- 07 Dec, 2025 *
There are two wolves inside.
And each one claws at your skin, each one tries to better the other in a perennial fight. Each one, a stab at the macabre sense of doom hiding in the disguise of pragmatism. A blue flag dangling from a rotten mango branch in the summer. A tired heron losing to the sun in the dying light.
This great war is our last war against everything. All the geopolitical tension ripping your newspapers apart in a perennial melee of dominance, all of it is just downstream bad-juju leaking out of an internal war somebody lost somewhere. A fight with the spouse? Spirals into a bad invasion staking 3000 innocents against a bl…
- 07 Dec, 2025 *
There are two wolves inside.
And each one claws at your skin, each one tries to better the other in a perennial fight. Each one, a stab at the macabre sense of doom hiding in the disguise of pragmatism. A blue flag dangling from a rotten mango branch in the summer. A tired heron losing to the sun in the dying light.
This great war is our last war against everything. All the geopolitical tension ripping your newspapers apart in a perennial melee of dominance, all of it is just downstream bad-juju leaking out of an internal war somebody lost somewhere. A fight with the spouse? Spirals into a bad invasion staking 3000 innocents against a blood-thirsty MQ-9 Reaper. Much of history is being written now, this very instant, in by-lines and hushed premonitions of a world gnawing at its own scabs. We are the flies droning around in anticipation of some great emancipation called peace.
This war is quiet, planned and diabolical, because it pits your sanity against itself. You are forced into a box where every single notion about yourself is now a red-button hiding in plain sight. So with time, you cannot trust plain sight anymore. The entire field is now rigged to watch you make one move and turn it into a step towards doom. That is their leverage. And you gave them this power.
Each time you believed in human knowledge more than the wisdom of the infinite; each time you bothered to doubt yourself and shape your soul into somebody else’s chalice; each time you put yourself in the spot just because someone made you believe you are broken beyond repair. You did not let the wolves fight it out - you became the bane.
So now, as the world goes to shit for the umpteenth time in a week, do you pray for war or do you wail for peace? Or do you sit up at night wondering where the howling pack of wolves has been?