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The documentation, dated February 17, 2026, details the aforementioned sale, occurring within the fourth quarter of 2025. The value, calculated by referencing the average closing price—a metric that feels increasingly arbitrary—is presented as a definitive figure. However, the true value, as any seasoned observer knows, resides not in the calculation, but in the unspoken implications. The fund’s position, once a discernible presence, has been reduced, its value eroded not merely by the sale itself, but by the relentless current of market forces. The reduction in value—$2.75 million—is presented as a simple accounting, but it feels like an admission of something less tangible, a recognition of a fading promise.

They’re still losing money, of course. A lot of it. But money, as anyone will tell you, is just a story we tell ourselves. The latest quarter saw losses swell to $942 million. A sizable sum. For a company with a market cap of $3.3 billion, it’s…noticeable. Investors are patient people, though. Or, they have to be. They keep waiting for the story to change. So it goes.

For decades, Idexx has quietly amassed a fortune, a testament to the relentless march of time and the inevitability of illness. Since 1994, a modest investment has blossomed into an astonishing sum – a million and a half dollars. Such figures are, of course, historical. The past is a phantom, a seductive illusion. But the underlying principle remains: the demand for veterinary diagnostics is not subject to the whims of fashion, but to the immutable laws of life and death.

These regulators, a committee of perfectly polished shoes and impeccably starched collars, have proposed measures to… curb power costs. Curb! As if one could simply curb the boundless ambition of progress! They wish, it seems, for these hyperscalers – these digital landowners – to generate their own power. A charming notion, if one overlooks the inherent chaos of expecting anyone to actually do anything efficiently.

Until 2015, it wasn’t like this. Everything was roughly equal. Then the American tech stocks, the so-called Magnificent Seven, started to climb. They climbed and climbed, pulling the whole market along for the ride. Now, U.S. stocks average a forward P/E of 28. The rest of the world? Closer to 19. It’s like one kid hoarding all the candy.

They announced an “increased assessment” of their resources. “Assessment.” What does that even mean? They looked at the dirt and decided there was… more dirt? More potential dirt? It’s just marketing speak. And they expect us to get excited? Honestly, the phrasing is just… sloppy.

During the pandemic, when I was mostly just trying to remember which day it was, Morgan Stanley went on a bit of a shopping spree. Twenty billion dollars, they spent on E*TRADE and Eaton Vance. It struck me as…bold. Like buying a yacht during a hurricane. But it worked. They’re now a top asset and wealth management firm. Which is good for them. I mostly manage my own assets, which mostly consist of a slightly chipped ceramic frog and a growing pile of unopened mail.

Vertex has reaped a good harvest from Alyftrek, Trikafta, and the like – solid work, to be sure. They predict further bounty from Casgevy, a gene-editing therapy for sickle cell and thalassemia. But the true promise lies not just in easing suffering, but in curing it. And that, friend, is where CRISPR Therapeutics holds the seed.

Nebius, a company dedicated to the construction of AI infrastructure—powered, naturally, by Nvidia’s hardware—is scaling with a velocity that would impress even the most ardent devotee of progress. The recent financial reports—a 547% surge in quarterly revenue, 479% year-on-year—are, admittedly, impressive. But one is reminded of a particularly flamboyant tulip bulb; a spectacular bloom, certainly, but lacking the substance to endure. The company remains, as yet, unburdened by the inconvenience of profit, and its capital expenditure is, to put it mildly, substantial.