The only thing I give a damn about right now, in the short term, is making sure that Bitcoin scales. That’s it. Reputation? Don’t care. What you think about me? Less than nothing. You can call me a liar, a fraud, a madman—throw whatever rocks you’ve got.
It doesn’t matter.
It will never stop what I'm building.
There is one thing, though. One thing I do care about, and it’s not something you, or anyone else, can touch. My family. That’s sacred. It has nothing to do with this fight, nothing to do with what’s on trial or in the headlines. Beyond that, every ounce of my energy, every waking thought, is fixed on a single goal: delivering a global money system. Something real. Something that works. Something that isn’t built on lies and excuses.
If you’re sitting there thinking I walked into this expecting a parade, expecting cheers or an easy win, you’re a bloodied idiot. I knew it would be a war. I knew it would be ugly. But here’s the thing: I didn’t sign up for easy. I signed up to finish what I started. To make sure that when the dust settles, the world has something better. Not a dream, not a fantasy, but a system that scales, that works, that changes everything.
And I’ll do it, no matter what you say, no matter what you think, because that’s the only thing that matters now.
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Here’s the thing — if COPA isn’t a partnership, if it’s not tethered to BTC Core like a drunk clinging to a lamppost, then what the hell is it? Some shadowy non-organisation, a thing that is and isn’t, sitting there with its pockets stuffed full of millions of dollars? Tell me, who’s funding this circus? Who’s paying the clowns?
But more than that, why are all the developers still huddled together like they’re in on the same joke? You don’t see independent actors all wearing the same tie unless someone’s pulling the strings. They can talk all they want about decentralisation, about freedom and neutrality, but tens of millions don’t just drop out of the sky without someone expecting something in return.
It’s not about what they’re building, it’s about what they’re not saying. You don’t pour that kind of money into a group unless you want control—real control, the kind that makes every line of code answer to the same master. If they’re not a partnership, if they’re not some organised cabal, then what the hell do you call a bunch of developers, all in the same room, working towards the same agenda, funded by the same shadowy pot of cash?
BTC doesn’t have the magic trick anymore. The days of wild, thousand-fold jumps are long gone, and even the dream of a tenfold increase now feels laughable. When it was hovering at $50 or $100, the potential for those massive leaps was there — as we’ve all seen. But to sit there and argue that it will capture $100 million per coin or somehow gobble up 99% of the world’s GDP? That’s not optimism; that’s outright delusion.
BSV isn’t going anywhere. It won’t be forced aside. The upside is real, tangible, and grounded in what Bitcoin was always meant to be. BTC, though? It’s painted itself into a corner. The halving cycle is a noose tightening around its neck. With every halving, it moves further from what Bitcoin was meant to be. The illusion of scarcity gives way to the reality of inflation — doubling, tripling, fragmenting into a system that strays ever further from the 21 million cap, chasing shadows into billions.
And the shift is already in motion. As the halving strips miners of incentives, the narrative will bend and buckle. Proof of work will be cast aside, replaced by the hollow promises of proof of stake, or more aptly, proof of estate. BlackRock and the ESG puppeteers will step in, selling control under the guise of sustainability, a Trojan horse hiding carbon quotas and centralised authority.
The only real trick COPA ever had — and it was a sad one, really, like a magician with a hole in his top hat — was their claim to authority. BTC Core, the self-appointed priests of their little church, standing at the pulpit and declaring, “This is Bitcoin, and no one else can be.” It wasn’t power, not in the real sense. It was posturing, a shadow of control propped up by the faith of a crowd too scared to ask questions.
But now? In their endless legal dance, their desperate clinging to relevance, they’ve gutted their own position. They’ve stood in courtrooms and signed their names to arguments that, in essence, say they aren’t what they claim to be. They’ve undone themselves, unstitched the narrative they’ve been selling.
By trying to bury me, they’ve dug up the truth: they aren’t the keepers of the flame. They aren’t the gatekeepers of Bitcoin. They can’t be, not anymore.
And yet, here’s the punchline, the ironic little twist that would make a lesser man laugh — they haven’t stopped anything.
Not BSV, not what it can do, not what it will do.
For all their noise, for all their lawsuits and declarations, they’ve only managed to strip themselves of the one thing they had: the illusion of control.
BSV marches on, a train they can’t derail, a reality they can’t rewrite.
BTC Core loves to throw around this idea that "Satoshi doesn’t matter." They’ll say it with a straight face, like it’s some profound truth, but let’s be real—they only push that line because deep down, they know he does matter. The entire system was built on Satoshi’s design, a design meant to be set in stone, not constantly poked, prodded, and hacked apart by a bunch of developers with delusions of grandeur.
The protocol wasn’t theirs to change. It wasn’t anyone’s.
Satoshi made that clear.
And Gavin?
They kicked him out, exiled him like he was some kind of heretic.
Gavin Andresen was the guy Satoshi himself handed the reins to, the guy trusted to shepherd the system forward without wrecking the foundations. But BTC Core decided they knew better. They didn’t like the way Gavin stayed true to Satoshi’s principles. They didn’t want someone around who’d remind them that the protocol wasn’t theirs to tinker with.
So they shoved him aside, seized control, and turned Bitcoin into their playground.
The truth is, Satoshi designed Bitcoin to not need authority.
The rules were built into the code, simple and unchanging, so no one—not a corporation, not a group, not even a self-proclaimed "core team"—could hijack the system. The protocol was meant to be inviolate. Yet BTC Core ignored this, claiming the right to change whatever they pleased under the guise of "improvements." They talk about "upgrades" and "governance," but all they’ve done is centralise power and betray the very principles the system was built on.
Alright, let’s cut the crap and lay it out straight, the way Satoshi meant it. Bitcoin was supposed to be simple, clean, and brilliant—digital cash for the internet, no middlemen, no gatekeepers, no need to beg some banker or tech overlord to move your money. It’s a system where transactions are direct and final, like slapping a ten-dollar bill into someone’s hand and walking away. No take-backs, no rewrites, no “policy adjustments.”
Here’s the core: you’ve got transactions bundled into blocks, each one chained to the last with proof-of-work. This isn’t some abstract academic concept—it’s real skin in the game. Miners put in computational effort, honest effort, to solve a cryptographic puzzle. That’s proof-of-work. And when they succeed, they add a new block to the chain, locking in those transactions permanently. Finality, baby. Satoshi’s whitepaper laid it down plain: once a block is accepted, that’s the truth. No do-overs. No replacing a transaction with a higher fee.
And the transactions? Simple. The first one seen is the one that counts. Satoshi wrote it himself: “The first transaction to be received and verified is the one that is included in the block.” That’s it. None of this Replace-by-Fee garbage or mempool shenanigans. If your transaction gets broadcast, it’s timestamped, verified, and, once in a block, it’s done. Immutable. No half-assed policies to let miners play kingmaker.
If you want to understand the power of decentralisation, forget what BTC Core tells you. It isn’t about anarchy. It isn’t about tearing down every structure, every rule, and replacing it with chaos. That’s their fantasy—a world without boundaries, without accountability, where anything goes and everything falls apart. True decentralisation isn’t about the absence of order. It’s about community. It’s about groups of people coming together, sharing ideas, competing, and building something greater than the sum of their parts. Not a lawless wasteland, but a system where the rules are fair, where the game is worth playing—not because survival depends on it, but because we all want to make something better.
That’s the difference they don’t understand. Decentralisation isn’t a free-for-all. It’s a framework for growth, for progress, for innovation. It’s about competition—not competition that destroys, but competition that inspires. It’s about creating systems where people rise by merit, where they succeed because they contribute, because they build, because they make the game itself better for everyone. The rules aren’t there to crush you; they’re there to level the playing field, to make sure the game stays worth playing.
Right now, the cypherpunks and their ilk are coming for me. They’ll scream, they’ll threaten, they’ll try to bury me under their accusations and their noise. But as they do this, we’re already building—quietly, steadily, on foundations they don’t even see. The things we’ve started are bigger than me now, bigger than any single person. They’ll continue to grow, to expand, to evolve, even as the world focuses on tearing me down. And that’s the beauty of it. This isn’t about a figurehead. It’s about an idea.
I’ll keep inventing. That’s who I am; that’s what I do. But the real power of decentralisation is when you—yes, you—pick up the mantle. When you take the tools, the ideas, the systems we’ve laid down, and you run with them. When you stop waiting for someone to lead and start becoming part of the game yourself. That’s when it works. That’s when decentralisation stops being a concept and becomes a reality.
The point isn’t for me to stand at the centre. It’s for all of us to play. To build. To create. To compete in a way that drives us forward, not because we’re forced to, but because we choose to. That’s the power they don’t understand. That’s the system they fear. And that’s the future we’re creating—together.
As they’ve attacked me, as they’ve poured their energy into tearing me down, they’ve missed the bigger picture. While they obsess over me, others have been building, quietly, steadily, completing projects and launching ideas into the world. The irony is that their focus on me has only given others the freedom to act, to create, to move forward without the weight of their scrutiny. This was never about me. Recognition has never been the goal. I’m here to achieve an end—to reach a destination that’s far bigger than any individual.
The goal has always been the same: distributed money. Money that flows freely across borders, money that cannot be stopped or silenced. But not for million-dollar transfers to drug dealers or criminal enterprises. That’s not where the real value lies. The true power of this system is in the everyday transactions—the $5 purchase, the $10 payment, the $100 transfer to family across the world, the $1,000 payment to a small business. That’s where the heart of this lies, in the small amounts that touch lives and connect people. That’s what makes a difference. That’s where the real revolution is happening.
And that’s what we’re achieving. While they fixate on me, this vision is becoming reality. The system is growing, evolving, proving itself in the real world. It’s not about grand gestures or hollow promises; it’s about practical, tangible results. And as they continue to focus on me, the work goes on. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t slow. It moves forward, driven by the people who see the vision, who understand what’s at stake, who know that the value of money isn’t in speculation but in use.
This is what they’ll never understand. It’s not about one person. It’s about a system that empowers everyone, that works not in grand, dramatic gestures but in the quiet, consistent flow of everyday life. And as they chase shadows, the work continues. The goal is being realised. The system is here, and it’s here to stay.
As a figurehead, everything becomes a target—every flaw, every misstep, every word twisted and weaponised. No man can truly lead a movement like this because no one is perfect, no one is infallible. I’m not Jesus, and I have no delusions of grandeur. The world won’t stop spinning because I’m not in it. But what I do know is this: my role has always been to ignite something that goes beyond me. And now it’s time for all of you to step up, to take the fight into your hands, to ensure that this vision becomes reality.
I always knew this would happen. Governments would never want Bitcoin. Banks would never want Bitcoin. Large corporations? They’d fight tooth and nail to keep it out of the game. Because Bitcoin doesn’t serve their interests—it disrupts them. It takes power out of their hands and puts it back where it belongs: with the people. This world isn’t the virtuous, ethical world of the past, the one we might imagine through rose-tinted glasses. It’s a world that has shifted, decayed, and been consumed by greed and control. And the only way to fix it is to build something better.
The system won’t change on its own. It’s not enough to talk about it or wish for it. You have to build. You have to use. You have to take this technology and make it indispensable in the lives of real people. That’s the only way we bring change—by making it undeniable, unassailable, unavoidable. As they attack me, as they focus their energy on trying to tear me down, they’re leaving the field open for you. This is your chance. This is your opportunity to act, to create, to push forward.
The New Year will bring more clarity. Things will become known that weren’t before. But if you sit idle, waiting for someone else to do it, you won’t be part of it. This is a system for the active, for the bold, for the people who believe in it enough to stake their time, their energy, their conviction. You have to promote it. You have to use it. You have to make it real.
I know my role. It’s not one that you’ll understand, and that’s fine. It’s not about understanding. It’s about the work, the vision, and the end goal. I wouldn’t change it, not for anything. Because this isn’t about me. It’s about what we’re building, and that will outlast all of us. It has to. And it will, if you make it so.