John Makan

We turn Bitcoin into Money. $STRC

Gm! A child born today will live their entire adult life in a world where the the only ways to acquire bitcoin is from someone willing to sell or by working for it. We’re the last generation that gets to participate in meaningful issuance. Every generation after us inherits a closed system.

One of the things I have come to understand about this universe is something I first learned, in sharper form, from the writings of Terry Pratchett. He understood something that many solemn men in expensive rooms never quite manage to grasp. We are not merely Homo sapiens. We are Pan narrans — the storytelling ape, the storytelling chimp, the creature that does not merely observe the world but survives by wrapping it in meaning. That is what we are. Not the rational animal, not the economic animal, not the statistical animal, not the glorious little spreadsheet mammal that consultants dream about after too much airport coffee. We are the animal that tells itself stories and then builds empires, religions, markets, wars, technologies, and entire civilisations around them. People like to pretend otherwise, of course. It is one of their more charming weaknesses. They imagine that the world runs on facts, when most of them would not recognise a fact if it arrived with a passport, three witnesses, and a signed confession. They imagine it runs on science, when half the institutions invoking science are merely laundering authority through a lab coat. They imagine it runs on money, when money itself is only a story that has learned to wear a suit. The strongest force in this universe is not gravity. It is not electricity. It is not the elegant machinery of physics, though I have published in physics and have more work in that field coming. I understand the appeal of equations. They are clean. They are disciplined. They do not flatter fools merely because the fools have followers. But human beings do not run on equations. They run on narrative. They run on stories. Stories are what tell a man whether he is defeated or merely delayed. Stories tell a mob whether it is righteous or merely numerous. Stories tell cowards they are prudent, thieves they are innovators, parasites they are intermediaries, and bureaucrats they are guardians of order. The right story can keep a civilisation alive. The wrong one can make a civilisation applaud while it walks into the furnace. That is why narrative matters. That is why people fight over it. That is why they lie, distort, censor, sneer, smear, and posture. Not because they care about truth. Most people have only a holiday acquaintance with truth. They visit it occasionally, complain about the weather, and return to the warm swamp of consensus. They fight over narrative because narrative governs what people believe is possible. And one of the oldest, strongest, most enduring narratives is the comeback. The return. The man who was declared finished, buried, dismissed, mocked, written off, and explained away by people whose chief talent was being wrong in groups. The amusing thing about such people is that they always mistake the middle of the story for the end. They see blood and call it defeat. They see silence and call it absence. They see delay and call it destruction. They see a man forced to endure and assume endurance is weakness. That is because their imagination is small. And small imaginations always confuse survival with failure. But the comeback is powerful because it does not require permission from the crowd. It does not ask the mob to revise its opinion first. It does not wait for the priests of fashionable consensus to announce that the weather has changed. It simply arrives, inconveniently alive, carrying receipts and a very poor opinion of those who celebrated too early. That is where we are now. They wrote their story. They told themselves they had won. They convinced each other that the patents would disappear, the IP would vanish, the work would be erased, and the man would be stopped. A touching little bedtime story, really. The sort told by people who need the dark to feel safe. But reality has an unrefined habit of entering the room without asking permission. The work remains. The IP remains. The publications are coming. The story is not over.

Every low in the US 30-year yield is higher than the last. Even total chaos in the Middle East is not enough to push investors into US government debt. My view: yields break higher, the Fed steps in, and then the precious metals rally continues.