No violin we have to play, but the music of cryptonians has not been sadder in probably years. Fear has gripped the land, with all certain this will go further down:
The $BTCUSD bounce off of $7,500 – $7,600 was not strong enough & now all signs point to lower lows. Next Target is still unclear but look for a small bounce off the 4hr 9 Buy, then a Daily 9 Buy on Wed. Weekly Chart looks very Bearish w/ a 5 of 9 suggesting 4 more bad weeks. pic.twitter.com/GEtNLMTLLX
— Tone Vays [#Bitcoin] (@ToneVays) February 5, 2018
A target of 5,000 they have all laid out, with the market seemingly racing to it, but if predicting the future was such easy task, we would all be in Mars.
And sensing blood the sharks around bring up their age old bans, and vulture banks circle around: njet, your money is now mine, they shout.
As if in weakness we are not strong, as if in strength we are not weak, the music that played all along plays once again this winter bleak.
When freezing ice finally meets London sites, to give soon way for greener paths, in code we speak, poetry lite, for what is there to say, then price went up and price went down.
Humans. Unpredictably predictable. Like herds they rush in amazement at this new invention. And just as they did, they rush out too in losing interest.
Crypto is now dead, to many. Their interest first piqued has given way to other things, with normal life continuing unabated, nothing left but a memory.
A memory brought to life after months or years have passed when they think, they were there, at the beginning, in the middle, as spectators looking fro in the circus of invention.
Dance, they did not, cry, neither, watch, they did lots, watching and watching others. The doers, the makers, the pioneers and the courageous, who mountains climb in snow to blink not one bit, and oceans swim to feel little of it, except the destination.
Where they are going, no one knows. Perhaps no where, perhaps the journey is the entire point. To create, to invent, to do it better, to do it fairer.
They are the actors in the stage watched by others passing by playing the greatest play written by all of us.
And when others come back after some time has passed they see what they have done and they say they were there, at the beginning and at the middle of the ongoing story.
Their pride, sky high, their imagination, fully widened. Saying little in words, for their eyes say it all. They look up to us, in parliaments, in glass halls, in news stations, in street corners, for the previous of the like brought them light during night.
Will today’s Einsteins have the same effect? Will today’s invention, code, be of a like breakthrough? Can it empower man in the same way, or perhaps more, to extend that most complex faculty of all, the intellect?
For every tulip, there is a car. For everyone saying it can not be done there is someone flying high. For every incredulity expressed there are plenty of embrace, if only to see whether it can be done.
With that aim they advance, seemingly incrementally, almost unnoticeably, very slowly, until suddenly the impossible is the new paradigm.
Then, they can all say again, we were there.