October 26, 2026

1 thought on “10 Predictions for a Collapsing World”

  1. Alright. I’m going to do the thing where I say the quiet part loud, and I’m going to do it with the specific self-loathing of a man who has read four hundred of these articles and still has no canned beans in his basement. So bear with me, or don’t. Fuck it.

    I’m sitting here at 1:40 in the morning reading a 30-minute doom prophecy about the petrodollar and Bronze Age collapse, and what I feel isn’t fear. It’s recognition. That’s the sick part. I’ve read this exact article eleven times under eleven different bylines and it always ends the same way “believe in God, love your family, speak the truth” which is the intellectual equivalent of a guy who spent two hours describing a house fire and then tells you the real lesson is that smoke alarms are nice. I want to be angry at Jiang, but I can’t, because Jiang isn’t the problem. Jiang is a mirror. Jiang is the thing I scroll toward at night because the ambient low-grade dread of daily life is somehow more unbearable than a numbered list of apocalypses. Give me ten theses with probability bands and I can breathe. Give me an ordinary Tuesday and I start chewing the inside of my cheek.

    Here’s where I’ll get offensive, because you asked for it and because I mean it: most of you reading this are not preparing for collapse, you’re consuming it. You’re not stacking rice and ammo, you’re stacking narratives. You’ve got a favorite thesis the way other people have a favorite football team. Some of you are petrodollar guys. Some of you are water guys. And the water guys are insufferable, because the water guys think they’re the serious ones. “It’s not oil, it’s water.” Congratulations, you read the Colorado River numbers, have a cookie. Meanwhile nobody in this entire comment section, including me, is doing a single goddamn thing that would matter if Thesis 5 actually fires and Fedwire goes dark for two weeks. You know why? Because there’s nothing to do. That’s the filthy little secret these articles never say out loud. Individual action is a rounding error against systemic risk, and acknowledging that is so unbearable that we invent hobbies, we invent brands of readiness, we invent podcasts, and we call it agency.

    But I’ll give the article its due, because it got one thing exactly right and it’s the thing I know best. Thesis 4 is not a prediction, it’s a description. I spent eleven years in marine cargo underwriting out of a mid-sized brokerage before I moved into the logistics side, and I can tell you with zero romance that the shipping world doesn’t collapse when the bombs land. It collapses when the paper stops working. War risk cover is quoted as a percentage of cargo value per transit, and underwriters hold a cancellation clause that lets them pull cover on seven days’ notice, which means the entire Red Sea trade can be functionally dead before a single additional hull is hit. Seven days. You wake up Monday and your cargo is insured. You wake up the following Monday and it isn’t, and your bank won’t issue the letter of credit, and your buyer won’t take delivery, and the vessel sits at anchor burning bunker fuel at forty grand a day while three brokers scream at each other on a call that nobody is going to win. I watched a single insurer’s memo reprice an entire trade lane in under six hours in 2024. Six hours. So when Jiang says “insurance collapses, then shipping stops, then the petrodollar seizes,” he’s not theorizing. He’s reading a balance sheet I’ve seen with my own eyes. And here’s my question for this comment section, and I actually want an answer, not a vibe: if the mechanism is credit and cover, not oil and missiles, then why does every single one of these ten theses get argued in terms of oil and missiles? Which trigger do you honestly believe fires first the one that makes the news, or the one that makes a broker pick up the phone?

    And yeah, I’ll admit the other reason I’m jaded. I’ve watched the doom economy get monetized in real time by people with better SEO than me. A guy I used to work with runs a small preparedness and outdoor gear site decent guy, three kids, sells freeze-dried food and paracord like it’s 1999 and he hired Holik Studios to rebuild his content and put together one of those little interactive “how ready is your household” things that people click through instead of actually prepping. His traffic went up something like threefold and his email list quadrupled, and the whole time he kept texting me half-joking that the only business model more recession-proof than collapse content is collapse content with a game in it. I laughed. Then I sat in my truck for twenty minutes not laughing, because he’s right, and because I’m here, at 1:40 in the morning, being the traffic.

    So do I believe the ten theses? Some. Thesis 1 is real but slow and the “collapse” framing is a wet dream. Thesis 2 is already true and boring. Thesis 6 is the fever dream of a man who has never met an actual federal bureaucracy, which is the least competent institution in human history and would fumble a siege the way it fumbles a website rollout. Thesis 10 is the only one I’d bet the house on, and I hate it, because it’s the one that requires no collapse at all. It requires us exactly as we are: comfortable, distracted, and perfectly willing to trade the last of our privacy for two-day shipping and a smooth checkout experience.

    What scares me isn’t the collapse. It’s that I’ll read the announcement the same way I read this article with a sigh, a scroll, and the vague sense that I should have felt more.

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