https://substack.com/@altthinking?r=1vhqn1&utm_medium=ios
And maybe the simplest way to end this medical record is also the loudest:
Release Epstein’s client list.
Just do it, Pam.
And maybe the simplest way to end this medical record is also the loudest:
Release Epstein’s client list.
Just do it, Pam.
This wasn’t a tweet.
It was a cry for attention from a man who can’t exist unless he’s both hero and victim.
Haunted by history.
Warped by delusion.
Seduced by power.
This wasn’t a tweet.
It was a cry for attention from a man who can’t exist unless he’s both hero and victim.
Haunted by history.
Warped by delusion.
Seduced by power.
And then the grand finale:
“Now it’s the HOTTEST Country in the World.”
Never mind the civil division.
The children deported.
The shattered democracy.
The coup attempt.
He’s still selling America like a steak with his name on it.
And then the grand finale:
“Now it’s the HOTTEST Country in the World.”
Never mind the civil division.
The children deported.
The shattered democracy.
The coup attempt.
He’s still selling America like a steak with his name on it.
Most chilling?
The moral vacuum.
Epstein? “Somebody that nobody cares about.”
Pam Bondi? “Doing a FANTASTIC JOB,” because she defends the leader.
Merit? Irrelevant.
Loyalty? Everything.
Most chilling?
The moral vacuum.
Epstein? “Somebody that nobody cares about.”
Pam Bondi? “Doing a FANTASTIC JOB,” because she defends the leader.
Merit? Irrelevant.
Loyalty? Everything.
You’ve seen this character on Netflix.
The charismatic leader.
The descent into madness.
The spiral toward catastrophe once the grip on power begins to slip.
You’ve seen this character on Netflix.
The charismatic leader.
The descent into madness.
The spiral toward catastrophe once the grip on power begins to slip.
This isn’t communication.
It’s indoctrination by volume.
A cult-u-tan leader shouting into the void, trying to drown out the creeping doubt whispering in his own mind.
This isn’t communication.
It’s indoctrination by volume.
A cult-u-tan leader shouting into the void, trying to drown out the creeping doubt whispering in his own mind.
The language?
Childish in syntax.
Authoritarian in tone.
“THE PERFECT administration.”
“THE TALK OF THE WORLD.”
A dictator with a reality TV budget.
The language?
Childish in syntax.
Authoritarian in tone.
“THE PERFECT administration.”
“THE TALK OF THE WORLD.”
A dictator with a reality TV budget.
He moves with the blind confidence of terminal narcissism.
“They used the Dossier on me,” he howls.
Me. Me. Me. Always me.
America didn’t lose an election.
It died. Until he resurrected it—at Mar-a-Lago, mid-golf swing.
He moves with the blind confidence of terminal narcissism.
“They used the Dossier on me,” he howls.
Me. Me. Me. Always me.
America didn’t lose an election.
It died. Until he resurrected it—at Mar-a-Lago, mid-golf swing.
Classic projection:
Whatever he’s done, he accuses others of it.
Epstein? A distraction—unless they use it against him.
Hunter’s laptop? Crucial.
His own indictments? Witch hunt.
His crimes? Patriotism.
Classic projection:
Whatever he’s done, he accuses others of it.
Epstein? A distraction—unless they use it against him.
Hunter’s laptop? Crucial.
His own indictments? Witch hunt.
His crimes? Patriotism.
This is public cognitive fragmentation.
A mind stapled together with imagined conspiracies and real grievance.
It’s not just delusion.
It’s strategy.
This is public cognitive fragmentation.
A mind stapled together with imagined conspiracies and real grievance.
It’s not just delusion.
It’s strategy.
Enter Paranoia, Stage Right.
The Clintons.
Obama.
51 “intelligence agents.”
And, for flavour, the ghosts of JFK and MLK.
All conspiring—against him. Of course.
Enter Paranoia, Stage Right.
The Clintons.
Obama.
51 “intelligence agents.”
And, for flavour, the ghosts of JFK and MLK.
All conspiring—against him. Of course.
“What’s going on with my boys, and in some cases, gals?” he asks.
It’s not leadership.
It’s a prequel to The Godfather, if Don Vito wore a red hat and cried on social media.
“What’s going on with my boys, and in some cases, gals?” he asks.
It’s not leadership.
It’s a prequel to The Godfather, if Don Vito wore a red hat and cried on social media.
This week’s entry in The Book of the Orangegutan begins as expected: betrayal, martyrdom, and… a woman.
Pam Bondi, apparently crucified by the ungrateful MAGA mob, despite doing the Lord Orangegutan’s work.
This week’s entry in The Book of the Orangegutan begins as expected: betrayal, martyrdom, and… a woman.
Pam Bondi, apparently crucified by the ungrateful MAGA mob, despite doing the Lord Orangegutan’s work.
There are rants.
And then there’s what a desperate Orangegutan does:
lengthy, all-caps scriptures that read less like political commentary and more like psychiatric evidence.
There are rants.
And then there’s what a desperate Orangegutan does:
lengthy, all-caps scriptures that read less like political commentary and more like psychiatric evidence.
And so here we are, decades later, still counting the cost of peace that might have been, still mourning a future that never came. Rabin is buried in Jerusalem. The peace he sang for—may be buried with him.
And so here we are, decades later, still counting the cost of peace that might have been, still mourning a future that never came. Rabin is buried in Jerusalem. The peace he sang for—may be buried with him.
You can’t make peace without leaders willing to be hated for it. And you can’t replace a Rabin with a man who prioritises polling over principle. History will say Rabin was killed by a gun. But it was certainty, rage, and sacred delusion that did the real damage.
You can’t make peace without leaders willing to be hated for it. And you can’t replace a Rabin with a man who prioritises polling over principle. History will say Rabin was killed by a gun. But it was certainty, rage, and sacred delusion that did the real damage.
Rabin’s ghost hovered over the room—less as inspiration than as a warning of what peace could cost. Clinton left office days after the talks collapsed and the Second Intifada began. In his memoirs, he blamed Arafat. But he knew something had died in 1995.
Rabin’s ghost hovered over the room—less as inspiration than as a warning of what peace could cost. Clinton left office days after the talks collapsed and the Second Intifada began. In his memoirs, he blamed Arafat. But he knew something had died in 1995.
After Rabin, Clinton tried to keep the momentum. Shimon Peres stepped in briefly. Then came Netanyahu. His scepticism of Oslo wasn’t just ideological—it was political fuel. The peace process limped to Camp David 2000, with Barak, Arafat, Clinton. But trust had vanished.
After Rabin, Clinton tried to keep the momentum. Shimon Peres stepped in briefly. Then came Netanyahu. His scepticism of Oslo wasn’t just ideological—it was political fuel. The peace process limped to Camp David 2000, with Barak, Arafat, Clinton. But trust had vanished.
He came from a climate of escalating right-wing rage. Rabin was painted as a traitor for offering land for peace—worse, for violating the myth that all of Greater Israel was sacred, God-given, and eternally Jewish. Amir pulled the trigger, but the climate loaded the gun.
He came from a climate of escalating right-wing rage. Rabin was painted as a traitor for offering land for peace—worse, for violating the myth that all of Greater Israel was sacred, God-given, and eternally Jewish. Amir pulled the trigger, but the climate loaded the gun.
Clinton hosted the handshake on the White House lawn—a moment drenched in symbolism, when history briefly bent toward reconciliation. But Israel, like any nation, is not immune to its fundamentalists. And Rabin’s assassin, Yigal Amir, was not just one man.
Clinton hosted the handshake on the White House lawn—a moment drenched in symbolism, when history briefly bent toward reconciliation. But Israel, like any nation, is not immune to its fundamentalists. And Rabin’s assassin, Yigal Amir, was not just one man.