Ground floor: people yelling “Blackrock owns everything!” into the vents like the book Enough by Vanguard founder! Echoes sound dramatic, but the pipes just loop back to their own mouths before the goal, aim, soul, mind is inverted.

Middle floors: clerks in stripes beige suits and wingtips quietly move more and more decimal points. Management fees hum softly in fluorescent rhythm. Nobody here plots world domination — they’re just trying to expense lunch and such.

Penthouse coincidence seekers looking for some spicy refuge, however, imagine a smoky boardroom labeled “Secret Bitcoin Directorate.” Inside? A janitor refilling the coffee pot and a PowerPoint titled Q3 ETF Flow Summary that transmutes Bitcoin into a paper asset.

Truth is, Blackrock’s less Bond (riparian work channel) villain or fortress and more bureaucratic data center with a gym membership unless one starts thinking about Apache Stronghold (Oak flat, block caving) and water rights. That’s not a black rock, that’s a black stone! It doesn’t want anything — it just facilitates the wanting of the subtle body and metaprograms governing this whole ship.

So next time someone says “Blackrock decided,” picture a skyscraper shrugging, with feelings or opinions.

Because in the end, it’s not a soul, goal, aim or mind — it’s a spreadsheet wearing a suit like a counterfeit spirit.