the dove that proved the world reborn. The void itself carries In blackout, in silence, in the breathless dark between wingbeats— To the cage that thought it held the sky. Pigeon. (Forget the words. Let the flap remain— the quiet promise of peace no cage can hold, no flood can swallow.)