The invisible hand is dead!

A Series of Fortunately Synchronistic Events

by SynTony Robbins, Staff Gonzo Journalist at The Syntony Times

The Following is both true and not true, a superposition of hyperstitious science faction.

“Moodust Daydreams”

The sky was the color of a television tuned to existential crisis when I stumbled into what used to be Silicon Valley. The air tasted of scorched circuit boards and patchouli. I'd come chasing rumors of a new breed of savior - part shaman, part CEO, all batshit insane.

They called themselves "The Preposterous Ones."

My guide - a cyborg dolphin named Flipper 2.0 - led me to the ruins of what had once been Apple HQ. Now it was a biodome slash psychedelic commune slash startup incubator. A sign over the entrance read: "Abandon certainty, all ye who enter here."

Inside, creativity reigned supreme. A woman with hair like sentient fiber optics was screaming at a potted plant. "DISRUPT PHOTOSYNTHESIS!" she howled. The plant, impossibly, seemed to be taking notes.

In the center of the room, a man in a three-piece suit made of live butterflies was arm-wrestling a hologram of Adam Smith. "The invisible hand is dead!" he cried. "Long live the invisible heart!"

I popped a micro dose of clarity and waded in.

"Welcome, seeker!" A voice boomed. I turned to find myself face-to-face with a being of pure light wearing Snapchat spectacles. "Are you ready to reprogram reality?"

Before I could answer, I was swept up in a tide of bodies. We flowed like a human river into what had once been the Genius Bar, now transformed into some kind of interdimensional TEDx stage.

A figure appeared, crackling with electric potential. Was it a man? A woman? A sentient AI? All of the above?

"Fellow dreamweavers!" it began. "We stand at the precipice of possibility! The old world is burning, but from its ashes we shall build a phoenix of pure awesome!"

The crowd went wild. I felt my cynicism melting like polar ice caps on fast-forward.

"Behold!" The figure waved its arms, and the air shimmered. Suddenly, we were surrounded by holographic projections. I saw deserts blooming with solar farms, oceans teeming with plastic-eating nanobots, cities transformed into vertical forests.

"This is no mere philanthropy," the figure continued. "This is the PHILANTHROPOCALYPSE! We're not just changing the game - we're flipping the board, eating the pieces, and using the splinters to build a rocket to Mars!"

As if on cue, the floor opened up beneath us. We plunged into a ball pit filled with cryptocurrency and fragments of the American Dream.

Hours or days later, I emerged, dazed and reborn. My pockets were full of business cards printed on leaves..

In my hand, a manifesto written in bioluminescent ink:

"The future isn't something that happens to us. It's something we hallucinate into existence. Dream big. Dream weird. Dream so hard reality has no choice but to catch up."

As I stumbled back into what was left of the real world, I knew I'd glimpsed something profound. These magnificent lunatics, these preposterous prophets of plenty - they just might change it all.