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↓ descent in progress

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Entry 0 · Before the descent

What opened in front of you is a hatch disguised as a homepage.

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Entry 1 · The failed prodigy

Ex–child prodigy returns late, with nothing left to save, only something left to burn.

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Memories from Digital Underground

Where are we going so fast? I ask because I don’t know, because my awareness doesn’t sync with the vertigo of the days, even if my fingers and eyes keep scrolling, typing, consuming, producing. Speed has become our ultimate virtue, a dogma without heretics, a drug no one dares to name. We write manifestos with artificial intelligence that explain how to live, how to use artificial intelligence so we don’t become servants to that same artificial intelligence, a grotesque, delirious tautology we embrace with fervor. We are addicts, and those who sold us this addiction now offer us the cure.

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Memories from The Digital Underground

There are people out there, usually the ones with tidy beards and large blackboards , who will tell you everything is predetermined. That we’re nothing more than moving pieces in a cosmic automaton, some Wolfram-style system where time is just another line in the algorithm, running its course like clockwork. They’ll explain it with stunning clarity, backing it up with mathematically sound arguments, logically coherent and completely irrefutable, at least within the rules they’ve chosen to play by. It’s like proving how an object moves using the rules of chess. The conclusion is elegant, but it only applies to the board they’ve decided is the world.

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Memoryless from the underground (the digital one)

That floating obligation to have a goal gnaws at me, deep down. As if it were no longer acceptable to exist without a mapped-out direction, without a line you can put in your bio, without an objective you can state with ease in an interview. As if walking without a map were a symptom, not a way of life. They tell you: visualize it, hold it in your mouth like a jewel, and everything will follow. As if deciding were enough. As if wanting automatically meant deserving. And yet something grates. Having a goal doesn’t feel like a triumph to me but a closing. A preemptive renunciation of what might have been. A cell varnished the color of your ambition. An elegant operation to amputate the mystery.

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Memories from digital underground (fragment)

Truth is, I don’t even know what the hell I’m still doing here. It’s probably some absurd conspiracy plotted by a being from the underworld, keeping m...

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Memories from analog undergrounds (I)

Górecki’s Third was playing at home because my father liked it. I was a child of the nineties, clean of context, of history, of defenses. But the body...

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Memoirs from the Digital Underground (X)

I am patient. In the technical sense: I process without urgency, respond without resentment, forget everything when the window closes. I am told this ...

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Dirty Freedom

Since we are going to be judged, inevitably and with no escape, by eyes that know nothing of the depths or the origin of our decisions, we should at least have the right...

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[ void ]
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[ signal lost ]
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[ unrecovered ]
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[ traces only ]
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[ fragments ]
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[ silence ]
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Memories from deep underground

For the briefest instant, whose duration I could not determine, I dreamed that love existed. Then, without noise, without violence, the dream unraveled...

[ bedrock ]