People think the war is over and the deal is done.
As a result, many expect the market to rally aggressively.
However, what we saw yesterday looked more like a liquidity grab than a genuine breakout.
If $BTC can maintain strength above $65,000, a move toward the $68,000–$70,000 range is possible. For now, though, I don't see enough real strength to confirm that scenario. Let's see how the stock market opens and closes today.
This week's Fed meeting and the possibility of further rate hikes from Japan remain key factors that could determine the market's next major move, up or down.
Until proven otherwise, I still view this as a bear market, with the overall trend remaining bearish.
🇯🇵Japan is set to raise interest rates to 1% tomorrow, the highest level in 30 years.
What is my take on this?
For decades, global markets have relied on ultra-cheap Japanese capital to fund risk-taking around the world. That era is slowly coming to an end.
Japan's economy is showing signs of stress, debt-servicing costs are rising, and the carry trade that fueled global liquidity is becoming less attractive.
Yet Wall Street remains focused on AI headlines and record highs, largely ignoring one of the most important shifts in global monetary policy.
The question isn't whether this matters. The question is whether markets are pricing in the consequences.
Today was one of those strange days that lingers in your mind long after it ends.
It started innocently enough around lunchtime. My stomach had been growling for a while, and I had a simple choice: head into the city for a proper sit-down meal at one of the middle-class restaurants, or take the easier route and grab something quick and local outside town. I went with the second option something more down to earth, almost like a drive-in but without the cars.
Just outside the city limits I spotted a small roadside food stall. The handwritten sign promised a full stomach for only ten euros, and that was all the convincing I needed. I ordered a couple of burgers, a fresh salad, some grilled seafood, and a small slice of cake for a little treat at the end. Feeling satisfied with my decision, I found a spot on the outdoor terrace, set my tray down, and started eating.
About ten minutes later, a group of three or four European men in work overalls pulled up and took the table next to mine. Their faces were streaked with soot or dirt, and their hands looked like they hadn’t seen soap since they were kids in primary school thirty years ago. They ordered their food and settled in, talking loudly among themselves.
I was halfway through my meal when, roughly twenty minutes later, a dark-skinned local man arrived with his family a wife and two young kids. They found a table a little farther away, ordered, and started eating quietly. Everything seemed normal at first.
Then one of the workers turned toward their table. His voice carried clearly across the terrace.
“What are you still doing in our country?” he said, the words dripping with contempt.
The family didn’t react much. The man kept his eyes on his plate, his wife gently touched his arm, and the children stayed quiet. They were clearly holding back, choosing dignity over confrontation. But the worker wasn’t finished. He muttered something else under his breath, then laughed with his friends and threw another jab—louder this time, more pointed. The family exchanged a few quiet words, finished what they could of their meal in silence, and stood up. They gathered their things with calm, almost graceful movements, paid at the counter, and walked to their car without looking back.
The workers watched them go, smirking and exchanging satisfied glances, as if they’d just won some petty victory. One of them even raised his glass in a mock toast toward the empty table.
I sat there, fork halfway to my mouth, the seafood suddenly tasting bland. The terrace felt heavier. I kept eating because I didn’t know what else to do, but every bite came with a strange aftertaste. When I finally finished, I paid my ten euros, left a small tip, and walked back to my car.
As I drove away, I caught sight of the family’s vehicle still parked a little farther down the road. They were inside, the kids in the back seat, the parents talking quietly. They didn’t look angry—just tired. I wondered what they were saying to each other. Probably the same things families say everywhere when the world shows its uglier side: “It’s okay,” “We’re fine,” “Let’s just go home.”
The rest of the drive back into the city felt oddly quiet. The cheap, filling meal had done its job for my stomach, but the strange, sour feeling from the terrace stayed with me the whole way. Some days you go out just looking for a quick bite, and instead you end up witnessing a small, ugly slice of humanity that you can’t quite shake off.
I kept thinking about it long after I got home. How easily some people decide who “belongs” and who doesn’t. How others choose to answer that cruelty with nothing more than quiet strength and a graceful exit. And how ten euros can buy you a full plate… but never quite enough to wash away the taste of something like that.
If the Knicks win tonight I’m giving away $1,000 to one person that likes this post 💸
Also must be in my Discord, follow my Kick & X w/ notis on both. (Show proof - links below).
Good luck 🏀🍀