All quiet on the frontal lobe 🧠

A poem for the retards who don’t think BTC priced in USD matters… *The Sats Don’t Lie* They say, “I don’t care for the dollar’s scream, That fiat ghost, that paper dream.” They stack their sats with stoic grace, Eyes fixed on time, not price, not pace. “Bitcoin’s up? Bitcoin’s down?” They shrug and sip their coffee brown. “USD is noise,” they grin, “Tick-tock next block, we always win.” Yet at the café, quiet and slow, A truth taps gently—do you know? The croissant tagged in sats today Costs more than it did yesterday. The shirt, the rent, the morning brew, All priced in sats—but not just two. For though they curse the dollar’s spell, Its shadow moves the satoshi as well. When fiat wobbles, shakes, or sighs, The sats must dance to clear the ties. Merchants think in dollars first, Then translate through the market’s thirst. So even those who “price in sats,” Still ride the waves of fiat stats. The ruler changed, the maths remained, The ghost still whispers, unrestrained. This isn’t sin, nor heresy, Just layers of reality. Unit of account takes time, Until sats alone define the line. So stack in peace, ignore the chart, But know this truth within your heart: While USD still sets the frame, It moves the sats—just not by name. One day the tag will simply read: 1,200 sats — no reference, no need. Till then, my friend, don’t be surprised When fiat ghosts move sats in disguise. ₿

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