☀️ The Woman Who Owns the Sun.

Galicia, 2010.

A woman walks into a notary’s office. No drama. No blood. Just a ballpoint pen.

María Ángeles Durán has a document drawn up. Content: The sun belongs to me.

The notary stamps it. Of course he does. Notaries stamp anything that doesn’t scream.

Her logic was almost brilliant: the UN Outer Space Treaty forbids states from owning celestial bodies. It says nothing about private individuals. Loophole found, star plucked.

She bought nothing. No seller. No contract. No handover protocol for a fusion reactor 1.4 million kilometers wide.

She simply claimed. Officially, certifiably claimed.

And then came the real madness: she wanted to charge usage fees for sunlight. From you. From me. From every tomato plant.

Nobody ever paid. Nobody ever recognized it. The sun still belongs to: no one. A notary only confirms that you said something — not that it’s true. That’s the difference between a stamp and the truth.

The Americans were faster. And bolder.

Dennis Hope, California, 1980. Same treaty trick, just with the moon. He declared himself owner, founded the “Lunar Embassy” and sold lunar real estate. Millions of times over. To Hollywood stars. Allegedly even to ex-presidents.

The man didn’t get rich because he owned the moon.

He got rich because people love certificates.

Add the star registries: you pay 50 dollars, and a star is “named” after your grandma. NASA keeps calling it HD 172167. Your grandma doesn’t know. Neither does the star.

Mark Twain said: “Buy land — they’re not making it anymore.” Hope and Durán heard that sentence and thought: why think small?

Become a member 💎

🚂 And now the part that hurts.

You’re laughing at the sun lady?

Then try riding Deutsche Bahn.

Because the railway sells you exactly the same thing: an official document about something it doesn’t own. It’s called a timetable. It says 2:32 PM. Certified. Printed. With a QR code.

2:32 PM is Deutsche Bahn’s sun. They claim that time. They don’t own it.

Last winter I stood on platform 2 in Erfurt. ICE to Frankfurt, “+45”. Then “+70”. Then the train vanished from the display — not delayed, but denied. Like an ex who blocks you on every platform.

Next to me, a man in a suit staring at his ticket the way Durán stared at her deed. His claim, in black and white. Legally, practically worthless.

We’re all sun owners, baby. We hold papers in our hands and call it security.

🎤 Three slam hacks almost nobody knows

1. The notary trick. Perform your wildest emotion in bureaucratic language. “I hereby request the return of my heart, case number 2019/you.” The contrast between bureaucracy and feeling hits harder than any metaphor.

2. Delay dramaturgy. Announce a punchline on stage — and don’t deliver it. Not until two stanzas later. The audience waits like on platform 2. And when the train finally arrives: standing ovations.

3. Address an object, not the audience. One stanza spoken only to the microphone cable, the ticket, the departure board. Sounds ridiculous. Works brutally — because suddenly the whole room looks at itself through that thing.

Durán wanted to own the sun. The railway wants to own punctuality. And you?

You probably just want to arrive.

👉 Subscribe to me so you never miss one of these texts. The sun belongs to no one — but this feed can belong to you. Free. No notary required.

A stamp doesn’t make you an owner. A ticket doesn’t make you a traveler. Only motion does.

Be creative. Stephan