What a curious spectacle—a boardroom melodrama faintly scented with ambition and printer ink—unfolds every time Michael Saylor, harbinger of spreadsheets and maverick of micro-versions, dispatches his minions to seize mountains of Bitcoin from the receding haze. You might imagine the trading floor would ignite into a frenzied combustion, incandescent as Prometheus’s torch, but alas—the needle on the price chart twitches with the restraint of a librarian at naptime.
Citizens demand: Why does the harvest of Saylor, measured in numbers so large they could supplant the stars, not rattle the very price of Bitcoin? We must consult the oracles, or failing that, Joe Burnett, Director of Market Research and keeper of all infernal data points at Unchained. Burnett, a man with the haunted look of one who has seen the insides of too many blockchains, narrates the paradox for the benefit of common mortals and day traders who believe in magic candlesticks. Sure, Strategy (née MicroStrategy) accumulates coins by the wagonful, but the coins, indifferent as aging aristocrats, barely stir.
Burnett, with a philosopher’s smirk, gestures: Behold the “hodl wave”—elders and ancients who have clung to their coins since the Pleistocene, stirred awake from frozen slumber only by parabolic upswings. These ancient mariners, upon seeing their hoards swell in price, finally bequeath their digital dowries—into the calloused hands of companies, ETFs, sultans, and—one presumes—people with robust internet connections.
Yet Saylor, whose purchasing schemes resemble surgical procedures on a sleeping patient, avoids the clumsy euphoria of market manipulation. His team dispatches thousands upon thousands of dainty orders, so poised one could mistake them for polite society invitations. No panic, no bidding duels. Only the slow transfer from the patient holders to Strategy’s swelling coffers. Hardly a riot.
Here Burnett, twirling the intrigue like a cane, unveils the true jest: Saylor’s dollars do not arrive as fresh-faced newcomers. Oh no, they simply swap disguises. He narrates: Sell on Kraken, buy on Coinbase—what drama! The price goes nowhere, a farce without climax. Saylor transmutes equity into Bitcoin, but this ballet pirouettes on the same stage—old demand in new costumes. The money, tired and cynical, is forever shuttled between crypto proxies, never gloriously multiplying.
He evokes, with raised eyebrow, the ETFs launched amidst much fanfare. Billions cavorted in, but billions—crestfallen—strolled out of GBTC. From A to B, as if the universe itself opposed excitement. New demand, Burnett sighs, is the true colossus: capital that leaps from cursed bonds, haunted real estate, or—dare we say—Apple’s treasury, directly into Bitcoin’s embrace. Until then, Saylor orchestrates a remarkable plumbing project, elegant but—let’s be honest—more about pipes than fireworks.
Burnett, no stranger to either irony or flattery, tips his cap to Saylor as educator and grand strategist. Yet even as Saylor’s stealthy STRF funds prepare to woo the timid fixed-income contingent, the market, unmoved, gazes into the middle distance and ponders the next spreadsheet. Until daybreak or an unexpected unicorn invasion, Saylor will continue buying like a shadow at sunrise—never quite touching the volcano’s rim.
At this moment of philosophical pause, Bitcoin trades at $94,971. The world awaits its next convulsion with the familiar air of people stuck in a queue, holding lottery tickets.
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2025-05-01 18:08