Cryptonews

May 7 arrived, heavy with anticipation; however, this anticipation was thinner than a serf’s broth in November. Ethereum’s price, far from displaying a victorious leap, stumbled with a humility Tolstoy himself might have assigned to a dashing young officer learning his first lessons on the battlefield. On that day, ETH opened at $1,849, but by the evening samovars were simmering, it sat sullen at $1,811—a disheartening 2% drop. Even now, as men write numbers in ledgers and gossip in backrooms, ETH lingers near $1,936: a gain less worthy of song than of a polite, obligatory clap at the end of a child’s piano recital. 🎹

Now, the mastermind behind this whole shebang is Bailey. Bailey’s lips? Sealed tighter than a treasure chest in a pirate movie. But here’s the kicker—this whole operation seems to be following the well-worn trail of Michael Saylor’s Strategy model. So, in other words, they’re positioning Nakamoto (yep, the Bitcoin legend) as the new king of the Bitcoin treasury. If only the rest of us could be as cryptically genius. 📈

The Oracle of 2025 delivers this delicious morsel: 32.5% of Australians have either cavorted with or currently clutch some form of cryptocurrency. That’s 6.3 million people sashaying through the digital financial ballroom—outnumbering the population of several European countries and, I daresay, more numerous than the guests at any of Lord Bracknell’s dreadfully dull luncheons.

Be advised, POPCAT (for one cannot repeat the name often enough in society) now languishes no longer at the lower figures of former days; indeed, it now trades at the rather genteel sum of $0.45, up over 15% in the last day. According to the learned gossips at Stalkchain—who are not themselves known for reticence—POPCAT is now the most frenetic object of desire among the smart-money wallets.

Our dashing crypto protagonist is enjoying quite the renaissance. Up 31.8% in just one month, Bitcoin has positively flounced its way out of the early April doldrums. The comeback is less “slow recovery” and more “springtime musical number.”

The Federal Reserve convened—picture a jury of stoic faces, unmoved by tales of woe—and preserved rates at a noble 4.25% to 4.5%. The populace sighed, bored, and reached for their smartphones. But then! Ah, that ever-eloquent President Trump, deliverer of dramatic proclamations, promised some grand bargain with a mysterious nation. A deal so thunderous it nudged the markets out of their despondency, reminding institutions everywhere that hope is nothing but an opiate, and retail investors, but mere pawns, watched from afar.

Picture, if you will, heroes and anti-heroes in dark coats (no one brings umbrellas), all gathering not to settle destinies, but to quarrel, mistrust, and sip weak hotel coffee. Bitcoin, that electronic butterfly, flutters nervously—its wings buffeted by macroeconomic storms and the questionable liquidity puddles left over from last week’s rain.

This latest pronouncement continues a tradition older than Aunt Agatha’s suspicion of slackers. It builds on letters 1170 and 1183—the regulatory equivalent of those dread “talks” one receives before dinner—nudging banks with the softest of whips toward the land of digital whizz-bangs. Apparently, the OCC is quite keen for everyone to know precisely how much mischief one may lawfully get up to with crypto, without ending up in the soup. 🥄

This surge, comrades, was not the will of some benevolent marketplace fairy, but a direct result of the Federal Reserve’s glorious indecision. Yes, the American power-brokers—those wardens of the greenback—refused yet again to lower interest rates to 3.0%, despite the ceaseless grumblings of a certain blonde former president. Thus was the mighty Bitcoin thrust near the mythic $100,000 line. The crowd, as always, was ungrateful.