Blake Seitz

China is really obsessed with material science they graduate buttloads of these researchers, publish like 60% of the world's total high impact material science and engineering research and nobody pays attention not a marketable "product"

Palantir CEO Alex Karp: “America seems to be the only western country that believes we will be around in 900-1000 years.” “The problem in Europe is, none of the leaders believe they’re going to exist in 50 years.”

He was the richest man in the American colonies in 1775. He bankrolled the Continental Army—at times using personal credit to hold it together. He ended up in debtor's prison. This is the story of Robert Morris, a lesser-known Founding Father and the Funder of the Revolution. Born in Liverpool in 1734, Morris crossed the Atlantic at 13, learned the tobacco trade, and by 21 co-founded one of the most powerful trading houses in the colonies. An outsider who clawed his way to the top when bloodlines were everything. He was a latecomer to the Patriot cause, preferring reconciliation with Britain (it was better for business). But when Parliament overreached, Morris went all in: "better to die bravely than be starved by pickpockets." When the Revolution began, the Patriots had no navy, no bank, no currency, and no diplomats. So Morris became all of them. He ran the Secret Committee of Trade, smuggling gunpowder past the Royal Navy with fake cargo logs and spy networks. Washington was literally mixing sawdust into gunpowder. Morris fixed that. Then he built a Navy from scratch. The nation's first warship was his own merchant vessel, refitted with 24 guns. He also built out America's first diplomatic channels, opening the critical arms pipeline with France alongside Ben Franklin. But Morris's biggest weapon was his wallet. The Continental currency was worthless—"not worth a continental" was an insult. So Morris financed the war. He funded the blankets that helped Washington's men survive their first winter. Before Yorktown, he printed "Morris notes" backed by his personal credit. When soldiers threatened mutiny over unpaid wages, Morris signed 6,000 notes by hand and floated another $1 million. If Congress defaulted, he was on the hook. In 1781 Congress made him Superintendent of Finance — effectively CEO of the country. Only Washington outranked him. Morris pioneered modern defense contracting, too. The old system paid agents commissions on spending. Fraud was everywhere, food rotted for lack of transport. Morris scrapped the system for competitive sealed bids to the lowest bidder. Sound business principles, applied to revolution. Morris provided the sinews of war—but his aggressive style made enemies, even on his side. He kept running his private business while in office. His firm sometimes grabbed half the contracts flowing through his own committees. A 1779 investigation branded him a war profiteer. He was never convicted, but the whispers continued. Never mind that his network delivered the goods when few else could. Morris won the war, but lost the peace. After his return to civilian life, he made a big bet on land. Prices cratered, credit tightened, and $12 million in debt later Morris lost it all. He spent three and a half years in debtor's prison and died penniless in 1806. A reluctant patriot, Robert Morris put his own fortune and sacred honor on the line for the cause. Unrewarded in his time, we should honor his contributions to liberty today.

Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi visited the site in Iraq where former IRGC Quds Force commander Qasem Soleimani was killed in a U.S. airstrike ordered during President Trump’s first term.

Ok, Brooks Brothers….I’m catching what you’re tossing.

HEROES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION The Patriots who gathered outside Boston to fight the British in 1775 had no standard flag, uniforms, equipment, or arms. They had little artillery. They had barely enough powder to fire their weapons, much less to dislodge the Redcoats. When George Washington first heard of the shortage of powder, he was so stunned he did not speak for half an hour. The British called the Patriots "the rabble in arms." A peasant revolt that wouldn't survive its first winter. It took leadership and incredible feats of logistics to arm the Patriot force and turn it into an army. In particular, it took a 26-year-old Boston bookseller turned artillery commander named Henry Knox. Call him the Cannon of the Revolution. Henry Knox was abandoned by his father at nine. He left school and went to work in a Boston bookshop where he devoured everything on politics and military science. He married theory with action, joining a local artillery company and learning how ordinary citizens could become competent soldiers. Then he entered the arena of politics, befriending the Sons of Liberty, witnessing the Boston Massacre, boycotting British goods, and stoking the flame of rebellion. When war came, Knox fled Boston in disguise, abandoning his bookstore and his chances for a normal life. Washington spotted his talent immediately and gave him command of the army's artillery. The catch? There was no artillery. Knox would have to bring the bang himself. His chance: 300 miles away at Fort Ticonderoga, dozens of captured cannons sat ready for use. Everyone said moving 60 tons of artillery through mountains and frozen rivers in winter was impossible. Knox did it anyway. It took struggle and sweat. Eight days hard rowing down a half-frozen lake. 42 sleds. 80 yoke of oxen. A cannon lost through the ice (recovered after a full day). A brutal blizzard. But the convoy creeped along. Three months later, Knox’s "noble train of artillery" arrived in Boston. Washington used those guns to seize and arm the heights surrounding Boston in an overnight coup. The British woke to a fortress aimed at their fleet and evacuated the city. The Siege of Boston ended in a near-bloodless victory that saved a crumbling army. Knox’s “noble train” had turned into a strategic advantage for the Patriots. But Knox's real genius was building. He understood a hard truth: if America couldn't make its own weapons, the Glorious Cause was at the mercy of others. "Let us for a moment suppose a misfortune happen to the field Artillery we have," he warned John Adams. "Where shall we get immediately supplied—not in America." So he designed America's defense industrial base from scratch. He chose the site and oversaw the construction of the Springfield Armory, which armed Americans into the Vietnam era and seeded the nation's first manufacturing cluster in the Connecticut River Valley. He also knew you can't win without leaders. In 1778, while the army wintered at Pluckemin, New Jersey, he founded America's first military academy. He wrote the curriculum and taught it himself. That academy was the direct predecessor of West Point (another Knox idea). Knox served with distinction at Washington’s side throughout the Revolutionary War. He orchestrated the Continental Army’s mythic crossing of the Delaware River in 1776. Years later, his guns hammered Cornwallis into surrender at Yorktown. When the war ended, Knox wanted nothing more than to return to civilian life—but like Washington he was called back to public service. Briefly floated as Washington’s running mate, Knox ultimately accepted the more familiar job as America’s first Secretary of War. His Knox’s vision for a free republic's army came down to one thing: people. Arm and train the citizenry. Build institutions that create great leaders. Make the profession of arms honorable to attract the good and the talented. Knox is largely forgotten today. He shouldn’t be—especially this year. 250 years later, our military, our defense industry, and our freedom are all downstream of one Boston bookseller: the Cannon of the Revolution. America's first defense technologist.