There’s a moment in every decaying empire when the leader stops asking to be admired and starts requiring it. That’s when the art gets bigger, the gold gets thicker, and dissent starts to smell like smoke. According to reporting by Donald Trump -watchers who still have the stomach for it, we’ve entered that phase. Again. Louder this time. As Peter Baker of The New York Times lays out, Trump’s lifelong obsession with branding—his name etched, stamped, bolted, and gilded ont
They keep calling it a warning. Warnings are for smoke you might smell. This is fire licking the curtains. The dollar is slipping, and not in the polite, economist-approved way where talking heads say “healthy correction” and adjust their ties. This is the kind of slip you hear before the floor gives way—the sound old empires make when gravity remembers them. Gold knows it. Gold always knows first. Bitcoin, for all its bravado, flinched. Overnight, Bitcoin dropped like it h
Posted by Mattock Diggs, October 26, 2025 They say fire purifies. Water cleanses. Exile resets. But if you’ve ever lived in a house rebuilt after a tragedy, you know: the walls may be new, but the echoes remain. I’ve been thinking about cycles lately. Not the kind you ride down Rue du Chien, but the kind that loop through history, scripture, and the bones of old buildings. The kind that promise a fresh start, only to deliver a familiar ending. In the biblical record, God dest
James Terry
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