Imagine money that doesn’t stop at borders, doesn’t wait for banks, doesn’t care about the size of your wallet or the colour of your passport. Internet money—real internet money—isn’t just a buzzword. It’s a lifeline. A system where a farmer in Ghana can send a few cents to her supplier in Thailand, instantly, securely, for less than the cost of a raindrop. No middlemen. No waiting. No paperwork drowning in red tape.
Africa to Asia, Europe to the Americas, it’s all the same. A transaction that moves faster than you can blink, cutting through the chaos of outdated systems built to exclude more than they include. For the unbanked, it means finally having a seat at the table, trading not in promises but in certainty. For businesses, it’s the freedom to grow without being strangled by fees that bleed them dry. For families, it’s the ability to send help across oceans without wondering how much will be skimmed off the top.
A world where a transaction costs 0.01 cents isn’t just cheaper. It’s transformative. It’s the difference between sending a day’s wages and seeing most of it swallowed by greed, or keeping it whole, letting it do what it’s meant to do—feed, build, create. It’s security without the need for trust, speed without the sacrifice of integrity.
This is what internet money could be. A bridge, not a wall. A tool, not a weapon. A system that doesn’t demand power or privilege, only participation. And for the first time, the world—every corner of it—could be connected in a way that matters. Not just with words or images, but with the ability to act, to trade, to live.
This is #Bitcoin. It isn’t BTC.
Africa to Asia, Europe to the Americas, it’s all the same. A transaction that moves faster than you can blink, cutting through the chaos of outdated systems built to exclude more than they include. For the unbanked, it means finally having a seat at the table, trading not in promises but in certainty. For businesses, it’s the freedom to grow without being strangled by fees that bleed them dry. For families, it’s the ability to send help across oceans without wondering how much will be skimmed off the top.
A world where a transaction costs 0.01 cents isn’t just cheaper. It’s transformative. It’s the difference between sending a day’s wages and seeing most of it swallowed by greed, or keeping it whole, letting it do what it’s meant to do—feed, build, create. It’s security without the need for trust, speed without the sacrifice of integrity.
This is what internet money could be. A bridge, not a wall. A tool, not a weapon. A system that doesn’t demand power or privilege, only participation. And for the first time, the world—every corner of it—could be connected in a way that matters. Not just with words or images, but with the ability to act, to trade, to live.
This is #Bitcoin. It isn’t BTC.
Governments and corporations like Mastercard hate the idea of true internet money because it exposes their game. Their power isn’t built on innovation or service—it’s built on control. Control over the flow of money, over who gets access and at what cost. When every transaction passes through their hands, they take a cut, they track, they manipulate. They turn what should be free—money moving between people—into a bottleneck they own.
True internet money doesn’t need them. It doesn’t bow to their gatekeeping or their fees. A system where 0.01 cent sends money halfway across the world makes Mastercard irrelevant. It renders their bloated infrastructure and predatory pricing obsolete. Governments fear it for the same reason: it chips away at their ability to control, to surveil, to dictate the terms of economic life. They rely on centralised systems to tax, to sanction, to punish. Internet money moves outside their reach, answering to the protocol, not to them.
For Mastercard and its ilk, this isn’t just competition—it’s annihilation. A world where billions of people can transact freely, securely, at microscopic fees, is a world where their profits vanish. For governments, it’s a threat to their ability to enforce financial boundaries, to monitor every movement of wealth. It takes away the levers they’ve used for decades to maintain their grip on power.
That’s why they hate it. Not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s liberating. It levels the playing field, tearing down the barriers they’ve spent lifetimes building. It gives power back to people—ordinary people—and that terrifies those who thrive on control.
True internet money doesn’t need them. It doesn’t bow to their gatekeeping or their fees. A system where 0.01 cent sends money halfway across the world makes Mastercard irrelevant. It renders their bloated infrastructure and predatory pricing obsolete. Governments fear it for the same reason: it chips away at their ability to control, to surveil, to dictate the terms of economic life. They rely on centralised systems to tax, to sanction, to punish. Internet money moves outside their reach, answering to the protocol, not to them.
For Mastercard and its ilk, this isn’t just competition—it’s annihilation. A world where billions of people can transact freely, securely, at microscopic fees, is a world where their profits vanish. For governments, it’s a threat to their ability to enforce financial boundaries, to monitor every movement of wealth. It takes away the levers they’ve used for decades to maintain their grip on power.
That’s why they hate it. Not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s liberating. It levels the playing field, tearing down the barriers they’ve spent lifetimes building. It gives power back to people—ordinary people—and that terrifies those who thrive on control.
Politically, true internet money would shatter the foundations of power built on control and centralisation. It would decentralise economic influence, stripping governments and financial institutions of their monopoly over money. When people can transact instantly, securely, and almost freely, without needing banks, regulators, or payment processors, the traditional levers of political control weaken.
For authoritarian regimes, it’s a nightmare.
Their ability to freeze accounts, restrict trade, or enforce capital controls evaporates. Protests and resistance movements gain a powerful tool—a way to fund themselves without fear of being cut off. Censorship becomes harder when financial flows can bypass the grip of state-controlled banks. The political playing field shifts, giving ordinary citizens an advantage they’ve never had.
In democracies, the political implications are no less profound. Lobbyists and corporate interests tied to the financial sector lose their influence. When Mastercard and Visa no longer skim profits from every transaction, their ability to fund political campaigns and dictate policy diminishes. Politicians lose their easy justification for excessive regulation in the name of "security" when people see a better system functioning without it.
Global politics transforms as well. Remittance-dependent countries, often exploited by the high fees of Western financial systems, suddenly find themselves with more capital circulating locally. Developing nations gain access to trade networks that were previously out of reach. This redistribution of economic opportunity undermines the current hierarchy of global power, where wealthier nations dictate terms to poorer ones.
True internet money doesn’t just decentralise finance—it decentralises power. It reduces the capacity of any one entity to dictate terms, whether it’s a government, a corporation, or a central bank. And in doing so, it opens the door to a more balanced, equitable political landscape—one where influence is earned through value and ideas, not imposed through control.
For authoritarian regimes, it’s a nightmare.
Their ability to freeze accounts, restrict trade, or enforce capital controls evaporates. Protests and resistance movements gain a powerful tool—a way to fund themselves without fear of being cut off. Censorship becomes harder when financial flows can bypass the grip of state-controlled banks. The political playing field shifts, giving ordinary citizens an advantage they’ve never had.
In democracies, the political implications are no less profound. Lobbyists and corporate interests tied to the financial sector lose their influence. When Mastercard and Visa no longer skim profits from every transaction, their ability to fund political campaigns and dictate policy diminishes. Politicians lose their easy justification for excessive regulation in the name of "security" when people see a better system functioning without it.
Global politics transforms as well. Remittance-dependent countries, often exploited by the high fees of Western financial systems, suddenly find themselves with more capital circulating locally. Developing nations gain access to trade networks that were previously out of reach. This redistribution of economic opportunity undermines the current hierarchy of global power, where wealthier nations dictate terms to poorer ones.
True internet money doesn’t just decentralise finance—it decentralises power. It reduces the capacity of any one entity to dictate terms, whether it’s a government, a corporation, or a central bank. And in doing so, it opens the door to a more balanced, equitable political landscape—one where influence is earned through value and ideas, not imposed through control.
Politically, the idea of thousands of small-value coins, each too insignificant to trace, shifts the entire concept of control. When money isn’t tied to accounts but to serial numbers—used once and then gone—it becomes something governments can’t monitor, banks can’t freeze, and corporations can’t monetise. The entire infrastructure of surveillance capitalism and financial oversight collapses.
Imagine a world where transactions happen in fragments, where the value is spread across countless coins so small, so disposable, that tracking them becomes futile. Governments can’t attach identities to funds; they can’t build profiles or enforce arbitrary restrictions. Taxes and regulations designed to skim off transactions in centralised systems become meaningless when there’s nothing to intercept.
This form of money challenges the very structure of political power. Authoritarian regimes lose their grip entirely. Surveillance states, reliant on knowing who spends what and where, face a blind spot so large it breaks their machinery. Protests and underground movements gain an untouchable tool to organise, to grow, to resist without fear of being shut down.
Even in democracies, this kind of money shifts the balance. Politicians reliant on controlling the flow of wealth suddenly lose leverage. Lobbyists tied to financial institutions see their influence wane. The promise of decentralisation isn’t just about economics—it’s about breaking the centralised power structures that rely on controlling access to resources.
This system also redistributes financial freedom to the margins.
The unbanked, the poor, those excluded from traditional systems finally gain access to a tool that empowers them. Small transactions—pennies, fractions of a cent—become viable, creating a global micro-economy where every individual can participate.
Politically, it’s a revolution. Not through violence or rhetoric, but through the quiet erosion of centralised control.
Thousands of small, disposable coins create a system that cannot be owned, cannot be ruled, cannot be stopped. It’s not just a new kind of money—it’s a new kind of freedom.
Imagine a world where transactions happen in fragments, where the value is spread across countless coins so small, so disposable, that tracking them becomes futile. Governments can’t attach identities to funds; they can’t build profiles or enforce arbitrary restrictions. Taxes and regulations designed to skim off transactions in centralised systems become meaningless when there’s nothing to intercept.
This form of money challenges the very structure of political power. Authoritarian regimes lose their grip entirely. Surveillance states, reliant on knowing who spends what and where, face a blind spot so large it breaks their machinery. Protests and underground movements gain an untouchable tool to organise, to grow, to resist without fear of being shut down.
Even in democracies, this kind of money shifts the balance. Politicians reliant on controlling the flow of wealth suddenly lose leverage. Lobbyists tied to financial institutions see their influence wane. The promise of decentralisation isn’t just about economics—it’s about breaking the centralised power structures that rely on controlling access to resources.
This system also redistributes financial freedom to the margins.
The unbanked, the poor, those excluded from traditional systems finally gain access to a tool that empowers them. Small transactions—pennies, fractions of a cent—become viable, creating a global micro-economy where every individual can participate.
Politically, it’s a revolution. Not through violence or rhetoric, but through the quiet erosion of centralised control.
Thousands of small, disposable coins create a system that cannot be owned, cannot be ruled, cannot be stopped. It’s not just a new kind of money—it’s a new kind of freedom.
They’re the ones who traded the dream for a cheap suit and a corner office,
who looked at the promise of something greater
and said, “Nah, I’ll take the quick buck.”
The kind who sold the revolution
for a handful of corporate crumbs
and a seat at the table of thieves.
It wasn’t about the dream for them.
Not the freedom, the decentralisation,
the chance to rip the levers of control
out of the hands of the powerful
and give them to the people.
No, for them it was always a hustle,
a way to cash in,
to slap their name on the marquee
and play the part of visionary
while they lined their pockets
with corporate gold.
People like that,
they’re not builders, not creators.
They’re opportunists.
They saw the potential of real freedom
and decided it was too messy,
too uncertain, too long a road.
They wanted the fast lane,
the applause, the sponsorship deals.
So they sold out.
And what did they get?
A nice check, a pat on the back,
a fleeting moment of relevance.
But what they lost—
what they threw away—
was everything.
Because history doesn’t remember
the sellouts, the shills, the turncoats.
It remembers the ones who stayed,
who fought for something bigger
than their own wallets.
The ones who built,
not for applause,
but because it was right.
People like @lopp?
They’ll sit in their glass towers,
smiling at their bank accounts,
but deep down,
they’ll know they sold the dream
for a handful of nothing.
And when the dust settles,
when the real builders have finished their work,
they’ll be nothing more than a footnote,
a cautionary tale
about what it means to lose your soul.
who looked at the promise of something greater
and said, “Nah, I’ll take the quick buck.”
The kind who sold the revolution
for a handful of corporate crumbs
and a seat at the table of thieves.
It wasn’t about the dream for them.
Not the freedom, the decentralisation,
the chance to rip the levers of control
out of the hands of the powerful
and give them to the people.
No, for them it was always a hustle,
a way to cash in,
to slap their name on the marquee
and play the part of visionary
while they lined their pockets
with corporate gold.
People like that,
they’re not builders, not creators.
They’re opportunists.
They saw the potential of real freedom
and decided it was too messy,
too uncertain, too long a road.
They wanted the fast lane,
the applause, the sponsorship deals.
So they sold out.
And what did they get?
A nice check, a pat on the back,
a fleeting moment of relevance.
But what they lost—
what they threw away—
was everything.
Because history doesn’t remember
the sellouts, the shills, the turncoats.
It remembers the ones who stayed,
who fought for something bigger
than their own wallets.
The ones who built,
not for applause,
but because it was right.
People like @lopp?
They’ll sit in their glass towers,
smiling at their bank accounts,
but deep down,
they’ll know they sold the dream
for a handful of nothing.
And when the dust settles,
when the real builders have finished their work,
they’ll be nothing more than a footnote,
a cautionary tale
about what it means to lose your soul.
The so-called cypherpunks,
wrapped in their righteous banners,
love to talk about freedom,
about breaking chains, about empowering the people.
But watch them closely—
watch their actions, not their words—
and you’ll see the cracks.
They prop up systems
that shut out the poor,
systems that charge a day’s wages
just to send a dollar across a border.
They champion fees so high,
only the privileged can afford to play,
locking out the very people
they claim to fight for.
They’ll preach decentralisation
while kneeling at the altar of central control.
GitHub cabals. Corporate ties.
The same bankers they once railed against
now their quiet partners.
It’s hypocrisy draped in the language of rebellion.
These aren’t the revolutionaries
they pretend to be.
They’re gatekeepers,
building walls where there should be bridges.
They talk of breaking the system,
but they’ve become its architects,
designing a world where the rich stay rich
and the poor remain forgotten.
It’s easy to talk about freedom
when you’ve never needed it.
When you’ve never been the one
turned away, priced out,
or told your transaction isn’t worth enough
to make it through.
The cypherpunks love to dream,
but only if the dream stays theirs—
a playground for the few,
a fortress disguised as a utopia.
But history will remember them
for what they are:
not liberators, but hypocrites.
Not builders, but betrayers.
They sold out the people
for their polished ideals,
and when the people rise,
when the real revolution comes,
it will leave them behind,
buried under the weight
of their own lies.
@adam3us
wrapped in their righteous banners,
love to talk about freedom,
about breaking chains, about empowering the people.
But watch them closely—
watch their actions, not their words—
and you’ll see the cracks.
They prop up systems
that shut out the poor,
systems that charge a day’s wages
just to send a dollar across a border.
They champion fees so high,
only the privileged can afford to play,
locking out the very people
they claim to fight for.
They’ll preach decentralisation
while kneeling at the altar of central control.
GitHub cabals. Corporate ties.
The same bankers they once railed against
now their quiet partners.
It’s hypocrisy draped in the language of rebellion.
These aren’t the revolutionaries
they pretend to be.
They’re gatekeepers,
building walls where there should be bridges.
They talk of breaking the system,
but they’ve become its architects,
designing a world where the rich stay rich
and the poor remain forgotten.
It’s easy to talk about freedom
when you’ve never needed it.
When you’ve never been the one
turned away, priced out,
or told your transaction isn’t worth enough
to make it through.
The cypherpunks love to dream,
but only if the dream stays theirs—
a playground for the few,
a fortress disguised as a utopia.
But history will remember them
for what they are:
not liberators, but hypocrites.
Not builders, but betrayers.
They sold out the people
for their polished ideals,
and when the people rise,
when the real revolution comes,
it will leave them behind,
buried under the weight
of their own lies.
@adam3us
They call me a fraud,
not because I’ve lied,
but because I’ve stood firm.
Because I refuse to dance to their tune,
refuse to bow to their offers,
their temptations, their promises of quick riches
if only I’d sell out.
They hate me because they can’t move me.
I won’t budge.
I won’t change.
I won’t rewrite the rules
to suit their schemes,
their corporate agendas,
their vision of a world where power stays in the hands
of the few.
They call me a fraud
because I won’t play the game
they’ve rigged.
They can’t buy me out.
They can’t silence me,
and they can’t erase me,
no matter how hard they try.
And believe me, they’ve tried.
But I’ll keep building.
I’ll keep delivering.
Because this isn’t about me,
or them,
or the noise they make in their echo chambers.
This is about the dream.
The real dream.
A system that’s fair, open, unchanging.
Set in stone.
Bitcoin isn’t BTC.
Bitcoin isn’t their toy,
their profit machine,
their manipulated, bloated mess
designed to serve the rich
and exclude the rest.
Bitcoin is what it always was—
a tool for everyone,
from the unbanked in Africa
to the merchants in Asia,
from the smallest transaction
to the largest enterprise.
It’s the original vision,
and I’ll deliver it.
They’ll call me every name they can think of.
They’ll try to bury me
under their lies, their lawsuits, their schemes.
But they’ll fail.
Because you can’t kill an idea
that’s already alive,
an idea that’s already growing,
taking root in the cracks
of the system they built to control.
Bitcoin will take over the earth.
Not because of me,
but because of what it is—
the real Bitcoin.
Immutable, unstoppable, inevitable.
And when it does,
the ones who called me a fraud
will be the ones history remembers as fools.
not because I’ve lied,
but because I’ve stood firm.
Because I refuse to dance to their tune,
refuse to bow to their offers,
their temptations, their promises of quick riches
if only I’d sell out.
They hate me because they can’t move me.
I won’t budge.
I won’t change.
I won’t rewrite the rules
to suit their schemes,
their corporate agendas,
their vision of a world where power stays in the hands
of the few.
They call me a fraud
because I won’t play the game
they’ve rigged.
They can’t buy me out.
They can’t silence me,
and they can’t erase me,
no matter how hard they try.
And believe me, they’ve tried.
But I’ll keep building.
I’ll keep delivering.
Because this isn’t about me,
or them,
or the noise they make in their echo chambers.
This is about the dream.
The real dream.
A system that’s fair, open, unchanging.
Set in stone.
Bitcoin isn’t BTC.
Bitcoin isn’t their toy,
their profit machine,
their manipulated, bloated mess
designed to serve the rich
and exclude the rest.
Bitcoin is what it always was—
a tool for everyone,
from the unbanked in Africa
to the merchants in Asia,
from the smallest transaction
to the largest enterprise.
It’s the original vision,
and I’ll deliver it.
They’ll call me every name they can think of.
They’ll try to bury me
under their lies, their lawsuits, their schemes.
But they’ll fail.
Because you can’t kill an idea
that’s already alive,
an idea that’s already growing,
taking root in the cracks
of the system they built to control.
Bitcoin will take over the earth.
Not because of me,
but because of what it is—
the real Bitcoin.
Immutable, unstoppable, inevitable.
And when it does,
the ones who called me a fraud
will be the ones history remembers as fools.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
