Hashrate is slipping off the cliff as miners fling their #bitcoin like scorching hot potatoes in a wild, self-feeding doom loop of panic and electricity-soaked desperation.
The street preachers keep shouting NGU, but they never mention the trap door beneath the choir stand. #Bitcoin isn’t a religion. It isn’t a stock. It’s only worth the trouble if you hold the keys yourself and use it like money — real property, medium of exchange, unit of account. Otherwise it just sits there as a speculative idol, glowing on your hardware wallet while the markets chew on your sanity.
People brag about never selling, but then they mortgage their future to borrow against their stack, only to watch the liquidation bots strip it from their hands at a discount grotesque enough to make a loan shark blush. You thought you were a sovereign individual; turns out you were just liquidity.
Self-custody is the entry ticket. Spending, earning, settling — those are the maturation rites. Until then, Bitcoin stays in the same limbo it’s in now: a number that goes up until it doesn’t, a promise whispered but never cashed in, a revolution deferred by people too afraid to treat it like the money they say it is.
Use it, or keep watching others decide its fate for you.