Sixty-three six. It was sixty-four an hour ago. Check again. Sixty-three five. The app doesn't even have the decency to load slow anymore, it just serves you the number instantly, like it wants to watch your face when you see it.
Fifty percent. Fifty percent off the October top. A hundred and twenty-six thousand to sixty-three thousand is not a drawdown, it's a bisection. Cut the thing in half and it's still breathing, technically, the same way a starfish keeps moving after you split it, except a starfish grows back and I don't know what this grows back into anymore.
Gold is at four thousand one hundred and change and I want to throw the laptop through the window. Four thousand. It closed out a bet somebody made on Polymarket about which asset hits five figures — sorry, hits the next milestone — first, and it wasn't the one I own. Silver's up past a hundred and seven an ounce, forty-eight percent on the year, and silver is a rock. Silver is a rock that conducts electricity and sits in a vault in London being extremely boring and extremely correct while I am down half my stack on the asset that was supposed to be the rock that fixes everything.
Digital gold. God, I actually said that phrase to my brother-in-law at Thanksgiving. Superior monetary technology. Fixed supply, no central bank can print it, hedge against fiat debasement, twenty-one million forever. And here we are, Warsh's Fed holding at 3.5 to 3.75, three governors publicly dissenting for a hike, the thirty-year yield sitting at a level it hasn't touched since the year Bear Stearns died, and if there was ever a macro backdrop custom-built for the hedge trade to print, it's this one. Debasement fear. Political pressure on the central bank. A Treasury market that doesn't trust the inflation data. This is the setup. This is the exact setup from every whitepaper, every conference panel, every guy on a stage in Miami with a headset mic telling you Bitcoin is uncorrelated, Bitcoin is the exit, Bitcoin is what you buy when you stop trusting the system.
And gold went up eighty percent and Bitcoin went down thirty.
Spot ETFs bled four and a half billion in June alone. Four and a half billion walked out the door in thirty days from vehicles that exist for one purpose, to let institutions own this thing without owning this thing, and they used the exit ramp the second the vibes turned. July clawed a little back, some green candles, a rally to sixty-six, sixty-seven, everyone in the group chat sending the chart with too many exclamation points, and then Sunday it rolled right back over below sixty-four like it always does, like it has for three years running now every single time August's shadow shows up on the calendar. Worst seasonal month on the board and it knows it, the market knows its own superstitions and trades them anyway.
Here's the part that actually keeps me up, more than the number on the screen. It's not that Bitcoin is going down. Things go down. I can handle things going down. It's that the story broke and nobody's said it out loud yet. The whole thesis — the entire reason anyone tolerated the volatility, ignored the energy debates, sat through the exchange collapses, held through 2022 — was that this was the asset that works when the fiat system looks shaky. And the fiat system looks shaky right now. Genuinely shaky. A Fed chair getting outvoted by his own hawks, a thirty-year yield screaming distrust, a president publicly leaning on the central bank to cut while inflation runs hot enough that three sitting presidents want to hike into it. This is the scenario. This was supposed to be the moment. And the money went to a metal that Warren Buffett spent sixty years calling dead weight.
Maybe it's just correlation doing what correlation does under stress — every risk asset gets sold together when real yields rise, and Bitcoin never actually decoupled from the Nasdaq the way the deck slides promised, it just moved with more beta in both directions, a leveraged bet on liquidity dressed up as a hedge against the absence of it. Maybe the ETFs made it worse, turned it into something institutions trade like a call option on risk appetite instead of something anyone actually holds through the pain. Maybe the realized-price models are right and this whole leg down ends somewhere near fifty-three and everyone who's still here in six months looks like a genius. The charts say that's happened before. The charts also said $126,000 was a floor, not a ceiling, about nine months ago.
Futures desks have September priced at sixty percent odds of a hike. Jackson Hole is coming and Warsh is going to stand at a podium and say something about resolute commitment to price stability, and gold is going to do whatever gold does when a hawkish central banker talks, and I genuinely do not know anymore which way that pushes this thing.
Sixty-three four now. It ticked again while I was typing.
I'm not selling. I want to be clear with myself about that, at four in the morning, since apparently this is where the honesty happens. I'm not selling. I just don't know anymore what I'm holding it for.
