The Dream That Could Have Been

I used to believe in a grand plan—a masterwork of intentional design as if the universe had conspired to give us one man with too much time and too little impulse control. I believed in a guy who promised to save humanity, who said, “Our world is dying, and we need a new home.” It sounded noble. It sounded urgent. And it came from the same person who was designing flamethrowers for fun.

I saw the pieces fitting together like some cosmic jigsaw puzzle. Spaceships to carry us across the void. Autonomous cars do the driving because, let’s face it, humans can barely handle a roundabout. Robots to lift what we couldn’t. Starlink to keep us arguing on Twitter from orbit. The Boring Company digs tunnels for… some reason. Neuralink to upload our collective bad decisions directly to the cloud. It all felt like destiny.

I remember the day they unveiled the Cybertruck. It wasn’t just a truck—a brick from the future, a vehicle that looked like it had crash-landed in 1982 and never called home. But I didn’t care. I sat my sons down that night and said, “We’re going to Mars. Look at the plan—spaceships, robots, indestructible trucks. We’re doing it.” They nodded like kids do when they think their dad’s losing it. But I believed it. I did.

And the man himself? He told us it was his dream. He told us his intellect, motivation, and everything were focused on saving us. We believed him. We believed in him—to the tune of billions of dollars.

Back then, his oddities seemed harmless, even endearing. The eccentric tweets, meme wars, and quirks were all just part of the mystique. “He’s a genius,” we told ourselves. “Let him be weird.”

But now? Now, I see no dream, plan, or purpose beyond the endless pursuit of wealth and power. The interconnected vision that once made sense feels like the plot of a sci-fi novel abandoned halfway through. The interconnectivity has faded, replaced by a single, relentless focus: the accumulation of wealth and influence.

The dream now is TRILLIONAIRE.

Today, a good day for him is tweeting a bad meme. But today, it’s worse. Far worse. The man who once inspired dreams of a better future has turned toward something darker. Where there was once eccentricity, there is now something deeply unsettling. A man who promised to save humanity now openly embraces authoritarianism. He sealed it with a horrifying salute.

The dream hasn’t just faded—it’s collapsed into something dangerous, something monstrous.

I no longer tell my sons about Mars or the inspiration I once felt. Instead, we talk about how power can corrupt and how unchecked ambition can lead even the brightest minds astray. I tell them how dangerous it is to let anyone hold too much influence, no matter how brilliant. But I also tell them that it wasn’t all a lie. The dream wasn’t impossible.

It’s still my dream, even if it isn’t his anymore.