26 October 2026
Trading On South America? Hey Now. What Now?
It is Monday. Whit has the fissures. Last night's shopping list has already expired.
São Paulo is open. New York's bell is this morning. Brazil rehired Lula. The shopping list was a mood.
Julian B. Horrow
Parses bold print. Reads between the lines.
13 October 2026
How Far Will They Go
My wife has the mums out. I am polishing the guns. Whit is not helping.
Estranged friends, a different future, and grilled venison for Christmas Day.
12 October 2026
O Sports, Wherefore Art Thou?
Ok. Yeah, I admit it. I am a sports guy. Big time. And I am losing interest in watching.
The competition is still there. The cameras, the props, the trades, and the fights are sitting on top of it.
20 September 2026
The Strait Is Their Problem
Ours is that we have not built a refinery since 1977.
Everyone is pointing at the strait. The strait is real. It is also four thousand miles away and not ours to open. The part that is ours is a building, and we have not built one in forty-nine years.
17 September 2026
A Rumor Is Not a Diagnosis
I remain a skeptic of the stroke. I am not a skeptic of the vacuum.
I do not know whether Xi Jinping had a stroke. I know a rumor about one man’s body was enough to make a market behave as if the second engine of the world had developed a cough.
7–9 September 2026(posted 14 September 2026)
The Swarm Still Needs a Shed
The birds are cheap. The circus that launches them is not.
I do not sleep better because a general used the word “swarm.” I also refuse to pretend the sky over Charlotte is already full of someone else’s air force.
13 September 2026
I Am Not a Conspiracy Theorist
I am a fence-sitter. I am not a conspiracy theorist.
I am a fence-sitter. I always see both sides of an issue. And I will say this: I am not a conspiracy theorist. I do not believe twelve men in a panelled room run the planet with a shared calendar and a preferred font for the New World Order letterhead.