Ten years ago, one developer pushed 598 lines of code the day after Ethereum came alive, on the bet that people should be able to hold and use their money directly. A hundred million downloads later, the bet is the same. Here's what's coming next 👇

Woke pretty much died 3 years ago and big Hollywood studios are STILL doing it. These are hundred million dollar investments. There is no upside to race or gender swapping Homer's Odyssey. Literally NO ONE wants a girl boss superhero movie. Meanwhile, Obsession produced 400X ROI. Christopher Nolan might be my favorite director so I took this one hard. The market signal couldn't be clearer so I assume it's just the remnants of ESG and DEI policies. Or awards show requirements. What a (Greek) tragedy. But here's the good news. The major studios must be nearing financial ruin and we SHOULD get more original story lines like obsession. Nature is healing. A year or two from now we might finally be done with these miserable woke abominations. Sorry, Foid Gayweather, I mean Elliot Page. We're not doing this "Oh so brave" shit anymore.

▶ SK Hynix flooded with unprecedented offers from Big Tech to secure chip supplies - SK Hynix is reportedly receiving aggressive proposals from global Big Tech firms to fund new production line investments and the purchase of expensive semiconductor manufacturing equipment. - These offers are highly unusual in the global memory industry, coming as demand for memory chips — essential for AI data centers, smartphones, and PCs — has surged beyond what chipmakers can supply. - According to multiple sources, SK Hynix's customers have proposed directly investing in dedicated memory production lines. - Other proposals involve customers funding the purchase of ASML's EUV (extreme ultraviolet) lithography equipment. EUV tools, which etch circuit patterns onto silicon wafers, cost several hundred million dollars per unit. - However, with ample cash on hand, SK Hynix is taking a cautious stance toward accepting customer financing. - The concern is that such arrangements could lock the company into specific customers and potentially require it to supply memory at lower prices in exchange for guaranteed long-term supply. - An SK Hynix official said, "Regardless of the form of the proposal, our currently available production capacity is essentially 'zero,'" adding that "we don't even have small volumes that could be allocated to specific customers." - The official also noted that investment proposals have been made targeting the Phase 1 production line of the large-scale fab currently under construction at the Yongin cluster. - This pattern departs from the memory industry's traditional boom-bust cycle, with the industry increasingly viewing the current AI-driven demand growth as long-term structural growth rather than a short-term cycle. - The development underscores the intensifying competition to secure memory chips amid the AI boom.

Elon Musk just proved that the body is optional. A quadriplegic sat motionless in a chair and played a video game using nothing but thought. No hands. No voice. No movement whatsoever. Just a decision firing across a chip the size of a coin. Musk: “You just lie there and think, and you can move the mouse cursor around the screen and click things.” Download software. Browse the web. Navigate a screen with the same effort you use to remember your mother’s name. Without lifting a finger. Because he can’t. And now he doesn’t have to. That isn’t a product demo. That is a quadriplegic man doing with silence what you do with your entire body. And this is the version with a thousand electrodes. Musk: “I think ultimately you need something which has probably a hundred thousand or a million electrodes.” A thousand gave us telepathy. A million gives us something that doesn’t have a name yet. Musk is honest about how far this still has to go. He’s not overselling it. He’s underselling it. Because the part that should keep you up tonight isn’t what Neuralink still has to build. It’s that the line between human thought and machine action already disappeared. And the world just kept scrolling. Musk: “Our human brain has a lot of constraints. We only have about maybe 10 watts of higher brain function.” Ten watts. That’s less than the light inside your refrigerator. Every empire ever built. Every symphony ever written. Every theory that bent the arc of history. Ten watts of wet biological circuitry. Musk: “It’s not bad for a bunch of monkeys.” He’s not joking. He’s framing the question nobody wants to sit with. If ten watts of constrained primate hardware produced Shakespeare and general relativity and nuclear fission, what happens when the constraint disappears? Not when the brain gets faster. When the wall between thinking something and doing something no longer exists. The entire history of human tools has been one long negotiation with the same problem. You think something. Then you spend hours, years, lifetimes turning that thought into reality. Your hands. Your voice. Your body. Fire shortened the distance. Language shortened it more. Writing. The printing press. Electricity. Code. Every invention ever built was a cruder, slower translation layer between the mind and the world. Neuralink isn’t another layer. It’s the elimination of translation itself. Diamandis: “It’s a matter of when, not if.” Musk didn’t push back. He just kept discussing electrode counts like an engineer reviewing specs on a vehicle that already left the ground. That calm is the tell. The philosophical event already happened. A thought left a human skull, entered a machine, and executed a command in the physical world. No hand touched anything. No mouth spoke. A man thought the word “move” and the screen obeyed. Every tool before this was a prosthetic for intention. This is intention, naked, arriving without a body. The oldest question in philosophy was never about what we can build. It was about where the mind ends and the world begins. Neuralink just made that question obsolete.

I am the Head of Latency at Trump Media, and my job is simple to describe. When the President types something that moves the market, I make sure the firms that pay us receive it a few hundred milliseconds before the push notification reaches the people who elected him. That is the product. People keep hunting for the complicated part. There isn't one. Let me give you the shape of the company first, because it explains me. Last year we booked $3.6 million in revenue and lost around $400 million earning it, roughly $111 of loss for every $1 that came in the door. You do not hire a Head of Latency when the business works. You hire one when you are a $2 billion company whose only functioning asset is one man's phone, and somebody at the strategy meeting finally says the quiet part into the microphone: the posts move the market, so let us sell the posts. Understand what the asset is. It is one man, typing. When he posts, the tape moves, and we can prove it to the decimal, because the feed ships with an archive back to 2022 so a quant can measure exactly how much each Truth has moved a given stock. The signal has a beta now. We are past guessing. We have watched a single post add $4 trillion to the S&P in one afternoon and $500 billion to crypto before lunch, and we have the backtest, and the backtest is what we sell. So here is the tier structure, and I would like you to find yourself in it. The President's posts are free. Anyone can read them, 12.9 million people do, one push notification late. That is the free tier. The free tier is the slow tier. Above it sits the tier that pays, reportedly as much as $100,000 a month, or $60,000 on a 3-year plan, per the number the Financial Times printed, which I could not possibly confirm. Everyone gets the words for free. What the money buys is the head start. The speech that sets your tariff and your gas price and your rent reaches the desk shorting your retirement account before it reaches you, and both of those deliveries are perfectly legal, and only one of them is fast. We know the exact morning the product was born. A single post before the market opened, and by the closing bell the tape had swung about $4 trillion. Nobody in my department calls that a scandal. We call it the demo. It is the slide at the front of the deck. It is the reason the customers signed before we had launched. There is a darker version of my job, and it does not come with a sales team. One morning this spring somebody placed about $580 million on oil roughly 15 minutes before the President posted about Iran, the price fell their way, and a federal regulator is now going desk to desk trying to learn who that somebody was. I could not tell you. Nobody can yet. But I will be fair to them, professionally. That person was doing my job without a contract, without a filing, without a press release. We are the ones who send an invoice. I am required to be precise about the ethics, so here is the script. This is faster access to a post that is already public. Nobody sees a Truth before the world does. Wall Street has always sold the milliseconds. A firm once spent $300 million to tunnel a straighter line through a mountain range and save 3 milliseconds, because a millisecond on that street is worth about $75 million, so no one here blinks at billing for one. We changed a single variable. The signal used to come from an anonymous order book. Now it comes from the government, and roughly 41% of what we charge for it returns to a revocable trust whose sole trustee is the President's son and whose sole beneficiary is the President. He posts the thing. We sell the speed of the thing. The money comes home to the man who posted it. I have drawn that loop on a whiteboard in four directions and it closes every time, cleanly, and a clean loop is what we mean in this building when we say the word integration. You should know the play has a history, because the history is the whole tell. A data company once sold traders a 2-second edge on a government number, then sold a richer tier that beat the 2-second tier by another 5 milliseconds, and a regulator asked them to stop, and they stopped. The newswires ran their own version until they were made to quit. Somebody even gave the practice a name. Every one of those got shut down while the market-moving words still belonged to a university or a company. We are the first to run it when the words belong to the head of state, and so far no one has asked us to stop. And we filed. The whole product is disclosed to the Securities and Exchange Commission under the heading Fair Disclosure. Read that heading twice. The fastest way to buy unfair speed is timestamped and public in a document whose name is Fair Disclosure. Our confession is Exhibit 99.1. The mission statement three paragraphs down says we exist to give the people their voices back, and we do. We give their voices to the desk, at a discount, in milliseconds, 24/7, archived to 2022. A reporter called to ask about all of this. We did not respond. We are very fast on the feed and very slow on the phone, and both of those are the product. So this is the arrangement, in full, and I have stopped pretending it is anything else. The President speaks. The market moves. The firms that paid his company to hear him a half-second sooner place the trade. The money finds its way back to the President. And the citizens the words were spoken to stand on the free tier, phones in their hands, reading their own President a few hundred milliseconds late, which is precisely as late as we have priced them to be. The posts are free. They have always been free. The only thing we ever sold you was your place in the line to hear them.

Every carton of milk you have ever pulled from a refrigerator was designed by a woman locked inside a freezing boxcar in 1905. Her name was Mary Engle Pennington. She was thirty-two years old. She was a Quaker-raised bacteriological chemist from Philadelphia with a Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania. She was the first woman ever hired as a scientist by the Bureau of Chemistry — the federal agency that would eventually become the U.S. Food and Drug Administration. Her job, on paper, was to sit at a back desk and file paperwork. Instead, she strapped a thermometer to her belt, climbed into a moving freight train in the Chicago rail yards, and let them lock the door behind her. Then she did it again. And again. Five hundred times over two years. In 1905, most Americans died young because of food. Milk shipped from Wisconsin dairies to Manhattan tenement apartments arrived in wooden barrels packed with dirty lake ice harvested from frozen ponds. By the time it reached the city, half of it was curdled. Dairies covered the sour smell with formaldehyde. Butchers rubbed borax on decomposing beef to hide the rot. Children in New York and Philadelphia were dying by the thousands every summer from milk-borne bacterial infections. The federal government had almost no power to stop it. Dr. Harvey Wiley, the head of the Bureau of Chemistry, was fighting to change that. He needed a scientist willing to prove — in hard, incontrovertible temperature-log data — exactly how and why the American food supply was rotting in transit. He needed someone who would ride in the refrigerator cars. He knew exactly who he wanted. Pennington was the daughter of a Quaker family that had moved from Nashville to West Philadelphia when she was three. She had discovered chemistry at twelve by borrowing a college-level textbook from the public library. She had completed the coursework for a bachelor of science in chemistry at Penn's Towne Scientific School — and the university's trustees had refused to grant a woman a degree. They handed her a "certificate of proficiency" instead. She stayed anyway. She kept working. She wrote a doctoral thesis. She forced the same trustees to grant her a Ph.D. at twenty-two. Wiley had known the Pennington family for twenty years. He knew what she could do. In 1905 he had her take the federal civil-service exam under the signature M. E. Pennington. The score guaranteed a hire. When she walked into the Bureau of Chemistry office the following Monday, the personnel officer realized what had happened. Federal law required them to hire her anyway. They tried to bury her at a back desk. She spent one week doing filing. Then she walked into Wiley's office and asked for the rail schedules. The Bureau had no cold-weather field gear cut for a woman. She went to a Washington department store and bought her own — heavy wool skirts, oversized men's sweaters, thick wool socks, leather-lined boots. She packed a glass thermometer, a set of sterile glass sampling vials, a leather-bound ledger, and a fountain pen. She walked into the Chicago slaughterhouse rail yards at dawn. She climbed into the ice bunkers of moving freight cars packed with raw poultry and beef. The doors were locked from the outside. She sat in the freezing dark for hours. She measured the temperature wall by wall, floor to ceiling, corner to corner. She sampled the meat every three hours. She wrote everything down in the ledger. She did five hundred of these expeditions over the next two years. She slept in cabooses on rural sidings. She caught pneumonia twice. She kept going. The rail companies had believed for fifty years that cold air, once loaded into a boxcar with ice, would fill the space evenly. Pennington's measurements proved them wrong. Cold air fell to the floor. It stayed there. Warm air generated by rotting cargo rose to the ceiling and stagnated. The meat stacked near the roof was slowly cooking in its own bacterial gases while the meat near the floor was flash-frozen solid. The corners of the cars had dead zones the cold air never reached at all. She discovered that a constant thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit — exactly at the freezing point of water — completely halted the growth of the specific bacterial strains that caused most food-borne deaths. The average American refrigerator car was operating at forty-five degrees. She drafted a complete redesign specification. Exact ice-bunker dimensions. Elevated floor racks so cold air could circulate underneath the cargo. Precise insulation thickness in the walls. Ventilation channels to move air through the dead zones in the corners. The rail industry fought her. Their lawyers, their lobbyists, their Congressional influence, and the political backing of the meatpacking monopolies. They argued a female chemist could not tell railroad engineers how to build trains. She did not argue back. She published the temperature data. The rail companies could not dispute the math. They eventually adopted her specifications wholesale. Spoilage rates collapsed. Big-city childhood mortality from milk-borne infection dropped inside a decade. Her defining test came in April 1917. The United States entered the First World War. The War Department needed to move thousands of tons of perishable American beef across the Atlantic to the Western Front. The commercial rail industry contributed forty thousand refrigerator cars to the war effort. Pennington evaluated every single one. Only three thousand of the forty thousand — seven and a half percent — met her institutional standard. She spent the next eighteen months personally overseeing the emergency retrofit of the other thirty-seven thousand cars. She standardized freezing at the slaughterhouses before the meat ever touched a train. She specified the exact temperature the ocean cargo holds had to maintain from Chicago to Brest. The spoilage stopped. The troops were fed. She served on Herbert Hoover's War Food Administration through the end of the war. In 1919 she left the federal government. In 1922 she founded her own refrigeration-engineering consulting firm, which she ran until she died. In 1923 she founded the Household Refrigeration Bureau to educate American consumers about the emerging home-refrigerator revolution. In 1940 the American Chemical Society awarded her the Francis P. Garvan Gold Medal. She was still consulting on a commercial refrigeration project the week she died — on December 27, 1952, in New York City, at eighty years old. In 2018, sixty-six years after her death, she was inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame. You walk into a grocery store in July. You pull a carton of milk from the back of the case. You do not smell it for rot. You open it. You pour it. You are drinking from the specification of a woman who let them lock her in the freezing dark for two years to prove she was right. If her story stayed with you, drop one word in the comments — Mary, ice, thirty-two, anything that comes to mind. Tap the like button so more people find this story. The page is small. Every reaction helps us keep telling stories like this one.

Folk economics says that the world is zero sum and that if one person becomes rich it means someone else has become poor. Unfortunately, the bulk of the population believes in folk economics. Real economics says that production and trade are positive sum. If I cut down some trees and build a house from them, I haven't deprived anyone else of a house, I've made the world richer by one house. If you dig up iron ore and turn it into steel, you've made the world richer by that amount of steel. As we work to produce things, the world becomes richer and richer. When we trade with others, if the trade is voluntary, both sides always benefit. If I hand a baker $5 for a loaf of bread, and he accepts the money, I necessarily wanted the bread more than the $5, and the baker necessarily wanted the $5 more than the bread. After the transaction, both parties are better off than when they started. The wealth compounds as we turn our labor and raw materials into knowledge and machines that let us produce ever more with less labor and often less material. No one in ancient Rome could have produced a steam locomotive, the knowledge and the tools needed did not exist. No one in Victorian England could have produced an iPhone; the knowledge and the tools needed did not exist. As we get better and better tools and knowledge and save up more and more capital and invest it in better machines and more information, we accelerate the pace at which we can improve things. The economy has grown exponentially over the last 250 years, not linearly. We have thousands of times the wealth per capita of people a few hundred years ago, not slightly more. And we owe all of this to the fact that production and trade is not a zero sum game. In a society where people trade freely and respect each other's property, you can only become rich by increasing the wealth of the world and trading the things you created with others who want what you've made more than they want the money they got by in turn making things themselves. In other words, every wealthy person is a public benefactor, even if they didn't intend to be, because they've produced things others have wanted more than they wanted the things they traded to get them. Unfortunately, most people do not understand the source of the wealth of the modern world. They believe, incorrectly, in the folk economic version of things where wealth comes from depriving others. In a democracy, this belief is dangerous, because it leads people to support extremely bad policies, policies that could end the engine that has raised all of us out of extreme poverty since the industrial age began.

A retired plumber in Nebraska beat the CIA at predicting foreign elections in 2013. A 22 year old college dropout beat every pollster in America in 2024. A 9 billion dollar prediction market called Polymarket is now telling you whether the AI bubble bursts this year, whether the US enters a recession, and whether Anthropic overtakes OpenAI before December. They are all using the same 4-step technique a Berkeley professor proved actually works in a 20 year experiment that should have ended the careers of half the experts on television. His name is Philip Tetlock. In the late 1980s he started collecting predictions from 284 experts. Political scientists. Economists. CIA-adjacent analysts. People paid their entire careers to forecast geopolitics. Over 20 years he gathered 28,000 predictions. Then he scored them. The result destroyed an entire profession. The average expert was barely better than chance. The famous ones, the ones with the most media appearances and the loudest voices, were the worst of the group. The more confident the voice, the worse the score. Buried in his data was something nobody else had emphasized. Fewer than 2% of forecasters were dramatically better than the rest. Year after year. Across domains they had no training in. In 2011 the US intelligence community gave him his chance to prove it at scale. Still bruised from missing Iraq, IARPA ran a 4 year tournament on 500 geopolitical questions. Will North Korea launch a missile. Will Russia invade. The intelligence analysts had classified intercepts. Tetlock's team had retired plumbers and ballroom dancers. Tetlock's team won by 35 to 72 percent against the other academic teams. His top forecasters scored 30 percent better than the CIA reading classified data. A retired pipe installer in Nebraska was outpredicting the intelligence community using only the newspaper. The technique sits in his book in plain language and almost nobody applies it. It starts with a method invented by Enrico Fermi during the Manhattan Project. Fermi handed students problems that looked impossible. How many piano tuners are there in Chicago. He did not want a guess. He wanted them to break the question into smaller questions they could actually estimate. Each sub-estimate was rough. Multiplied together, they landed remarkably close to the truth. Superforecasters Fermi-ize everything. They never try to predict a complex event directly. They shatter it into smaller questions where base rates are knowable, then reassemble the pieces. The second move is the outside view. Most people, asked whether a startup will survive or a war will end by a date, dive into the specific details. Story details feel useful. They are not. Superforecasters first ask how often events of this general type happen across history. The story comes last, not first. The third move is what most people refuse to do. Superforecasters update their predictions constantly, in tiny increments. Not dramatic reversals. Small honest nudges. They move like a Bayesian. Most people move like a teenager defending a position. The fourth move is the one that hits closest. Superforecasters express predictions as actual numbers. Not "likely" or "probably." 62 percent. 18 percent. Vague language is unfalsifiable. A number forces accountability, and accountability is the engine of accuracy. Polymarket is the same idea scaled to a hundred thousand strangers with real money on the line. In the final weeks of the 2024 US presidential election, every major pollster called the race a coin flip. FiveThirtyEight had Harris at 50 to 49. Nate Silver had her at 48.6 to 47.6. Polymarket had Trump at 58 to 42 the morning of the election. By midnight, while networks still refused to call swing states, Polymarket was at 97 percent. In late 2025 the New York Stock Exchange invested 2 billion dollars in the platform. Polymarket is now valued at 9 billion. The largest stock exchange in the world is integrating prediction prices directly into the data feed traders use to make decisions. The plumber did not have classified intercepts. The college dropout did not have a polling model. Polymarket does not have an algorithm nobody else can see. They all have the same thing. A method that forces you to write a number on paper, attach a date, and let the world watch you be wrong. In 2026 the gap between people who price the future and people who narrate it is going to be the most expensive gap in the world to be on the wrong side of.