🌾Stablecoins May Swallow $1 Trillion-And Banks Are Still Tying Their Shoes

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The land, the old land, was always flat and dusty, and on it men chased numbers like dogs chase rabbits they never intend to eat. Now they chase a trillion, and they call it stable-as though a coin pegged to a dream could be steadier than a farmer’s mortgage on a bad crop year.

Keyrock and Bitso, two gents sitting in a room smelling of coffee and fear of missing out, pushed a paper across the table Thursday and said the rabbit would grow to a trillion by the time the corn is tall in 2030. They smiled the thin smiles of men who’ve learned to sell tomorrow while yesterday’s bills go unpaid.

Stablecoin Payments, the Trillion-Dollar Mirage
-Read before the mirage dissolves in August heat.
Written on the backs of Circle, Ripple, and seven more hopefuls who swear this time the rabbit is real. 🐇💸

The Rabbit in the Stable

Stablecoins, those lean mongrels of finance, promise to stay as still as a stone while the dollar runs wild. A man with a $200 bill to send his cousin across the brown river used to hand it to a bank clerk who would peel away thirteen dollars for the privilege, then let the money sleep two nights before it crossed. Now, with a thumb on glass, the same bill leaps in seconds for pocket change. The farmer’s jaw drops-time is money, but now money is also time, and neither is ever quite there when you need it.

When Banks Start Jogging

Banks, those great fat cats sleeping on velvet cushions, are being poked awake by skinny dogs yapping about regulation and liquidity. If the dogs can get their papers stamped and water bowls filled, they say twelve percent of every migrant’s sweat-stained envelope might run on blockchain rails by 2030. The banks scratch their heads, lace on running shoes last seen during the savings-and-loan jog of ’87, and wonder which knee will give out first.

Everybody Wants a Ticket on the Mirage Train

Already 2024’s remittance wagons carry only three cents on the stable-coin dollar, but the promoters stand on crates promising that number will bloom like morning glories after rain-provided the regulators smile, the lawyers nod, and no one looks too hard at the soil. In Washington they passed something called the Genius Act, and every lobbyist straightened his tie, thinking, Well, if they name it Genius, I must be one. Across the Atlantic, Europe polished MiCA until it gleamed like a sheriff’s badge and said, Come in, stranger-we’ve got forms, but at least the chairs are clean.

Payment processors, banks with new sneakers on, fintech kids still smelling of college soap-they all crowd the platform waving tickets. Tether and Circle, the old trail bosses, stamp new blockchains like cattle brands: Arc, Stripe’s mystery chain, anything that will keep the herd moving and fees flowing. Mr. Devere Bryan from First Digital tipped his cap and prophesied, Every outfit will stablecoin or bust. Behind him the land stretched endless, the same land men always swear will be greener-next year, next month, next block.

And over it all, the market swells past two-hundred-sixty billion, a balloon pumped by hot hope and hotter breath, casting a shadow that looks, from a distance, like a trillion-dollar rabbit bounding straight toward the horizon-where, of course, the mirage always waits.

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2025-08-16 00:54