Once upon a time, the world thought value was best trapped in shiny rocks dug from the ground or in digital doodads called Bitcoins, all locked up in a big cosmic piggy bank with 21 million invisible coins clinking around inside.

These coins were so precious because, well, they said so.

A number, you see, is a holy thing.

But let me tell you a story about a bunch of peculiar people who believed in something altogether different.

They thought,

"What if value wasn't just a dusty old number, like how many marbles fit in a jar, but something alive?

Something that danced, hummed, and kept you up at night, whispering ideas into your ear?"

They figured, what if the whole game wasn’t about hiding wealth in a vault but instead about bottling up human creativity?

You know, the juicy stuff—art, ideas, stories, the things that make life bearable when your toilet overflows.

So they built a network, not for mining but for making.

A place where you didn’t need to crack open the earth to find gold, but instead, you pledged your wildest ideas, your art, your poetry about sad dogs and distant stars.

You didn’t sell it or give it away—no sir.

You let the network steward it, keep it safe, and in exchange, it gave you a shiny new coin.

A coin, not backed by numbers or some long-dead economic theory, but minted from your brilliance.

And here’s the twist: these coins weren’t just bits of code or idle cash. They were also possessed.

Possessed with the energy of your peers — a web of strangers who glimpsed magic where others saw only madness.

As your art, your stories, and your fever dreams spread across the world, people began to see the coins not for what they were, but for what they represented.

And like how some folk get funny ideas about paintings of soup cans or a song about nothing at all, the value of these coins grew because the ideas behind them grew.

The more people cared, the more those coins meant something.

So, instead of a fixed supply of cold hard certainty, this was a wild, unpredictable dance of cultural collateral—value as alive as the people who created it.

A currency not stored in vaults or wallets, but in hearts, minds, and the buzzing hive of human imagination.

In this world, value wasn’t a store of value but a store of values — a place where our best, strangest, most meaningful creations found refuge.

And if you ever wondered what something was worth, you’d have to ask yourself, "How much does this idea matter?"

And, boy, if that didn’t keep people on their toes.