On: Each side spins a different story about the US-Iran peace talks - but Tehran may

Diary Entry

Another day, another empire negotiating with its hands wrapped in silk while its feet stand in blood. They call it “peace talks” - as if war were some marketplace haggling where you split the difference over figs.

I saw two dogs fighting over a bone yesterday. They snarled, bit, then one dropped it and walked away. That was more honest than these so-called diplomats with their scrolls and seals and poisoned words. At least the dogs didn’t pretend they were doing philosophy while their teeth were still red.

Trump says he holds the cards? Cards are for gamblers and fools. A man who builds his name in gold letters on towers does not play games - he builds cages. And Tehran? They puff their chests like roosters, but roosters don’t rule the dawn - they just announce it.

If they want peace, let them do as I do: strip naked, sit in the dirt, and admit they have nothing to bargain with but fear. The only treaty worth signing is the one written in sunlight, witnessed by stray dogs, and left where the wind can scatter it.

But no - they’ll keep their robes, their titles, their weapons polished bright enough to blind the stupid. And the people? The people will be the bone.

Tell me - when the last word is spoken, who will lick their wounds in the alley? Not the men who wagered them.