The Lion Just Got Out
You can train it, feed it, love it, but it will still destroy what mattered most.
Written as the bombs fall again.
On June 21, 2025, the current regime authorized airstrikes on Iran. They called them precise. But there's nothing precise about body counts or grief. This isn't analysis - it's aftermath.
Hi, I'm no-one.
The Cage Door Always Opens
You know that feeling when something terrible happens and everyone acts surprised? Like we couldn't see this coming from miles away?
That's war. It's the lion everyone pretends is tame until it remembers what it actually is.
We build elaborate cages around it: treaties, diplomacy, peace talks. We dress it up in noble language about freedom and defense. We convince ourselves this time will be different because our reasons are righteous, our cause just.
But a lion doesn't care about your intentions. It cares about blood.
And when the cage door swings open, something precious gets devoured. Always.
Two Men Who Tried to Tame the Beast
Smedley Butler believed in the whip. March harder, salute sharper, discipline the beast into submission. For thirty-three years, he fed it well, thinking he was serving honor.
Then he watched the lion turn on the very people it was supposed to protect. Watched it feast on small countries while wealthy men counted profits in the shadows. That's when Butler threw down his whip and said the quiet part out loud: "War is a racket."
Sun Tzu believed in patience. Study the lion's habits, calculate its hunger, never provoke it unless absolutely necessary.
And always leave an escape route: not just for yourself, but for your enemy too.
A trapped enemy fights like they’ve already died. Give them a way out, and they’ll usually take it.
It wasn’t compassion. It was control.
But even the wisest master can't change the lion's nature. You can predict its movements, anticipate its moods, but you can't make it vegetarian.
Different approaches. Same outcome. The lion still destroyed everything beautiful within reach.
What We Keep Learning the Hard Way
Here's what breaks my heart about both men: their methods weren't wrong. They were just outmatched by what they were trying to control.
Butler's courage couldn't civilize the beast. Sun Tzu's wisdom couldn't domesticate it. Because war isn't a problem to be solved, it's a force to be survived.
You can chain it. Teach it tricks—Even convince yourself it's safe for a while. But one day, when the music is playing and everyone's celebrating how well-trained it's become, the lion will remember its claws.
And it will walk back into the center ring—hungry, patient, inevitable.
The Show Must Not Go On
Maybe that's what I keep thinking about as the headlines roll in. We're still setting up the same circus, hiring new trainers, believing maybe this time we'll get it right.
But war doesn't learn. It doesn't evolve. It doesn't become more humane with better technology or nobler intentions.
It just waits. And when we're not looking, when we're busy arguing about who has the best training methods, it slips out of whatever cage we've built and devours what we love most.
The families. The children. The futures we were trying to protect.
You can dress it up in flags and honor, but it still smells like smoke and tastes like salt tears.
After the Applause Dies
So here we are again. The tent is torn, the audience scattered, and we're left counting what the lion consumed while we thought we had it under control.
The only honest response isn't to build a better cage or find a smarter trainer. It's to stop pretending we can make peace with something that exists to destroy peace.
Because every time we open that cage door, every time we whisper "just this once" or "they started it", we're not unleashing a tool. We're feeding a beast that will never be satisfied.
And when it's done eating what we pointed it toward, it will turn and ask what else we have to offer.
The answer, as always, is everything.