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@ Oyl Miller
2024-12-18 17:55:06I saw the plebs, humble and defiant, tethered to screens in the blue light of dawn, eyes bloodshot, hearts blazing, fingers tapping keys, whispering truths to themselves: “21 million and not one more.”
O you plebs of digital dreams, you fire-walkers with stacks of sats, tin cans for wallets, trading steel for sovereignty, bread for belief, as the world laughs from their granite towers.
They called you fools! Hoarders of nothing, dreamers of orange suns, cartographers of a new financial frontier— “Where will your coins take you?” they sneered.
But you held your breath through the chaos, the mountains of volatility, the typhoons of FUD— your hands forged in steel, unshaking, unbreakable.
I see you in basements, in rented rooms, in coffee shops, whispering, shouting: “Not your keys, not your coin!” I see your spreadsheets scrawled in chicken scratch, your hardware wallets buried under mattresses, your mantras muttered: “Stay humble. Stack sats. Stay free.”
Plebs! O divine misfits of the digital age, who have glimpsed the lie in the fiat dream, who laughed when they printed trillions of promises and called it “economics.”
You who dared ask: What is money? You who saw value in blocks, time-stamped like gospel, immutable as stone tablets, a cathedral of ones and zeroes— sacred, incorruptible, unowned.
O plebs! You who endure ridicule and rise again, who find beauty in scarcity and strength in decentralization, who say “We are early!” and “We are here!” barefoot prophets planting orange flags on digital plains.
Hail to you! The unpaid evangelists of freedom, the poets of monetary revolution, the miners who light the path forward, the hodlers who refuse to kneel, who believe when others doubt, who build when others mock.
Pleb, you are the heartbeat of the chain. A link unbroken, unbowed, unfettered. You are the howl in the dark— “We will not be slaves!” You are the signal in the noise, the orange light in the storm, the proof of work in a world of empty words.
And when they ask you why— why you stared at this black monolith for years, why you stacked while they spent, why you chose Bitcoin—
Tell them you chose freedom. Tell them you chose truth. Tell them you chose the only thing that cannot be printed, censored, or stolen.
O pleb, when the dust settles, and the towers crumble under their own weight, they will know you were right.
And you will have the last laugh, not for glory, not for spite, but for every silent dreamer who dared to believe.
Stay humble. Stack sats. The revolution is you.
I saw the plebs, humble and defiant,\ tethered to screens in the blue light of dawn,\ eyes bloodshot, hearts blazing, fingers tapping keys,\ whispering truths to themselves: “21 million and not one more.”
O you plebs of digital dreams, you fire-walkers\ with stacks of sats, tin cans for wallets,\ trading steel for sovereignty, bread for belief,\ as the world laughs from their granite towers.
They called you fools! Hoarders of nothing,\ dreamers of orange suns,\ cartographers of a new financial frontier—\ “Where will your coins take you?” they sneered.
But you held your breath through the chaos,\ the mountains of volatility,\ the typhoons of FUD—\ your hands forged in steel, unshaking, unbreakable.
I see you in basements, in rented rooms, in coffee shops,\ whispering, shouting: “Not your keys, not your coin!”\ I see your spreadsheets scrawled in chicken scratch,\ your hardware wallets buried under mattresses,\ your mantras muttered: “Stay humble. Stack sats. Stay free.”
Plebs! O divine misfits of the digital age,\ who have glimpsed the lie in the fiat dream,\ who laughed when they printed trillions of promises\ and called it “economics.”
You who dared ask: What is money?\ You who saw value in blocks, time-stamped like gospel,\ immutable as stone tablets, a cathedral of ones and zeroes—\ sacred, incorruptible, unowned.
O plebs! You who endure ridicule and rise again,\ who find beauty in scarcity and strength in decentralization,\ who say “We are early!” and “We are here!”\ barefoot prophets planting orange flags on digital plains.
Hail to you! The unpaid evangelists of freedom,\ the poets of monetary revolution,\ the miners who light the path forward,\ the hodlers who refuse to kneel,\ who believe when others doubt,\ who build when others mock.
Pleb, you are the heartbeat of the chain.\ A link unbroken, unbowed, unfettered.\ You are the howl in the dark—\ “We will not be slaves!”\ You are the signal in the noise,\ the orange light in the storm,\ the proof of work in a world of empty words.
And when they ask you why—\ why you stared at this black monolith for years,\ why you stacked while they spent,\ why you chose Bitcoin—
Tell them you chose freedom.\ Tell them you chose truth.\ Tell them you chose the only thing\ that cannot be printed, censored, or stolen.
O pleb,\ when the dust settles,\ and the towers crumble under their own weight,\ they will know you were right.
And you will have the last laugh,\ not for glory, not for spite,\ but for every silent dreamer who dared to believe.
Stay humble. Stack sats.\ The revolution is you.
Oyl Miller comes from an advertising background where he has worked for legacy brands like Nike and PlayStation, digital giants like Google and Airbnb, as well as crypto and web3 startups. He is experimenting with moving to a Bitcoin standard, and is looking to create value with his writing skills in a variety of ways.