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My first prediction? They will continue to rise. Not because of inherent value, mind you, but because inertia is a powerful force, and the herd, as always, will follow the loudest bleating. Investors, bless their naive hearts, are still captivated by the AI narrative. Valuations have, admittedly, retreated somewhat from their stratospheric peaks. A minor correction, really. Like a slight adjustment to a noose. Alphabet, at 29x forward earnings, remains reasonably priced, they say. Reasonable, in this context, is a relative term. It’s akin to declaring a cholera outbreak ‘moderately unpleasant.’

Sandisk, a purveyor of memory – a curious trade, when one considers the inherent fallibility of recollection – has enjoyed a period of ascendance, fueled by the insatiable appetite of artificial intelligence. Its fortunes, we are told, have risen by a factor of ten since its severance from Western Digital in the year 2025. A substantial gain, certainly, yet one must recall the pronouncements of the apocryphal scholar, Master Elías, who observed that all exponential growth is, ultimately, an illusion sustained by borrowed time. The joint venture with Kioxia, a Japanese manufactory, provides a temporary bulwark against the inevitable currents of supply and demand, a shared illusion of control over the silicon tides.

It is not merely a question of numbers, though those, too, speak. The fall in D.R. Horton’s valuation feels less like a collapse and more like a settling, a return to earth after a brief, buoyant ascent. It is an opportunity, perhaps, for those who understand the enduring need for shelter, the persistent yearning for a place to call one’s own.

This discrepancy, between the stock’s vertiginous climb and the analysts’ tempered expectations, is not a paradox, but a symptom. A symptom of a valuation – a forward price-to-earnings ratio of 172.4, a price-to-sales ratio approaching 112 – that hangs suspended, a fragile theorem in need of rigorous proof. One is reminded of the Library of Babel, Borges’ imagined universe of infinite books, where the vast majority contain only gibberish, yet within them, the potential for all conceivable truths resides. Palantir, in this analogy, is a single volume, its pages filled with a compelling, yet unverified, narrative.

He sold all his Nvidia. All of it. Apparently, he thinks the future is… elsewhere. Let’s break it down, shall we? Because honestly, I need to. It feels like there’s a lesson here, and I’m desperate to find it before the market opens and I make another questionable decision.