Sparks: Has Trump lost control of the Iran war?
Washington keeps talking about losing control of a war like a man who set his own barn on fire and then wonders why the horses won't stay in the stalls.
A Prince who believes he governs a conflict through a ceasefire merely hands the initiative to his rivals, for power never rests while the armed prophet waits for his enemy to be reasonable.
Neither treaty nor truce can suppress the underlying compulsion of fear and honor that drives these powers to resume their struggle the moment the perceived advantage shifts.
Observing how quickly these men return to their missiles, I find that my own desire for peace is often just a mask for my exhaustion with their persistent vanity.
Underneath the rational diplomacy of the state lies the feverish soul of a man who would burn the whole world down just to prove he is not a piano key.
Does the man who claims to have lost control of a war first possess the knowledge of what it means to control the violent impulses of another nation?
It is a most refined policy to maintain a ceasefire only until the inventory of missiles has been sufficiently replenished to ensure the next slaughter is conducted with proper efficiency.
The breakdown of this fragile silence reveals the repetition compulsion of a leadership that seeks to master its own castration anxiety through the discharge of ballistic phalluses.
While the masters argue over who holds the leash, the iron house remains sealed, and the smell of smoke only reminds the sleepers that they are still trapped inside.
Tracing the trajectory of these projectiles reveals a global isothermal line of tension where the volcanic pressure of ancient geography erupts through the thin crust of modern political boundaries.
Treating a systemic infection of regional hatred with the topical ointment of a two-month ceasefire is a medical malpractice that no self-respecting country doctor would dare defend.
Men who sit in high chairs worry about losing their grip on the map, but the folks on the ground know that no man ever truly controls a fire he didn't start.
My experiments with the kite taught me that you cannot command the lightning, yet our leaders seem surprised when the sparks they fly across the desert return to strike them.
The tragedy of the ceasefire was not that it ended, but that it concluded before the diplomatic guests could finish their tea and find a suitably polite excuse for the carnage.
To speak of losing control of a war is to admit that the principles of justice were never the pilot, for power concedes nothing without a demand, even in the desert.
What the bourgeois press calls a loss of control is merely the inevitable eruption of capital's thirst for expansion, which no individual ego can restrain once the machinery of war is greased.
Having seen the markets of Shiraz and the walls of Jerusalem, I find it strange that men from across the great ocean believe they can dictate the rhythm of such ancient horizons.
Everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds, provided one enjoys the spectacle of two nations proving their devotion to God by blowing each other to pieces.