Moloch is exactly what the history books say he is. He is the god of child sacrifice, the fiery furnace into which you can toss your babies in exchange for victory in war.

He always and everywhere offers the same deal: throw what you love most into the flames, and I can grant you power.

Scott Alexander, Meditations on Moloch

In late summer 2022, the sun rose behind me, while I sat at the train station looking at the low barren hills and the field that had been tilled last fall. Everything looked golden in that light, even the wings of flies, bobbing in the air. In other seasons, the commuter train leaves in the dark.

The train follows the 91 freeway for a bit, which expectantly reminded me of a parking lot. It’s been a while since I had to commute. I hear stories of acquaintances, or friends’ spouses, driving two hours in one direction, working for eight to ten hours and then driving for two hours to get back home.

At Union Station, most of the train passengers rush out the door to catch another train. Some of them wear nursing uniforms, but most have some kind of office attire, professional and practical. I wait for everyone to get off the train, before strapping on my messenger style bag, heavy with my laptop inside, and rolling my carry-on size suitcase out and onto the platform. The bus to the airport leaves every thirty minutes; I won’t miss it.

The MCON2 Telegram channel is bubbling, with notes about travel from all over the world. Someone is stuck at customs. Someone’s flight was canceled and they hope they don’t miss the opening party. Two people bumped into each other at an airport. Someone else wants to bump into someone too, is anyone at the same airport that they are. Many of us will meet for the first time.

I’m on my way too, but first I indulge in a few hours with Richard, who lives a hundred miles away from me, but is only a ten dollar cab ride from Union Station. I arrive insecure, hyper and excited. He recalibrates me. It’s a feeling of being totally safe, like nothing is going to hurt you, like someone is intentionally attending to their own emotions so that they are truly present with yours, like everything about you is absolutely welcomed and even encouraged. It’s so unique that I couldn’t have  imagined it and starkly different from the patterns we embody to meet expectations. The invisible judge requires constant running just to prevent slipping below zero.

Twenty years earlier, I often woke up around mid afternoon to the sour warmth of Bobby’s breath in my neck. I thought it was love, but it was scary. His frequent narcotics induced sleep deprivation meant that any movement away from his direction could result in backlash.

Back then, I worked dinners, behind a long bar at a restaurant that featured large windows, framing the fog, rolling over Golden Gate bridge and circling Alcatraz, as its color played like autumn leaves in fast forward. After a long shift of pouring drinks, I’d clean behind the bar, attempting to keep out the fruit flies. At minimum wage, this overtime pay was unacceptable and the manager, who answered to a corporate guy, asked me to clock out sooner. Sometimes Bobby would come in and expect a free meal, which came out of my pay.

The first morning of MCON2, my roommates and I took plates of scrambled eggs, mixed with herbed goat cheese, rosemary sourdough bread and cherry tomatoes, along with cups of coffee, with half and half, from the kitchen, to a little room inside a bay window. The Airbnb faced north, so the sunrise curved with the bay window from around the east side of the building. It was the yellow of an approaching hot summer day in September. We lingered, until one of us noticed the time, which was complicated because we both wanted to stay there and go to the event.

MCON2 was a conference, in Denver, Colorado on September 6-9, 2022, focused on internet communities who use blockchain technology to coordinate, hosted by MetaCartel, my personal favorite of these internet communities. MCON is the best crypto event of the year, because of the coordination and curation prowess of Pet3rPan, founder of MetaCartel, and Yalor Mewn, MetaCartel’s protector of the vibe.

Early spring 2022, Yalor asked me what I want to do.  It’s a memorable moment and was slightly confusing. He wasn’t getting anything out of me, but he expressed an honest desire to learn what I cared about and facilitate ways for me to experience fulfillment and joy. I’ve witnessed him support many people like this. It makes me feel proud to call him a friend.

After the MCON2 opening party, we were sitting in the back seat when I held my phone up to show Sky Minert, a member and core contributor to many of the internet communities using blockchain technology to coordinate.  Considering that Sky had no context as to why I was showing him my phone, it didn’t take him long to figure out what I wanted him to see.

Eyebrows lifted, he looked at me and asked, “right now?”

I nodded and looked at the count down, “in 19 minutes.”

“We need to celebrate,” he said as we started getting out of the car.

“Yes,” I had permanent-grin.

Taekekz, a member of MetaCartel and Raid Guild, a freelance collective building cutting edge software, got out of the passenger seat and suggested hot dogs.

“You want a hot dog?” Sky asked me, as they started to cross the street.

“Nah, I’m just gonna go inside.” My body is way past the age where after-hours hot dogs are going to treat me kindly.

Taekekz was satisfied with my response and they set off on their reconnaissance mission.

I walked up to the building door of the AirBnb, where many MetaCartel members were staying, and entered the key code that had been dm’d to me. Up one set of stairs and the first door on the right sounded like a little party.

Inside, I only knew a few people. I lingered on a couch near the billiards table until the countdown reached zero and then went upstairs.

Taekekz and Sky had brought their hot dogs to the roof deck. When I stood beside Sky, he offered me some french fries.

I said, “no, thank you,” because I’m way past the age where deep fried potatoes won’t punish me tomorrow.

Conversation around the table moved our attention away to other things. When there was a low, I asked Sky if we could process a proposal there.

“It’s done?” He put down his hot dog and found napkins.

“Just now.” I showed him the countdown on my phone.

He walked away and I answered questions about what we were doing from people standing around the table.

When I turned around to see where Sky went, he was talking to VenGist, who rarely turns his camera on during meetings, but it’s still easy to feel that he lives thoughtfully.

I got swept into conversation around the table and lost track of Sky and VenGist.

The time was close enough to my preordered Lyft to start making my way downstairs. It might take a minute to give good bye hugs.

When I got to the first floor, Sky and Yalor were standing at a cocktail table. On it was the laptop of another MetaCartel member.  They waved me over.

“He’s processing it now,” said Sky.

“Right now?” I hurried around the table to stand between Yalor and Sky. We reached our arms around each other.

The MetaCartel member who was processing the proposal showed me that he was also recording it. It only took a minute.

When the proposal was processed, the Gnosis blockchain now had a record that my Ethereum address owns a membership share in MetaCartel. This information is public and cannot be changed without going through another proposal.

After hugging Yalor, Sky and VenGist, I asked the man who processed the proposal if I could learn his name to say thank you.

Everyone responded, “That’s Metadreamer!”

“Oh my god!” I walked around Sky to hug Metadreamer. He waved Pablo over, so I could meet him too.  I had worked with both of them remotely, but we had never met in person before.

The following evening, some of the MCON2 attendees gathered for a small backyard party. Yalor, VenGist and Sky called me MetaCartel member, like an earned title. Just after the sun had set, while the sky was still holding on to the last bit of indigo, I stood in the warm glow of patio lighting and invited anyone to share their stories about how they have put in energy and effort into honoring the things they love and not succumb to the disillusionment that insists on sacrificing our treasures in exchange for victory and power.

I spent most of the MCON2 closing party on the dance floor, in the basement. The dark concrete, low ceiling and deep beats felt like an embrace. If my plane wasn’t leaving at six in the morning, I would have danced all night. Tight squeezes and long hugs delightfully elongated my way out the door.

The place was empty when I arrived home, except for my shepherd mix, who eagerly awaited his evening walk. My son was spending one more night playing with his cousins.

During a demonstrative disagreement in the MetaCartel members only Telegram channel, someone noticed that the tension didn’t bother me. Oh no, it doesn’t bother me. I welcome it. There’s passion for the community, respect for individuals, and everyone is encouraged to join the conversation. Everywhere else, that almost never happens.

Moloch is exactly what the history books say he is. He is the god of child sacrifice, the fiery furnace into which you can toss your babies in exchange for victory in war.

He always and everywhere offers the same deal: throw what you love most into the flames, and I can grant you power.

Scott Alexander, Meditations on Moloch

In late summer 2022, the sun rose behind me, while I sat at the train station looking at the low barren hills and the field that had been tilled last fall. Everything looked golden in that light, even the wings of flies, bobbing in the air. In other seasons, the commuter train leaves in the dark.

The train follows the 91 freeway for a bit, which expectantly reminded me of a parking lot. It’s been a while since I had to commute. I hear stories of acquaintances, or friends’ spouses, driving two hours in one direction, working for eight to ten hours and then driving for two hours to get back home.

At Union Station, most of the train passengers rush out the door to catch another train. Some of them wear nursing uniforms, but most have some kind of office attire, professional and practical. I wait for everyone to get off the train, before strapping on my messenger style bag, heavy with my laptop inside, and rolling my carry-on size suitcase out and onto the platform. The bus to the airport leaves every thirty minutes; I won’t miss it.

The MCON2 Telegram channel is bubbling, with notes about travel from all over the world. Someone is stuck at customs. Someone’s flight was canceled and they hope they don’t miss the opening party. Two people bumped into each other at an airport. Someone else wants to bump into someone too, is anyone at the same airport that they are. Many of us will meet for the first time.

I’m on my way too, but first I indulge in a few hours with Richard, who lives a hundred miles away from me, but is only a ten dollar cab ride from Union Station. I arrive insecure, hyper and excited. He recalibrates me. It’s a feeling of being totally safe, like nothing is going to hurt you, like someone is intentionally attending to their own emotions so that they are truly present with yours, like everything about you is absolutely welcomed and even encouraged. It’s so unique that I couldn’t have  imagined it and starkly different from the patterns we embody to meet expectations. The invisible judge requires constant running just to prevent slipping below zero.

Twenty years earlier, I often woke up around mid afternoon to the sour warmth of Bobby’s breath in my neck. I thought it was love, but it was scary. His frequent narcotics induced sleep deprivation meant that any movement away from his direction could result in backlash.

Back then, I worked dinners, behind a long bar at a restaurant that featured large windows, framing the fog, rolling over Golden Gate bridge and circling Alcatraz, as its color played like autumn leaves in fast forward. After a long shift of pouring drinks, I’d clean behind the bar, attempting to keep out the fruit flies. At minimum wage, this overtime pay was unacceptable and the manager, who answered to a corporate guy, asked me to clock out sooner. Sometimes Bobby would come in and expect a free meal, which came out of my pay.

The first morning of MCON2, my roommates and I took plates of scrambled eggs, mixed with herbed goat cheese, rosemary sourdough bread and cherry tomatoes, along with cups of coffee, with half and half, from the kitchen, to a little room inside a bay window. The Airbnb faced north, so the sunrise curved with the bay window from around the east side of the building. It was the yellow of an approaching hot summer day in September. We lingered, until one of us noticed the time, which was complicated because we both wanted to stay there and go to the event.

MCON2 was a conference, in Denver, Colorado on September 6-9, 2022, focused on internet communities who use blockchain technology to coordinate, hosted by MetaCartel, my personal favorite of these internet communities. MCON is the best crypto event of the year, because of the coordination and curation prowess of Pet3rPan, founder of MetaCartel, and Yalor Mewn, MetaCartel’s protector of the vibe.

Early spring 2022, Yalor asked me what I want to do.  It’s a memorable moment and was slightly confusing. He wasn’t getting anything out of me, but he expressed an honest desire to learn what I cared about and facilitate ways for me to experience fulfillment and joy. I’ve witnessed him support many people like this. It makes me feel proud to call him a friend.

After the MCON2 opening party, we were sitting in the back seat when I held my phone up to show Sky Minert, a member and core contributor to many of the internet communities using blockchain technology to coordinate.  Considering that Sky had no context as to why I was showing him my phone, it didn’t take him long to figure out what I wanted him to see.

Eyebrows lifted, he looked at me and asked, “right now?”

I nodded and looked at the count down, “in 19 minutes.”

“We need to celebrate,” he said as we started getting out of the car.

“Yes,” I had permanent-grin.

Taekekz, a member of MetaCartel and Raid Guild, a freelance collective building cutting edge software, got out of the passenger seat and suggested hot dogs.

“You want a hot dog?” Sky asked me, as they started to cross the street.

“Nah, I’m just gonna go inside.” My body is way past the age where after-hours hot dogs are going to treat me kindly.

Taekekz was satisfied with my response and they set off on their reconnaissance mission.

I walked up to the building door of the AirBnb, where many MetaCartel members were staying, and entered the key code that had been dm’d to me. Up one set of stairs and the first door on the right sounded like a little party.

Inside, I only knew a few people. I lingered on a couch near the billiards table until the countdown reached zero and then went upstairs.

Taekekz and Sky had brought their hot dogs to the roof deck. When I stood beside Sky, he offered me some french fries.

I said, “no, thank you,” because I’m way past the age where deep fried potatoes won’t punish me tomorrow.

Conversation around the table moved our attention away to other things. When there was a low, I asked Sky if we could process a proposal there.

“It’s done?” He put down his hot dog and found napkins.

“Just now.” I showed him the countdown on my phone.

He walked away and I answered questions about what we were doing from people standing around the table.

When I turned around to see where Sky went, he was talking to VenGist, who rarely turns his camera on during meetings, but it’s still easy to feel that he lives thoughtfully.

I got swept into conversation around the table and lost track of Sky and VenGist.

The time was close enough to my preordered Lyft to start making my way downstairs. It might take a minute to give good bye hugs.

When I got to the first floor, Sky and Yalor were standing at a cocktail table. On it was the laptop of another MetaCartel member.  They waved me over.

“He’s processing it now,” said Sky.

“Right now?” I hurried around the table to stand between Yalor and Sky. We reached our arms around each other.

The MetaCartel member who was processing the proposal showed me that he was also recording it. It only took a minute.

When the proposal was processed, the Gnosis blockchain now had a record that my Ethereum address owns a membership share in MetaCartel. This information is public and cannot be changed without going through another proposal.

After hugging Yalor, Sky and VenGist, I asked the man who processed the proposal if I could learn his name to say thank you.

Everyone responded, “That’s Metadreamer!”

“Oh my god!” I walked around Sky to hug Metadreamer. He waved Pablo over, so I could meet him too.  I had worked with both of them remotely, but we had never met in person before.

The following evening, some of the MCON2 attendees gathered for a small backyard party. Yalor, VenGist and Sky called me MetaCartel member, like an earned title. Just after the sun had set, while the sky was still holding on to the last bit of indigo, I stood in the warm glow of patio lighting and invited anyone to share their stories about how they have put in energy and effort into honoring the things they love and not succumb to the disillusionment that insists on sacrificing our treasures in exchange for victory and power.

I spent most of the MCON2 closing party on the dance floor, in the basement. The dark concrete, low ceiling and deep beats felt like an embrace. If my plane wasn’t leaving at six in the morning, I would have danced all night. Tight squeezes and long hugs delightfully elongated my way out the door.

The place was empty when I arrived home, except for my shepherd mix, who eagerly awaited his evening walk. My son was spending one more night playing with his cousins.

During a demonstrative disagreement in the MetaCartel members only Telegram channel, someone noticed that the tension didn’t bother me. Oh no, it doesn’t bother me. I welcome it. There’s passion for the community, respect for individuals, and everyone is encouraged to join the conversation. Everywhere else, that almost never happens.