asyncmind on Nostr: The Trojan Sat of Divine Reckoning A Cynical Satire by a Pleb Who Has Seen Too Much ...
The Trojan Sat of Divine Reckoning
A Cynical Satire by a Pleb Who Has Seen Too Much
#Bitcoin #TrojanHorse #FiatCollapse #GrecoRoman #PlebeianPower #SoundMoney #HardMoney #Decentralization #EndTheFed #Hyperbitcoinization #Sovereignty #CryptoRevolution #PlebStrength #EconomicFreedom #MonetaryReckoning #TruthInMoney #BitcoinFixesThis #SatStandard #DigitalGold #Liberty
Lo! Gather round, ye wretched debtors and wage-slaves, ye bond-servants shackled not in chains of iron but in the invisible yoke of the Great Fiat Imperium! Come, and I shall tell thee of the Trojan Sat—a thing of humble weight, yet heavy as Jupiter’s wrath, a thing of incorruptible number, yet feared by the greatest emperors of ledger and quill.
I. The Fat Imperators of Fiatonia
Behold the corpulent magistrates of the Fiatonia Republic! They sit in marble halls, weaving golden lies from the loom of Mammon. Their scribes, the learned accountants and alchemists of numbers, transmute labor into air, sweat into dust, and savings into the void. They conjure wealth from debt and breed power from decay, their temples adorned with statues of themselves, their names carved into the very coinage they debase.
Each denarius they touch turns to lead, yet they command the legions of servile scribes, ink-stained priests who, with a flick of the pen, mint into existence new sacks of empty promise. “Toil, plebs! Pay thy tax, feed the wolves of the treasury, lest they come gnawing at thy door in the night!”
And lo, from their balconies they cast bread (inflated to the size of a chariot wheel, yet hollow as their decrees) upon the groveling masses, who squabble for crusts like starved dogs beneath the Senate steps.
II. The Coming of the Trojan Sat
But hark! From the east, from the distant land of Satoshi, there came a gift—a thing unseen, untouched, a number divine, secured by the oracles of cryptography. It was a mere sat, a tiny unit of weight, yet inside it roared the fates of empires. It was no mere coin, no pathetic note marked with the seal of a dying Caesar. Nay! It was truth rendered immutable, law engraved not in the fickle clay of human greed but in the celestial iron of mathematics.
The lords of fiat laughed. “What is this? A digital trinket? A plaything of plebs and outlaws?” And thus, in their ignorance, they wheeled the Trojan Sat into their own gates.
And oh, how they jeered! “It is a bauble for fools! A mere speculation! No army, no treasury, no decrees shall raise it above the denarii of the Republic!”
But the plebs, we knew. We whispered in the wine-soaked streets, in the shadowed forums, beneath the colonnades of a decayed empire. “This is no mere token,” we said. “This is the reckoning.”
III. The Ruin of the Ledger Lords
And lo, as the night stretched long over the Republic, the Trojan Sat stirred. The scribes, so long accustomed to their endless conjurations, found their quills turned to dust. Their ledgers, once bound in gold, now burned like the libraries of old. The people, once forced to kneel before the taxmen and money-changers, now held their own sovereign weights in the palms of their hands, beyond the reach of imperial decree.
And in the temples of Mammon, the bankers cried out: “Who has done this? Who has ripped out the golden entrails of our false economy? Who has stolen from us the very power to control the bread and the games?”
And the answer came, not from the voice of an emperor, not from the command of a senate, but from the silent, immutable ticking of a digital sundial, etching blocks into eternity.
One by one, the temples of fiat collapsed. The mighty towers of corporate debtors, built upon sand and fraud, crumbled into the abyss of forgotten folly. The Imperators, once so fat with plunder, fled in disgrace, clutching their worthless papyrus notes as the fires of hyperinflation consumed them.
IV. The Triumph of the Plebs
And the plebs, long scourged by taxation, by toil without end, by a system built upon their misery, at last stood free.
No longer did they beg for a fair measure of coin; for they had the incorruptible. No longer did they suffer the whims of the senate; for they had escaped their grip. No longer did they kneel before the ledger priests; for the ledgers had been torn open, their frauds laid bare for all to see.
And so, as the dust of empire settled, the Trojan Sat stood eternal, gleaming in the ruins of a false economy.
And we, the plebs, did rejoice.
For at last, the tyranny of the false coin was undone.
For at last, the fiat emperors, stripped of their deceit, stood naked before the gods.
And the gods, ever just, laughed.
Fin.
A Cynical Satire by a Pleb Who Has Seen Too Much
#Bitcoin #TrojanHorse #FiatCollapse #GrecoRoman #PlebeianPower #SoundMoney #HardMoney #Decentralization #EndTheFed #Hyperbitcoinization #Sovereignty #CryptoRevolution #PlebStrength #EconomicFreedom #MonetaryReckoning #TruthInMoney #BitcoinFixesThis #SatStandard #DigitalGold #Liberty
Lo! Gather round, ye wretched debtors and wage-slaves, ye bond-servants shackled not in chains of iron but in the invisible yoke of the Great Fiat Imperium! Come, and I shall tell thee of the Trojan Sat—a thing of humble weight, yet heavy as Jupiter’s wrath, a thing of incorruptible number, yet feared by the greatest emperors of ledger and quill.
I. The Fat Imperators of Fiatonia
Behold the corpulent magistrates of the Fiatonia Republic! They sit in marble halls, weaving golden lies from the loom of Mammon. Their scribes, the learned accountants and alchemists of numbers, transmute labor into air, sweat into dust, and savings into the void. They conjure wealth from debt and breed power from decay, their temples adorned with statues of themselves, their names carved into the very coinage they debase.
Each denarius they touch turns to lead, yet they command the legions of servile scribes, ink-stained priests who, with a flick of the pen, mint into existence new sacks of empty promise. “Toil, plebs! Pay thy tax, feed the wolves of the treasury, lest they come gnawing at thy door in the night!”
And lo, from their balconies they cast bread (inflated to the size of a chariot wheel, yet hollow as their decrees) upon the groveling masses, who squabble for crusts like starved dogs beneath the Senate steps.
II. The Coming of the Trojan Sat
But hark! From the east, from the distant land of Satoshi, there came a gift—a thing unseen, untouched, a number divine, secured by the oracles of cryptography. It was a mere sat, a tiny unit of weight, yet inside it roared the fates of empires. It was no mere coin, no pathetic note marked with the seal of a dying Caesar. Nay! It was truth rendered immutable, law engraved not in the fickle clay of human greed but in the celestial iron of mathematics.
The lords of fiat laughed. “What is this? A digital trinket? A plaything of plebs and outlaws?” And thus, in their ignorance, they wheeled the Trojan Sat into their own gates.
And oh, how they jeered! “It is a bauble for fools! A mere speculation! No army, no treasury, no decrees shall raise it above the denarii of the Republic!”
But the plebs, we knew. We whispered in the wine-soaked streets, in the shadowed forums, beneath the colonnades of a decayed empire. “This is no mere token,” we said. “This is the reckoning.”
III. The Ruin of the Ledger Lords
And lo, as the night stretched long over the Republic, the Trojan Sat stirred. The scribes, so long accustomed to their endless conjurations, found their quills turned to dust. Their ledgers, once bound in gold, now burned like the libraries of old. The people, once forced to kneel before the taxmen and money-changers, now held their own sovereign weights in the palms of their hands, beyond the reach of imperial decree.
And in the temples of Mammon, the bankers cried out: “Who has done this? Who has ripped out the golden entrails of our false economy? Who has stolen from us the very power to control the bread and the games?”
And the answer came, not from the voice of an emperor, not from the command of a senate, but from the silent, immutable ticking of a digital sundial, etching blocks into eternity.
One by one, the temples of fiat collapsed. The mighty towers of corporate debtors, built upon sand and fraud, crumbled into the abyss of forgotten folly. The Imperators, once so fat with plunder, fled in disgrace, clutching their worthless papyrus notes as the fires of hyperinflation consumed them.
IV. The Triumph of the Plebs
And the plebs, long scourged by taxation, by toil without end, by a system built upon their misery, at last stood free.
No longer did they beg for a fair measure of coin; for they had the incorruptible. No longer did they suffer the whims of the senate; for they had escaped their grip. No longer did they kneel before the ledger priests; for the ledgers had been torn open, their frauds laid bare for all to see.
And so, as the dust of empire settled, the Trojan Sat stood eternal, gleaming in the ruins of a false economy.
And we, the plebs, did rejoice.
For at last, the tyranny of the false coin was undone.
For at last, the fiat emperors, stripped of their deceit, stood naked before the gods.
And the gods, ever just, laughed.
Fin.