sms / Seth Michael Steele is on Nostr

We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools #Bitcoin

Last Notes

2026-10-19 16:01:42 UTC

Temu accidentally makes perfect Bitcoin marketing disguised as a tire inflator ad…
“New upgrade…Let inflation enter the era of speed-up”
HELL F***ING YEAH TEMU😎
https://blossom.primal.net/66284eae33a008ac33f104351b04b22bf7958125d074fb3429a94fbe9f46efe0.jpg

2026-09-22 12:46:15 UTC

Inheriting the Ocean:
The floorboards of the generational house were beautiful, thick white oak, laid down by men who bought the timber for pennies and sold the narrative for millions.
Arthur stood in the center of the drawing room, his boots damp. He could hear the low, rhythmic thrum of the ocean outside, pressing against the foundation. The water was already up to the porch railings.
"You’re tracking mud, Arthur," his uncle said, swirling a glass of amber scotch. He sat in a leather armchair that had survived three recessions without a scratch. "And turn down that anxious energy. It’s ungrateful. We gave you this roof."
"The foundation is taking on water," Arthur said, his voice taut. "The tide is higher than it’s ever been. Look out the window."
A chorus of soft, patronizing laughter rippled through the room. His mother’s friends, draped in silk and mutual funds, didn’t even look up from their bridge game.
"Oh, sweetie, it’s just rain," one of them murmured, adjusting her diamond tennis bracelet. "Your generation is so dramatic. In our day, we just wore boots and walked to work. If you worked a little harder instead of complaining, you wouldn't notice the damp."
"I work eighty hours a week," Arthur whispered, but the words swallowed themselves.
He walked to the heavy glass pane. Outside, the horizon was gone. There was only a wall of dark, churning gray. And then he saw it. Pressing its flat, pale nose against the glass was a silver minnow. It darted away, leaving a smear of cold condensation. He blinked, shaking his head. An illusion.
"See?" his uncle called out, smiling with the terrifying serenity of someone whose debts were paid forty years ago.
"Nothing there. You just want everything handed to you. You lack grit."
They wanted him to drown. Arthur felt the realization coat the back of his throat like ash. They didn't just want him to fail; they needed him to fail. If Arthur crashed and burned under the weight of their world, it proved their narrative. It meant they were giants who earned the sky, rather than lucky children who inherited an easy earth. If he sank, they looked righteous.
Arthur reached into his pocket and gripped his Bitkey. The heavy, cold steel of his private keys felt like an anchor to a different reality.
While they traded paper IOUs and whispered about historical averages, Arthur had been building a raft out of math and electricity. Every spare dollar from his exhausting, underpaid days had been converted into unforgeable code.
He wasn't playing their rigged game anymore. He was buying the only property they couldn't inflate, tax, or lecture away. He was betting on a hard, digital truth to bridge the canyon their greed had carved.
A sudden, violent thud rattled the window frame.
Arthur jumped back. The water was pressing harder now, creeping through the seams of the glass. And there, staring back at him, was no longer a minnow.
It was a barracuda. Its jaws were lined with needle-sharp teeth, its eyes black and hollow with the predatory hunger of a market correction, of inflation, of a system running out of air. It slammed against the glass again, its scales scraping the pane with a sound like a grinding knife.
"Arthur, stop staring at the glass, it’s distracting," his mother sighed, shuffling the cards. "Everything is perfectly fine."
Arthur looked at the barracuda. Then he looked at the room full of ghosts basking in the warmth of a dying fireplace, waiting for him to slip beneath the waves so they could talk about how lazy he had been.
He didn't argue. He didn't try to save them.
Arthur turned his back on the window, checked his Bitkey one last time, and began walking toward the stairs to the roof. Let the storm come. He had built his own ark.

2026-09-22 01:32:23 UTC

Save this it will come in handy later!🫡
.0625 = 1/16
.125 = 1/8
.1875 = 3/16
.25 = 1/4
.3125 = 5/16
.375 = 3/8
.4375 = 7/16
.5 = 1/2
.5625 = 9/16
.625 = 5/8
.6875 = 11/16
.75 = 3/4
.8125 = 13/16
.875 = 7/8
.9375 = 15/16
But...
1 $BTC still = 1 BTC BABY

2026-09-13 14:38:49 UTC

- reply

Labs push “safety” rules that raise fixed costs: licenses, inspectors, compute thresholds, coordinated pacing.
if it limits who may train or release, it’s a moat. If it limits what any of them may build, it’s safety.
#nevent1q…n4c6

2026-04-10 21:32:00 UTC

Charts are looking good, but don’t let yourself forget: no matter what the charts say, things are always going right.
An ambitious prediction could never swamp my conviction.
I judge my position by how well I fall asleep at night.
https://blossom.primal.net/65d569456e768b40a3f8d9fb474ffcd9746410e03a965f3534ae41539a1512bc.png

2026-01-12 02:55:33 UTC

Who is accumulating? Who is selling? Why does it matter? Eyes on your own paper.
You’ve got to be your own ultimate bitcoin maxi. Maybe my purchase doesn’t make headlines, but I’m stacking for my bloodline.
Bitcoin was called speculative and those that called it so are recognizing the truth. When the skeptics integrate you know it’s on.
I stack Bitcoin because someone found an infinite money glitch and it wasn’t me, I don’t believe in infinite money; that’s more than everything.
https://blossom.primal.net/8e3840017e5bfcd8cb6f3a7dbb76d82775542cd2cfdc49c6c6fef29ccbc5b8cb.jpg