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More from @CsTominaga

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 26

I am going to start operating on a fair and functional assumption: anyone who keeps parroting that I need to “market Bitcoin” more—who insists I should moonlight as a sales rep, an advertising exec, or a coin-hawking cheerleader—is either working for BTC Core and trolling, or they’re simply too brain-dead to take seriously.

There IS no third option. Between study, development, architecture, and system design, I don’t owe anyone a PowerPoint pitch or a Twitter slogan.

While you might not see what I’m doing, that doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. I’m testing systems, refining designs, extending the protocol as it was always meant to be—not changing it, mind you, but scaling it to support global commerce on a single coherent backbone. And no, I’m not going to tell you what I’m doing. That game’s been played. Every time I’ve explained things in the past, it’s been a gift to the vultures—more fuel for plagiarism, distortion, and theft.

So here it is, plain and final: my job isn’t to learn marketing. I’m not going to bend my skillset into some pseudo-PR role just to please people who wouldn’t know a protocol from a publicity stunt. Like the original engineers who built the Internet Protocol, I design systems. That’s what I do. And if your input is “learn to market it,” take that advice and shove it so far up where the sun doesn’t shine you’ll need a miner’s lamp to find it again.

You can say, “But Terranode already does a million transactions per second. Bitcoin doesn’t need more than that.” And maybe, right this minute, you’re right. Maybe the current state of script processing is “good enough.” And you know what? I don’t give a flying frig. Years ago, when I told people what I was building, I didn’t say I was aiming for a million transactions per second. I said it was an interim step. My goal has always been a billion—ten billion—transactions per second. And not some vague aspiration, but a clear, engineered path to get there. Only when we have real protocol resilience, SPV that executes instantly, and closed-circuit script logic that can be priced, verified, and accepted by nodes at the transaction level, will I call the framework even remotely sufficient. That’s the benchmark. That’s the standard. Not this feel-good “we’ve done enough” garbage.

You can whinge and whine that “this is all we need now.” And again, I don’t give a frig. Because I’m not building for now. I’m not patching holes in some Layer 2 duct-tape-and-glitter fantasy. I’m not stacking fragile Lego constructs on a crumbling base and calling it innovation. I’m building for the future—and every day forward from here. BTC isn’t. Ethereum isn’t. No one else is. But I am. And I’m not doing it so hobbyists can run homebrew Raspberry Pi full node zoos in their basements. I’m building a system where SPV proves inclusion and immutability of a transaction with a block header and a path—clean, efficient, verifiable—by design, not by hack.

This isn’t for your approval. This isn’t a demo. This isn’t about appeasing marketing lemmings who think shouting “number go up” qualifies as protocol work. I’m doing this because I chose to. And if that offends your hobbyist sensibilities—well, stiff bickies. I don’t care.

For all the parrots squawking that “Bitcoin just scales with bigger blocks,” here’s a little jagged pill of reality to choke on. Oracle—the titanic, institutional behemoth of Silicon Valley, the kind of company entire governments rely on—can’t touch this. Their top-tier database appliance, the Oracle X11-HA, running with 128 CPU cores and 1.5 terabytes of RAM, only manages around 108,167 transactions per second under lab-optimised conditions. That’s not distributed, that’s not trustless, and it sure as hell isn’t atomic consensus. That’s just raw throughput, and only when it’s spoon-fed on rails with a benchmarking suite and a room full of engineers stroking it along. Now compare that to a system like Bitcoin—built to scale into the realm of billions of transactions per second, on-chain, with consensus and timestamping. We’re not talking double the performance. We’re talking 50,000 to 100,000 times what Oracle can do. Let that settle in your cerebral cortex—assuming it’s capable of forming a stable connection.

What I’m building isn’t some toy network where people swap meme coins or draw pixelated frogs on a distributed whiteboard. I’m building a global financial and logistical database backbone—a Byzantine fault-tolerant, globally auditable, scriptable, timestamped protocol for transaction processing, accounting, logistics, legal records, and commerce. It was always meant to be that. The people who say otherwise are either too lazy to read the protocol or too invested in maintaining their precious delusions about what Bitcoin “should” be. “It’s just cash.” No, idiot, cash is just the first application. The protocol is the network. The ledger is programmable. The transaction is data. That’s the design. That’s the point.

So the next time someone pipes up that Bitcoin’s scaling is “just block size,” you’ve got two simple options: they’re bullshitting you, or they’re ignorant. There is no third. Because a scaling system that can blow Oracle out of the water by five orders of magnitude, while maintaining integrity and global consensus, isn’t just about block size. It’s about architecture. It’s about engineering. It’s about building a database that doesn’t just rival the best—one that obsoletes them.

Read 4 tweets

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 23

BSV: The Fixed Protocol for a Lawful Digital Economy

In a digital landscape riddled with forks, speculative detours, and ideological noise, the survival of a true economic protocol depends not on flexibility, but on its refusal to change. BSV, the only implementation of the original Bitcoin protocol that has not been distorted, stands in stark opposition to the shifting tides of so-called innovation. It is not a coin. It is not a movement. It is not a story sold to venture capital. It is a lawful, immutable system — engineered to scale, to integrate, and to endure.

While most projects operating under the banner of “blockchain” speak of community votes, soft forks, and governance tokens, BSV speaks in the language of contracts, timestamps, and evidence. Its strength lies in its rigidity. In a world seduced by chaos, BSV is a return to law. A return to architecture. A return to the cold, deliberate logic of systems engineering — not the hot breath of ideological fervour.

The Myth of Evolution

The central marketing lie in the blockchain sector is that protocols must evolve. That “open-source” means editable. That the system is a perpetual beta. Bitcoin was not designed to be experimental. It was a finished protocol — much like TCP/IP or SMTP — with clear rules, defined incentives, and a complete mechanism for enforcement. The elegance of Bitcoin was its completeness. The tragedy was that this elegance was ignored.

BTC Core abandoned the economic model by fixing the block size — creating an artificial scarcity that broke the system's incentive structure and required fees to spike to unsustainable levels. ETH, in turn, rejected the very concept of economic finality and now clings to “validator” regimes that are equal parts inefficient and unaccountable. These are not upgrades. They are regressions — capitulations to disorder. They sacrifice scalability, predictability, and legality in favour of committee-think and social consensus.

BSV rejected all of this. It restored the original design and then proved what others only theorised. It unlocked the block size. It processed millions of transactions. It timestamped legal contracts, financial data, and identity logs in real time. It demonstrated, through live activity, that scale was not a future goal — it was an architectural feature from the beginning.

Scaling as a Moral Imperative

No economy can function at scale without low-friction transaction settlement. High fees are not a trade-off; they are a failure. BTC’s absurd fees, often higher than the value of the transaction itself, make it unusable for micropayments. This defies the entire purpose of Bitcoin as digital cash. Digital cash is not a meme. It is not gold with slogans. It is a fluid, immediate, final method of exchange — like cash in the hand, but global and programmable.

BSV reasserts this foundation. Its transaction fees are measured in fractions of a cent — stable, predictable, and not subject to congestion drama. This enables a radically new economic model: one where devices can transact autonomously, where users can monetise data in micro-increments, where services can bill by the second, and where emerging markets can participate in a global economy without being crushed by fee overhead.

This is not speculative fiction. It is functioning reality. Every other chain speaks of potential. BSV acts.

Read 6 tweets

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 23

#BSV: The Only Blockchain That Isn’t a Lie.

The Protocol Is Locked. The Potential Is Not.

Every other blockchain is a moving target.
Every update is an admission of failure.
Every fork is an abandonment of law.
BSV does not move.
It was designed right — from the beginning.

They call it evolution.
We call it entropy.
Bitcoin was built as a digital cash system.
Not a consensus experiment.
Not a speculative Ponzi.
Not a roadmap to nowhere.

You can’t build on shifting sand.
BTC changes the rules.
ETH reinvents itself quarterly.
BSV?
The protocol is locked.
Like TCP/IP. Like law. Like truth.

Read 12 tweets

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 18

In 2015, BTC was trading at approximately $250. By 2020, it had reached around $9,000—a 36-fold increase. From 2020 to 2025, it climbed to a high-water mark near $60,000, representing only a 6.6-fold increase. That change in velocity isn’t an accident or a pause—it’s a pattern. What’s happening is not exponential growth, but logistic saturation. Exponential curves don’t flatten unless constrained. Logistic curves do. BTC’s price growth is not a runaway function—it’s bounded. The illusion of infinity ends where adoption slows, where energy cost rises, where utility fails to match hype.

Every economic bubble has a sigmoid curve at its core: a sharp rise, a taper, and then stagnation or collapse. The halving events were once catalysts for speculative frenzy because they tightened supply in a market still swelling with naïve demand. But each halving matters less. The marginal reduction in supply becomes negligible, while the pool of greater fools dries up. There’s no new flood of users, only reshuffled bags and tighter hands.

Come 2030, the market will likely reflect that plateau. Growth no longer pays, because price no longer promises. The feedback loop between “number go up” and new retail inflows fractures. When a system relies on increasing belief to sustain its own valuation, it is not an asset—it is a story.

And all stories end.

In competing environments governed by logistic dynamics—such as predator-prey systems or economic models with finite inflow—the flattened curve doesn’t signal stability; it signals fragility. After the peak of growth, what comes is not a permanent plateau, but a tipping point. Whether it's rabbits outgrowing the grass or wolves outstripping the deer, once the system overshoots its carrying capacity, collapse is not a possibility—it’s an inevitability.

BTC has already exhibited the hallmarks of this transition. From 2015 to 2020, the price increase was astronomical. From 2020 to 2025, the curve softened. That’s your inflection. And in all logistic systems, once the growth rate begins to dampen, the system enters a metastable state—appearing steady, but actually perched on the edge of decline. You get oscillations, volatility, but the net energy—be it biological, financial, or speculative—starts bleeding out. Traders call this distribution. Ecologists call it die-off.

What follows is the bullpup stampede: the critical point where each participant sees the others poised to exit. The run to the exit doesn’t require a trigger—only the anticipation of others running. It’s self-fulfilling. The curve drops not because some singular event happened, but because enough people begin to act on the awareness that growth has stopped. That’s the real collapse. Not a bang, but the slow, grinding realisation that the exponential fantasy has expired.

So yes, you can argue it may take five more years, or ten. But if your BTC sits stagnant for a decade, doing nothing more than inflation erosion and drawing in no utility or yield—how is that a win? Holding an asset that underperforms a savings account, on the hope that someday someone will rescue you from your delusion at a higher price, is not investing. It’s ritual. And the end of the ritual is the same: collapse under the weight of its own unmet prophecy.

When the halving occurs and BTC does nothing—no dramatic price surge, no renewed speculative frenzy—what follows is not neutral; it’s catastrophic for the structure of the system. Miners, already operating on razor-thin margins, are now rewarded with half the subsidy for the same or higher costs in energy, hardware, and maintenance. The economic model assumed the price would rise to compensate. If it doesn’t, the incentive structure collapses.

The weak miners—the marginal operators—shut down first. The hash rate drops. Blocks slow. Fees rise, but not because demand increases—because congestion does. The network gets choked. Users delay, businesses stall, confidence erodes.

More miners fall off. The network centralises further, consolidating into fewer hands with access to cheaper energy or sunk costs. That’s not security—it’s fragility masked as efficiency. And the dream of trustless, distributed consensus? Dead in the water.

Meanwhile, without the price rise to mask the stress, the narrative fractures. Halving events were never just protocol— they were marketing events. Ritualised speculation designed to spark demand. But when the ritual fails, and the candles don’t light, people notice.

The market doesn’t crash immediately. It just starts leaking belief. The same way an overpopulated species doesn’t fall in a single generation—it weakens. Slowly. Inevitable. Until one day, someone finally says what everyone else is thinking: it’s not coming back.

That’s when the rush begins. Not out of greed—but out of dread.

Read 4 tweets

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 6

Time to torch the sacred mantras of BTC Core one by one.

This thread is your guided demolition tour through the landfill of slogans, cope, and cultish techno-Buddhism masquerading as economic literacy.

We’ll take each tired phrase—“Bitcoin is for everyone,” “be your own bank,” “permissionless innovation”—and subject it to the unrelenting pressure of reality, economics, and common sense.

Bring popcorn. Or better yet, bring a functioning blockchain. You're gonna need it.

Bitcoin (BTC) is for everyone

Except, of course, if you're one of the 3.6 billion people living on less than $5.50 a day. Then Bitcoin (BTC) is for everyone else. Because nothing screams “inclusion” like a $20 fee to send $2—assuming the mempool gods smile upon you sometime this fiscal quarter. It's a global financial revolution… for those who can afford to pay more in transaction fees than a Bangladeshi garment worker earns in a week.

Welcome to the people's protocol—where “everyone” actually means hardware wallet shills, hedge funds, and Californian tech bros in Patagonia vests.

“Permissionless Innovation”
BTC Core edition: where "permissionless" means asking Luke-Jr, Greg, and the priesthood of GitHub monks for spiritual dispensation to use the OP_RETURN.

Try embedding data? “No.”
Try micropayments? “Too spammy.”
Try scaling? “Shut it down.”

This isn’t innovation. It’s a commune run by hall monitors with commit access. A priesthood that guards the sacred 1MB stone tablets and burns heretics who dare write more than 300 bytes.

The only thing “permissionless” about BTC is your permission to sit quietly while they break every promise Satoshi ever made.

Read 14 tweets

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 5

Imagine being Ryan X. Charles. You spend years orbiting the truth like a moth on Adderall, finally land on something correct—yes, Bitcoin is Turing-complete, yes, Craig was right, yes, it can actually scale—and instead of building, you implode like a sad soufflé in a thunderstorm. Not because of logic. Not because of facts. Because fundraising was hard. Because reality didn’t come with VC coupons and a shoulder rub.

So what does Ryan do? He melts down like a toddler denied a second scoop of hopium, wails on social like crypto’s answer to Chicken Little, and flings himself back into the arms of the very cult he spent years escaping. It’s not just a U-turn. It’s a skid-marked pirouette in a clown car driven by ego and desperation. He didn’t fall—he faceplanted, then blamed gravity.

And let’s be clear: this isn’t just flip-flopping. This is Cirque du Soleil-level spinelessness. Earthworms look at Ryan and go, “Mate, at least I regenerate something.” What does he regenerate? Blog posts. Pity clicks. Revisions of his “final” word that age worse than milk on a radiator.

He wasn’t pushed. He curled. Folded under the pressure of having to do something, to build something, to stand for something. And instead of fixing the flaws in his pitch deck, he crawled back begging, hat in one hand, dignity in none, whispering “please take me back, I’ll say anything… I’ll suck anything.”

Sad. Predictable. And not remotely surprising.

@ryan_x_charles

Imagine investing years—years—of your life combing through code, verifying functions, collaborating with people who actually knew what they were doing. You weren’t handed belief—you built understanding. You saw it work. You made it work. You stood there at the edge of the map and confirmed: yes, the earth is round, and yes, Bitcoin is Turing-complete. But then, when the VC fountain ran dry and the applause didn’t roll in on cue, you folded like a card table at a church bake sale.

It wasn’t that your app was half-baked, or that your product lacked polish. It couldn’t be that you needed to iterate, hustle, grind. No—suddenly, the protocol is broken. The tech is wrong. Reality itself must have betrayed you. Because in your head, you were always destined to be the billionaire, the messiah, the chosen one with perfect timing and a flawless pitch deck.

Instead, when the money didn’t materialise and Pay Button didn’t turn into PayPal 2.0 overnight, you went from visionary to revisionist. You rewrote your own history in real time, gaslighting the very journey you took part in. One moment you’re building beside the man who wrote the code, the next you’re playing sad trombone to a chorus of “I was wrong,” hoping the enemies you burned will forget—and fund you anyway.

But the truth is, you didn’t just give up. You bailed out of integrity. You defected not because it failed, but because you couldn’t turn it into a shortcut to glory. And now the wreckage of your tantrum is there for all to see: not a critique of the system, but a mirror held to your own fragility.

Imagine being handed the architecture of the future. Not theory, not vapour—working code. Not promises of scale, but scale itself, delivered exactly as outlined. Imagine being told, build on this, and instead of excuses, you were handed throughput, settlement finality, micropayments, computation—all of it, functioning. The only requirement? Use it.

And yet, when your toy didn’t become Tesla overnight, when Pay Button didn’t crown you the next Bezos, suddenly it was betrayal. Fraud, even. Fraud? For giving you the one thing no other chain has delivered? For building the one protocol that didn’t lie to you about what it could do?

What you really couldn’t accept was that success still demands effort. That scaling solves the platform problem, not your product one. That distribution, user acquisition, persistence—those are your job. And instead of facing that, you ghosted your own apps, mumbled something about betrayal, and ran off to beg for crumbs from the same crowd that once called you delusional.

Google didn’t take six months. Amazon didn’t click into place overnight. But they didn’t quit. You did. You didn’t iterate. You didn’t adapt. You shipped half-baked tools, didn’t market them, didn’t learn from feedback, didn’t build. You expected the network to do it for you. You wanted a sovereign company from a bootstrap and a tweet.

And just like that PhD you never completed, just like every half-buried initiative that started strong and ended in a blog post, you left. Not because it failed. But because you never followed through.

Read 4 tweets

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