Remzi Bajrami - Collapsing Systems & Rising Possibilities

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🎙️🎙️Remzi Bajrami

In a world caught between collapsing systems and rising possibilities, one voice cuts through the noise—measured, visionary, unafraid. Remzi is not just an entrepreneur; he’s a cartographer of new economies, sketching maps where others see chaos. From data to development, from finance to philosophy, he moves with precision—designing structures that serve people, not control them. A student of systems and a steward of truth, his mission is clear: to build a future where value flows like water—free, fair, and alive.
http://www.common-planet.org/
Usurocracy

A Lamentation and a Reckoning

⸻

Beneath the marble grin of civilization,

a rot calcifies—

not in the flesh,

but in the architecture of belief.

We are ruled not by men,

but by algorithms baptized in greed,

by equations cold as crypts

that render compassion non-essential.

This is the Usurocracy:

a sanctified machine

where interest compounds

faster than empathy decays,

and debt is the new Eucharist—

taken daily,

without wine,

without forgiveness.

Here,

cathedrals are built of contracts.

The cross has been replaced

by a dollar sign inverted—

a symbol no less cruciform,

no less cruel.

Ours is a regime that devours futures

before they are born.

Children inherit not legacy,

but liability,

suckled on scarcity,

swaddled in slogans:

Produce. Obey. Consume. Die.

The wealthy do not walk here;

they levitate above us—

insulated in abstraction,

wreathed in derivatives,

feasting on the interest

of lives they’ll never touch.

They do not steal bread;

they collateralize the soil.

They do not start wars;

they securitize the aftermath.

And we?

We are offered dignity

at 19.99% APR.

We barter hours, memories, marrow—

the sacred coin of consciousness—

in exchange for the illusion

of solvency.

And still, the architects of this edifice

demand gratitude—

they erect statues to their benevolence,

then charge us

admission to grieve beneath them.

But I tell you now:

There is a crack in the vault.

There is a tremor beneath the floor

of this great accounting hall.

And in that trembling—

a root stirs.

Not metaphor, but material.

Not symbol, but seed.

A radical green

bored through concrete indifference,

defying yield curves

and laughing at the tyranny of ledgers.

This shoot—this subtle insurgency—

blooms without permission.

It names no market.

It reports to no exchange.

Its dividends are silence,

its growth is ungoverned,

and its scent—

O, its scent is liberation.

So let the empires rise,

and fall,

and rise again.

Let the debtors’ prayers be data.

Let the gods of compound calculation

choke on their own profit.

For we are remembering—

Not how to earn,

but how to be.

Not how to possess,

but how to belong.

Not how to survive this machine,

but how to become its extinction.

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