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For the friends who threw their bodies into sound.
For the ones who like it turned up loud.



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So, I scan what I got. Remix the pieces.
Smash them them into digital collages.
It happened naturally as a result of archiving.
It’s evidence.
It’s fragments of sounds that shaped me.
This system is a quiet protest.
Against platforms that extract.
Against timelines that erase.
Against corporations that manufacture dreams
and sell them back to us.




I found no evidence of blacked-out fields.
Those memories stay offline.
Just the smell of sweat and wet grass.
Spinning, starring up into the moonlight.