THE BULL MARKET OF ILLUSIONS
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There's a silent law in the world of cryptocurrencies, a law no one teaches but everyone eventually experiences: before every bull market, there's a cycle of lies. A cycle where illusions heat up, where collective attention shifts toward the easy way out, where humans behave like animals drawn to the bright lights of a fair. It's called "market frenzy," "the return of the bull," "the resurgence of speculation." But in reality, it's nothing more than a play. A play where the actors don't know their parts, where the audience is just as naive as the performers, and where the script is exactly the same as the one performed four years earlier, but with new sets, new costumes, and new lines copied and pasted from influencers no one has ever heard of.
Each cycle begins the same way: a faint, almost imperceptible noise that slowly grows into a rumble. This noise is the crypto tourists waking up. They weren't there during the bear market. They had gone to live their lives elsewhere, in comfort, in indifference, in easy narratives. But the first signs of euphoria call them back like sirens. They all return. The same profiles, the same gestures, the same mistakes. It's almost reassuring in its regularity. As if human nature stubbornly refuses to evolve.
They never come back empty-handed. They arrive armed with a superficial expertise freshly absorbed from YouTube. They talk about accumulation, cycles, macroeconomic catalysts, global liquidity, as if they've suddenly discovered the secrets of the world. In reality, they're just repeating memorized phrases, borrowed jargon, theories they don't understand. They pile up words to mask their anxieties. The market becomes an improvised religion for them, a way to give meaning to their agitation. They convince themselves that this time, it will be different. The bull market listens, amused, and prepares to teach them a lesson in gravity.
And then come the memecoins. The true kings of this tragicomic spectacle. They are the professional clowns of the stage. They appear out of nowhere, like hallucinogenic mushrooms after the rain. A dog, a cat, a frog, a rabbit on ecstasy, an obese rat, a depressed penguin, a logo that vaguely resembles something we've seen before. All it takes is for a community to seize upon it for its value to explode. Not because of its usefulness, but because the crowd needs a laugh. Memecoins exist to offer an escape. A breath of pure absurdity in a world saturated with economic anxiety.
Their existence is a parody, but a tragically effective one. They reveal something cruel: the vast majority of people aren't seeking financial independence, sovereignty, or an understanding of the protocol. They're seeking distraction. An adrenaline rush. An illusion of participation. They want to feel "in the know," "in the movement," "in the hype." They don't want Bitcoin. They want a dream. The substance doesn't matter. The truth doesn't matter. The dream is enough.
Then comes the AI narrative, the new star of the cycle. It doesn't need to be logical. It doesn't need to be true. It just needs to be exciting. So we see the emergence of "decentralized AI" tokens, "autonomous agent protocols," "on-chain neural architectures," "deep learning-optimized quantum blockchains," as if someone, somewhere, actually knew what these words meant. Explanatory videos are churned out, tweets multiply, and self-proclaimed experts appear out of nowhere with unsettling self-assurance.
The AI narrative is nothing new. It uses the exact same mechanisms as narratives of the past: vague promises, seductive concepts, a deliberate mix of technical complexity and irrational hope. People want to believe that AI will “create a new economic paradigm,” “generate money on its own,” “automate wealth,” “replace Bitcoin.” We listen to these claims with a kind of amused weariness. Narratives never die. They recycle themselves. They change their appearance, they give themselves a new name, but they follow the same silhouette, the same logic: they sell an easy future.
While this commotion spreads like a hypnotic tide, Bitcoin remains motionless. Motionless like a mountain. Motionless like a truth that has nothing to prove. Motionless like a block of stone in a sandstorm. This stillness deeply disturbs crypto tourists. They experience it as a provocation. They want movement. They want light. They want Bitcoin to dance with them in this grotesque carnival. But Bitcoin does not dance. Bitcoin does not follow. Bitcoin does not play. Bitcoin does not move.
This absolute indifference is what makes Bitcoin so difficult to understand. In a world where everything is becoming a spectacle, Bitcoin refuses to be entertaining. It doesn't seek attention. It promises nothing. It offers no comfortable narrative. It doesn't adapt to trends. It remains cold, mechanical, mathematical. It demands a discipline, a patience, a mental effort that almost no one wants to undertake. That's why illusions always win at the beginning. Because they're easy.
The bull market of illusions thrives precisely because humans hate slowness. They hate simplicity. They hate effort. They want shortcuts. They want to avoid difficulty, even though that difficulty is the only thing that can truly offer them something lasting. Illusions are not a market accident. They are the manifestation of a profound inability to face reality. And the market exploits this inability with cynical perfection.
But contrary to what crypto tourists imagine, it's not memecoins or AI narratives that trigger cycles. It's not the noise that creates the movement. The noise is merely a symptom. The true engine of the bull market lies elsewhere: in the global economy, in monetary pressure, in the loss of trust in institutions, in the disgust with systems that mint money like they print brochures. Bitcoin has never needed hype. Bitcoin needs bankruptcies, crises, exposed lies, political fractures. It's the cracks in the old world that fuel its growth, not the illusions of a new one.
And when these cracks become visible, when banks falter, when inflation crushes wages, when governments multiply their contradictions, Bitcoin advances. Slowly, but with chilling regularity. This slow, imperceptible movement eventually becomes massive. And it is often at this point that crypto tourists re-enter the scene. But they never arrive at the right time. They always arrive when it's too late, when Bitcoin has already taken off, when the majority of the movement has passed.
They are convinced their timing is perfect. They think they've seized "the opportune moment." Others have told them it's "now or never." But Bitcoin doesn't follow such formulas. It never rewards the impatient. It rewards the disciplined, those who accumulate when everyone else flees, those who observe the market's silence without panicking, those who know that noise has no value. These individuals are never the most vocal. They are the silent ones of the bull market. The anti-tourists. The only ones Bitcoin ultimately vindicates.
The bull market of illusions is important because it reveals a fundamental truth about human nature: illusion is always more seductive than truth. Illusion promises shortcuts. Truth demands effort. Illusion tells exciting stories. Truth explains austere mechanisms. Illusion flatters egos. Truth shatters them. Illusion thrills. Truth stabilizes. Illusion heats things up. Truth cools them down. And in a world frantically seeking warmth, Bitcoin appears as an anomaly: a cold fire.
This coldness is precisely what makes Bitcoin stronger than anything else. Because it never tries to please. It never tries to convince. It never disguises itself. It simply is. It is the only constant in a noise-saturated environment. When memecoins burn out, when AI narratives dissolve, when influencers disappear, when illusions crumble, Bitcoin remains standing. Not because it is carried by the crowd, but because it is carried by mathematical laws.
The market always catches up with illusions. It crushes the gamblers. It obliterates dreamers. It obliterates certainties built on nothing. The market is a silent predator with no empathy. Crypto tourists, however, don't understand this. They think they're on the right side of the cycle. They think they're protected. They think that this time, the illusion is real. Until the moment it explodes.
Paradoxically, it's at this moment that Bitcoin truly begins its movement. The moment the illusions crumble. The illusions are a smokescreen. They obscure Bitcoin. They draw attention elsewhere. They distract. And while everyone watches the artificial fireworks, Bitcoin carves out its place. Slowly. Surely. Silently. The illusions die. Bitcoin endures. Always.
The bull market of illusions is therefore much more than a simple market phenomenon. It's a ritual. A purification. A purge. A natural cycle where illusions must die for truth to advance. And when the dust settles, when the noise dies down, those who finally understand what transpired pick up the pieces. They return to the cold, hard facts. They abandon the mirages. They refocus. And they discover something that crypto tourists have never sought: reality. The reality is simple. Bitcoin doesn't need them. They need Bitcoin. And they always realize it too late.
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