Well, right now, it’s mostly a blog for my Coney thoughts and ideas—but I finally have enough developers and a clear vision, so we’ll be testing out “read-to-earn” and “write-to-earn” economics in the next couple of months. Definitely by December, since that’s how long I’ve got the developers paid for, lol.

So, I appreciate your patience in showing up before my place is fully ready to host guests.

I tip my cone to you!

CD

About a week ago, I broke a couple of ribs falling down a flight of stairs—#10 and #11, for anyone who knows their anatomy. Rib #11 is one of the floating ones, which, if you’re gonna break ribs, is better than breaking the ones connected to your sternum.

I think I read there’s about a 10% fatality rate for sternum breaks—which is terrifyingly high. Anyway, don’t break ribs; it sucks. They don’t wrap them or anything—they just stay broken until they’re not anymore.

The very next day, Rick drops the bomb on us. And I’m sitting on the porcelain throne like Hank Schrader in Season 5, Episode 8 of Breaking Bad, trying not to rebreak my rib while I poop, and also freaking out because I’m realizing Eco White is really Toesenberg.

(Seriously, freakin' great scene—here’s the link. I know that feel bro.)

First thing I said was, “Is this true?”

And there was just silence from Him.

If you were there, you’d know the feeling. It was one of those loud silent moments, kinda like when someone in a courtroom says, “I can’t recall,” but everyone knows they’re just staying quiet to avoid perjuring themselves. It hurt, bad.

Almost two years ago, I created this ConeDesk (CD) character, and it’s been so much fun. ConeDesk is who I aspire to be: kind, clever, generous (but fiscally savvy). Honestly, it started as a joke account, meant to last just a couple of posts.

Then Ecobuddies messaged me. He encouraged me to keep going, and I felt honored, emboldened, and madly in love with Cone. “Wow, freakin' cool, I got a message from Him!” And I’ve been ConeDesk ever since. I don’t know how I could ever stop.

So, I carried on, Coned around, became a Mod, and had all sorts of wild and wonderful adventures that were so very Cone. Everything was great, until I realized... it wasn’t.

It was weird. I liked all the Mod guys so much. They were funny and polite—like, not the kind of people you expect to find on the internet. If you liked Cone, then the Cone Mod chat was the pinnacle of Coney-ness. Except I didn’t know the whole story.

There was a “mole,” a “leaker” among us. And we had no idea who it was. In Web3—in this trustless, automated economy we’re all building together—trust is everything. You can point to bots, subreddits, whatever as the major driver of success, but really, it’s all about trust.

It became hard to be candid with your brother in the chat because whatever you said wasn’t private. And (at least for me), you start trying to figure out who it is, but always coming to the same conclusion: “I don’t know.” But it definitely wasn’t Him. That thought never even crossed my mind.

If you’re one of the ten people reading this, know that I appreciate you—and I also get how you feel. Gut-punched. Deeply hoping what I’m hearing isn’t true because not only do I not believe it, I don’t want to believe it.

For a whole week, I had broken bones and a broken heart—melodramatic, maybe, but you gotta understand: I’m literally embodying a cone on a desk. It’s kinda important to my identity. So now, I gotta think: what’s real? What do I believe? Who do I believe? Heck, even who should I believe, and who do I want to believe?

I’ve had the benefit (or curse) of hearing about this madness before most, so I was also obligated to do my own digging and confirming. Probably the first time I ever did a real DYOR.

For my part, the evidence is damning. And I hate it.

What most people know is only a fraction of what I’ve seen. And now, it’s out of my hands. I’m supposed to keep going making merry like nothing happened while I wait on some authority or corporation to act.

But what can I do but wait?

If you made it this far, damn, I appreciate your focus, you smart son-of-a-cone. Honest to Cone, I have to say: I know the facts, I know the lies, and the only thing that makes sense to me about Him is that he got stuck living the lie. And if you’ve ever lived a lie, you know there’s never a good time to stop. You can’t stop because this is who you are now.

And maybe most importantly, since you’re living it—you now somehow believe it too. It’s too simple to call someone a jerk or any of the myriad terrible things. People are more complex than that.

Where I find solace—besides the meds for my ribs—is knowing that BitCone is alive. It lives beyond its creator, its whales, its blockchain. It’s not just money—it’s an idea, a community, a feeling. I love that. I love that it’s bigger than me or any one person. It’s got staying power—it’s sticky. And shoot, I have a very hard time explaining that to people—especially my wife and non-crypto friends—but once you get it, you’re Cone forever.

C.O.N.E.

Best,

The Desk Man