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One could attempt to understand AngloGold and its peers as little more than instruments in a larger, grandiose play-a play whose directors remain elusive and whose plot seems forever bent by the forces of chance. Gold, a precious metal with the tragic misfortune of being tied to the follies of inflation and geopolitical machinations, has ascended this year, not through divine intervention, but as a consequence of human hubris. The Federal Reserve’s contemplated rate cuts, the screams of war from distant lands, all of these contribute to a narrative that clings to the vague hope that gold will remain an anchor amidst the storm.

Yet lo! Nio seeks to raise $1 billion, capitalizing on its recent rally as if the stock were a gullible suitor. One might pity the shareholders, who trade their shares for a pittance-$5.57 per ADS, though the price yesterday was $6.28. A bargain, indeed, for a company that burned $700 million in Q2 alone. A dance as old as the stock market itself: dilution, the silent partner of ambition.

After the closing bell on Monday, tech behemoth Oracle (ORCL), probably feeling somewhat rebellious, missed its earnings estimate for fiscal 2026’s first quarter. The report was somewhat disappointing, posting $1.47 per share when analysts had been expecting $1.48. However, in a dramatic turn of events-because who doesn’t love a good plot twist-Oracle’s CEO, Safra Catz, threw a wild prediction into the air: “Oracle Cloud Infrastructure revenue will grow 77% to $18 billion this fiscal year,” she said, sounding like she might also predict that the moon will turn into a giant piece of blue cheese, just because why not. Oracle’s stock, predictably, surged more than 41% the following day, as if the heavens themselves had opened, and investors, gripped by the wild allure of AI, began scrambling for anything remotely connected to it.

The catalyst? A quarterly report so resplendent with numbers it could have lit up the Kremlin. Revenue of $14.9 billion-up 12%-and adjusted EPS of $1.47 (a 6% rise) arrived like a telegram from a long-lost uncle, brimming with unearned optimism. Yet the true marvel was not the numbers themselves, but the shadow they cast: a $455 billion backlog of contracts, a figure so vast it might have made Stalin reconsider his Five-Year Plan.