BTC, the great revolution, they call it. The new money. The people's money. But look closer—scratch at the shiny, varnished surface, and what do you see? A ledger of lies. A middleman wrapped in the illusion of freedom.

BTC isn’t here to liberate you; it’s a gilded cage. Three or four transactions a second—what does that even mean? It means this is not your system. This is not cash.

This is their system. Banks, corporations, overlords of the financial web. A slow drip feeding only the big players—settlement between banks and entities too large to fail, too important to care about you.

This isn’t peer-to-peer; it’s peer-to-prison. You’re unbanked now? Wait until you see what’s coming. The new system will enshrine that status. Immutable, they said. Decentralised, they whispered. Bullshit. It’s just another Orwellian database, where every transaction becomes a credit on some ledger you’ll never control, tied to assets that belong to the banks. You won’t even own the crumbs they let you touch. They’ll lend it to you, at a cost, like a farmer feeding a pig just enough slop to keep it alive until slaughter day.

It won’t be freedom. It’ll be a dystopian accounting system, every entry a surveillance point, every transaction a nod to your masters. They’ll dress it up in buzzwords, sell you decentralisation while holding the central keys. BTC is a bank ledger masquerading as revolution. And you’ll trust it—because they’ll tell you to, because they’ll give you no other choice.

A credit here, a debit there, your life reduced to a series of numbers owned by someone else. Freedom? No. Just another brick in the wall of the machine. Orwell would’ve wept, but then again, maybe he would’ve laughed.