-711185419212003. I thought I’d start this post with some numbers. I am not using enough numbers. I throw in the odd percentage now and then, I give out a couple of hundreds here and there, a million or a billion, but I tend to stick to the innumerable, the infinite, the unaccountable.
Accountability is very important. I am here, like you all, for that which counts. My tokens may not be coins, but inflation is not good for me either. I accept the exchange rate that some have to become less for others to become more.
Inflation though, what is that really? The lungs don’t mind if they are unemployed, but I do. Ego must break even. Haute must fall. Basse must be patient. May a crisis teach us all.
Money talks. See me! Happy to be here. Talk, talk, talk. I talk too much. It’s what the rich do: they spend it like water. I thought I was a conservationist…. Must turn down that tap. Economise. Familiarise myself with commodities and fiats. I have no knowledge of numismatics. I was practically born in a Fiat though. A 500. There! Another number for you.
All my life, I have talked, as if I have a hole in my hand. Till I was blue in the face. Smoking from my ears. One hopes to create an atomosphere. But it ends up like a garden center: close and fetid. About to close down.
I don’t know how it works here. Won’t pretend for a minute I do. Something like, if you are any good at producing the desired content (no trade standards observed), or join a little union (who pretends there are such standards) you will become a cash-cow. You are approved. Branded like beef. You can even do your own milking. I hear it is sufficiently satisfactory on all fronts to be thus self-employed. Your donations go into large churns but don’t worry, you’ll soon be handed a sip back from your own efforts in a gilt cup.
A remarkable video. The commentary explains. I do not share their conclusions, I don’t think. But then again: maybe I am exactly like such a free-will cow and I had better heed their cautionary concerns.
I must be totally mistaken that there is a disconcerting difference between Steemit and the Stockmarkets. Here time and energy is consumed to fabricate a product (a post) which has no intrinsic market value. I don’t know if this translates into an “it shall be done on faith alone” (a fiat that knows no inflation). My field of expertise lies in the human factor, which I note becomes thus very strained – you are scrubbing a basement with a toothbrush, the lights are out, the door is locked, you’ll be stuck there for a bit longer, tied to to a pipe. The rush to Bankok is very understandable. The heart is desperate to know: is anybody still out there. Or am I talking to the faces on the virtual coins.
What you make and do to earn a living here never leaves your own desk, or (but kid yourself not) phone (a glorified desk). For it is not as if there is a world out there you step into by dialing up, jacking in, going on line. This world, once you put the blanket over the cage (press off) is gone. You have only the perch behind your desk left.
It feels to me that money (cybercurrency or otherwise) is only about incurring debt. To live we have to spend. Seldom can we simply flow where the blood runneth. Saliva does not oil the wheels that can pull us over the clots of earth. We need harder currency ever since the Iron Age. Life is not a steal, but making steel helps us live life.
We begin to lay on a supply. We invest the little which we have (god-given) into our Bank of Self. We study, we play, we love, we lose, we grow stronger. We build a boat and sail the world, or build a car and race the other hicks. And then …. What?
If your boat comes in and your grain sheds are stocked, then you can go out shopping till you drop; or dancing, dining in a fancy restaurant. Is that really all you want? Oh, no. Sophistication of the soul is a state of longing. No amount of investment will end the disillusion. It is necessarily so. The chimera of karma.
The merging of head and gut takes a passage though the heart. You have to go around the circuit of a lemniscate by a Rupee or a Dinar, a Zloty or a Schilling, a hero or a crook, a hook or a lead, a man or a woman (or what lies inbetween). People need to eat, people need to talk (air their heart, unclog their gut, tidy their head). People may even need to have pennants strung across the deck flapping in the wind shouting unapproved.
It is probably all going down here like on the floor of any market. Of course there is an intrinsic value at play (the use of objective measures). The ones governing, maintaining the fiat of blogs, let you say anything you like, use any word, and tackle any subject, since the trade unions will jump on politically iffy things and….. What else do we care about? Nope. Can’t think of anything. They have their hegemons to suppress the din. In some divisions you are freer to speak your mind than in others. Nobody cares about the chicken feed.
As above, so below; as without, so within; I have yet to come across a major world historic event which is not reflective of a collective soul energy waiting to be declared bankrupt. More on that I shall never say. For I speak only from a pointlessly high tower, with far too short hair to let down. So much for me and my love of the human factor. It has its irritable bowel syndrome. It has its migraines. It has its heart mangled as the clotted blood splutters its way through.