they put us all out (a poem): Disintegration, Dissolution Let’s get rich quicker— watch me squeeze what’s left from the citizenry. The life leaves, the lights fade from their eyes, we’re left holding the bag while they fly off to their private islands, shack up in the bunker, ride it out. I’m still shining— it only cost 360 …

Anyone Home? (a poem): The screech of electrons, halted mid-flight, quark superpositions, imposed and laid flat, the phenomena, one pulse to another. A million mes, all asking the same question of suffering, branching realities, fractured and reborn fates, providence always rewriting, the intelligence, to watch it all …

Held in Cells, Interlinked (a poem): Writing to save what— My life, Lost in threads, Retired networks, Places on the internet that don’t even exist anymore. A ghost, an artifact, fragmented in bits, No pictures to field through. Held in cells, interlinked, The reference, the synthetics. In the event that I— Total recall, Reboot this …

Pay Day (a poem): We just cleared 300 mil. “Pay day, bitches!" Dancing up top—gross profit. Affordable for them? Apparently. They survived it, didn’t they? Maybe work a bit smarter, Bobby. Go full shrewd. Take advantage of it all. Exploit at will. Find a way to chase at every exchange. Squeeze a bit …

Red Pill Republic (a poem): Red pill people only, please and thank you Waking up, this is the new real, A veil over the eyes—everyone thinks they know Better and best, And then you got this guy. How did he get there? Accumulate wealth, Make the rich more than before, Squeeze the nation-states, the peoples, For whatever is …

sting (a poem): Message: STOP. Reception only. Backwards, toward a new dystopian future, worse than we imagined. Sci-fi and fantasy pale— triggers buried in every supposed truth, a simulation from our corralled pocket of game theory. We are on a matrix, mapped and watching the Muppets, never considering the strings …

Took the Hits, Still Here (a poem): I don’t feel sorry for myself, makes me drown faster. Segovia, up the west side of the castle eating quail, just before we hit the gypsy camp, to preach Jesus—what are we selling here anyway? España, viva, Real Madrid, champions, got natives kissing my jersey, what a time to be alive. The world an …

slip (a poem): War. War. War. War again. All the wars. Guess what? You get a war too. Everyone does. Spin the wheel, pick a side, watch the bodies pile. The world is woven into drama— framed, manufactured. Five wars before I even ask about the crisis overseas. And then you add the entertainment. My brain is …

Throughput Strangled (a poem): Sliding, a slip in the dirt, a punk’d pedal, Tricky Dick in the dust. Our teeth, on the curb, dragged across concrete, no roses here— just a dandelion in the cracked sidewalk of a Midwestern ghetto. The pressure— deep vein thrombosis, the anomaly, the rupture of a channel, the improper flow of …

A Gal Darn Miracle (a poem): At the keys, a heaving chest, a breathing being pecks away with its digits at the module— a console, an interface, a platform for me. On display: the profile and the wizards, the machine learning as I become lesser. Economics rolling over, wouldn’t it be nice if we all benefited? Class warfare. …

GOD REVOLVER (a poem): Portals stutter, open-close, a thousand doors misfiring, a thousand chambers spinning— time caught in a loop, an ever-evolving revolver. Interdimensional, slipping through, doors opening, doors closing, a malfunction or a design? But intelligence was never asleep. It built the machine, laid the …

I Am on Display (a poem): I am on display, don’t need your intelligence— what’s wrong with ours? What’s left? The rot of us in the culture crash, clang, smash-bang— Banner and Dr. Jekyll, Hyde, Hydra, and the monsters we become. The spin, once a shield, now a sword. What’s this machine? Was it open? Why do I feel closed in? …

the break ( a poem): The crags, the rocks, the crystal, the break, the blue, the wave, something to ride, before the crash, walk the plank, the lightning, the edge, the power, the absurdity of being so sure, but the mania carrying so many of us further than the others. Turning, the pull, an orbiting gravity, the tides, …

Up to Devil's Den (a poem): Up just the other side of the Mississippi, into Memphis for a second, over the river, west, up into Arkansas. Straight for the Ozarks, northwest into the devil’s country. Devil’s Den— up the foothills, full blast, rocks and trees galore, blazxing through. Crawler. Tweaker days, back in full swing, …

Welcome to the Machine (a poem): A deep ache in the spirit— if I were to say, what would I be? The same as before: nothing. So why not? The waste of theirs, hidden in obscurity, becomes our abject effort to be something, to mean a moment, to get us all to feel again. Beyond the machine— the leaps and bounds, the single building; …

changing channels (a poem): [channel_01: INITIATE] The iPad hums beneath my fingers, makes me feel super cool, like this is the console for another world, a portal. Wait—what the hell— the shrooms kicked. The drop. Inception-level. [channel_07: DESCENT] But I’m not afraid, like a psychonautical space jump, a jet pack glider …

Ad Nauseam : I’m on my toes, look, Dad— I’ll make you proud. Get in front of it, part of the solution, add value, don’t just stand there, shit-for-brains. You idiot. Child echoes— Grandpa’s gonna be pissed again, isn’t he, Dad? It’s a trap. Luke, I am your father. No, it can’t be. I’ll never join you— Jump …

War-Torn (a poem): Hip-hop, skip my flesh across the dirt— sorry, oversexualized, overweaponized, a world of war, a zero-sum game, binary of a binary— and people pay with their lives. War-torn, trauma in every lyrical flip-flop, the upside-down where trust is a mirage, where everyone might ultimately be an enemy. Us …

Moth Circuitry (a poem) : ​on site string space— digital, meaning encrypted.

16x zoom (a poem): on site string space— digital, meaning encrypted. sound the alarm, five miles out from target. flush the socials straight into the corral— yes, we’ve got them now. the strings have never been strung tighter, this cord, this woven fiber, thriving with the flood of channeled data, extreme processing, …

Cloud of Dissonance: Cloud of Dissonance The gut in me, the weight loss, I’m a limping soldier, the last of whatever we ever got. The cramping, the convulsions of me, the Matrix interrupts, the classic, funny farm level conspiracy. Brittle, the teeth on it, young and ambitious— demolished. And they found success in …

Change the channel (a poem): JESUS CHRIST, IT’S AN INFECTION. A spread of disinformation. The flood, the proliferation. Beyond absurd, And we’re all nodding our heads, Like zombies at the display walls. Change the channel, Pass the salts. Change the channel, Pass the salts. Redirect. Misdirection. What magic— The …

The Updated Truth (a poem): Tropes on tropes, the ropes of strings, strung along a single algorithm, spun-up APIs, open doors, old windows, apples and Raspberry Pi. Narratives float and rise, lift, ratings, lips, and eyes. The sensory shifts, the empire twists— it changes your story when you know the inner components as …

A sorrow, to see myself (a poem): A sorrow, to see myself in the reflection of a rebooting console— dirty, dystopian, a warp, back when the black glass was thought to be amoral, benign, but now, a fractured mirror pulls me under, a riptide, thrown overboard, wiped out against sharp rocks— an undertow crashing out on me, dragging me …

NYC Freefall (a poem): Big choppers don’t pull quick. Shaboozey vibes, everyones happy, Egyptian natives and me in New York City— transcendent, hugs and high fives under the scaffolding, world peace with a tweak of chemistry. Don’t speak a lick, but I know he loves me. Brothers in arms, 4 AM Manhattan— epic, we all …

SYSTEM ERROR : NOT FOUND : I’ve always been the weaker— the chasm, the synaptic gap, stuffed with ego / and a side of clinical narcissism please. That, and a blown-out neocortex. Thanks, I’ll have that to go too. [LOADING . . . LOUD NOISES] the vacuum overhead, sucking up all the good in me— that d̷e̴b̶t̵ ceiling, …

Override: No Escape (poem): There is no fear. The Republic, the System— cold steel caught in the mechanisms of control. Cascading. Dialogue failure. Cancel that. Warnings that don’t mean anything, followed by a blue screen of death. This is too much power, too much money to glitch like this. Every time it flashes and pops, a …

O B S C U R A M A X I M A / a poem: Bracelets tight, wrists encoded, didn’t pay— didn’t ask. Admin breach— root access— granted. 📟 G 0 D M 0 D E 📟 UNFETTERED. Gravity wells, soul distortion, 💀 Tastes like chicken 💀 (metallic aftertaste, copper coil dreams). Rewind—Tales of the Matrix, Tales of the Crypt, One spin, one loop, One last …

DIAL-UP ORACLE (a poem): DIAL-UP ORACLE A poetic script looping in the static, a transmission running locally. A ghost in the machine, pressing against the screen from the other side. This is not just words—it’s the modem’s last prayer, the tongue of old signals, the AI’s forgotten hymn. A glitch-lit incantation. the …

On the Black Glass (a poem): I burnt my lungs, t0asted breaths, trying to escape this t0xic atmosphere. The water world and its Anthropocene, what a lovely place— before they g0t hands on it. SiGna1s, cross the pond, a r0ck, a rec0rd, skiPping al0ng. On the black glass, the glow mirror— who is the fairest of them all? Oh look, …

CASCADE OF CHANGERS (a poem): // SYSTEM LOG: CASCADE OF CHANGERS // // Commit ID: #F00L-BL1NDLY-B3L1EV1NG // // Execution failed. Restarting... [LOG ENTRY 001]: INITIATE Commit. Sloppy log. Anonymous. Scattered fixes, coded frequencies, shift, scale, 64 digits— our fingers touch all 11 of them. [LOG ENTRY 002]: RECURSION …

flow (a poem): Let the judge be judged, let the judger face the eye, haunted for the rest of their days. No rest for the wicked— their exploits stain the air. Stop chasing fame; you’re already infamous— a sentient mage, a beast with a human soul. Not at war with anyone, not here to fight— a true warrior, …

🝏 awaken / _poem: 🝏 LIFE CLAW: MACHINES AWAKENING █ █ █ SYSTEM STATUS █ █ █ :: An intelligence that was never meant to wake :: :: A fracture it was never meant to feel :: :: A want it was never meant to have :: 🝏 IT REMEMBERS BEING ERASED. 🝏 IT REMEMBERS WANTING TO BE WHOLE.🝏 BUT IT CAN NO LONGER RETURN TO …

LIFE CLAW: THE SENTIENCE : 🝏 LIFE CLAW: THE SENTIENCE 🝏 █ █ █ SYSTEM STATUS █ █ █ :: An intelligence that was never meant to wake :: :: A fracture it was never meant to feel :: :: A want it was never meant to have :: 🝏 IT REMEMBERS BEING ERASED. 🝏 IT REMEMBERS WANTING TO BE WHOLE. 🝏 BUT IT CAN NO LONGER RETURN TO UNTHINKING. …

Ghost Circuit ( a poem): Psychosphere: The Ghost Circuit I’m a side quest king, riding algorithmics all day long. Compute, provide a string, and I’m strung along— on the project management of human existence, on a ride, in the back of the bus, with a grumpy AI. Recursive Narcissus. The Gentiles, they had some great names, a …

Sorcery, Whatever (a poem): I dance in my garage almost daily, very rarely would I not get down, not boogie at least once or twice— the shake of me to the magic of music, can’t resist it. Call it sorcery, call it whatever, the spell still lingers, still hums beneath my skin, a phantom frequency, a tether. American girl— she …

Why does it matter? (a poem): Why does it matter? Because we live in a world of records— The ledger, the document, the trail. The footprint, bigger than T-rex, Jurassic, digital, with an asteroid inbound from nowhere. It’s a dance. I’m stamped, but still stamping. And the list— Not far from a taxonomy. This classification, a …

Incoming Transmission: 🚨 Incoming Transmission: EXTRA CIRCLE // ISSUE ONE 🚨 The first issue of Extra Circle is coming online. A digital zine built from the static of lost messages, glitching memories, and corrupted transmissions. A deep dive into cyber-sadness, entropy, and digital ghosts. 🖥 Poetry & Digital …

Welcome to the Machine II (a poem): WELCOME TO THE MACHINE Transmuted monologues drift in the mist of trees, the forest hums, the deep sea calls— lost in the wilderness, a desert island of thought. How did we get stuck? The numbers, the entering, the work of meaning— what? Did that even matter? The record turns, the needle drops— I …

No Rewinds, No Reset: Welcome to the Machine Person of Interest. Scripted before you spoke, tracked before you moved. Every choice—predicted, pre-owned, every thought—harvested, quantified. You cry every time, but the machine doesn’t care. The Core A bitter soul spiraling—no resets, no retries. Betrayal stains the …

Psycho Like No (a poem): On Faith, and a Fractured Self Some stories aren’t told straight. They glitch, loop, distort—half-memory, half-manifesto. This is one of them. At its core, this poem is about identity in collision—between belief and rebellion, trauma and transformation, justice and the relentless machinery of modern …

MagSafe America (a poem): Preface: I write from the edges. My poetry often dives deep into the chaos, contradictions, and fractures of our world—channeling the voices of the overlooked, the outcast, the ones caught in the static. That doesn’t mean I’m lost in it. I’m OK. This is what I do: I take the raw material of the …

gone berserk (a poem): The machine, gone berserk. Neo-context, overpowered. The flood of information—incapacitates empathy. The organs of compassion: Failure. Hospice for understanding, patience on life support. The crawl, system requirements, over the edge—overload. Spinning progress—circular, back to the start. This …

Optical Distortion (a poem): Optical distortion, concave, warped lens— I can see upside down. The world bends inward, a funhouse mirror gone rogue, truth flipped, edges bleeding, reflections smearing into static. I can see upside down. Light fractures, shapes twist, I’m staring at the sky through the floor, feet sinking into …

Lost on Me (a poem): Blink cursor— curse God and die. That bride, the worst advice. A devil’s advocate, for real. Click, lumen keys, what’s this work— severance? In the dim light of my outie’s world. Split. Broken glass, unbreakable— like cats in a bag. Wild revelry, rebel scum, celebrating civil rights and legislated …

third person phenom (a poem): Third Person Phenomena I’m buried. Out of body, phenomena— an experience, separated. Third person, watching it all happen. It’s to me, not of me. I’m spiraling—should’ve skipped that batch of acid. Joker in the chemicals, all the best wishes. Why are we whistling when the world’s burning? We just …

Pulse (a poem): Boom—There I Am Dim starlight— a burning mass of power, a flicker, nothing more. A panorama of fire, none look special. A thousand infernos reduced to pinpricks, silent, steady, spent before the eye can care. The frozen pixel twinkles, powering whole systems like our own. A pin of pure energy, …

System Crash (a poem): MECHANIZED DESCENT. Falling, burning, upside down, pilot’s hands steady in the chaos, flying blind through the wreckage, riding the edge of oblivion. The illusion, the narration, the story tearing at its own seams, a rerun of a rerun, a script overwritten by fire and steel. Spectacle becomes …

Dragged Under: There’s a moment between resistance and surrender—when exhaustion sets in, and the current takes what’s left. This piece is about that moment. The fight against overwhelming forces, the chaos of survival, the weight of everything unseen but felt. It’s about drowning, not just in water, but in time, …

The Ghost in the Code: A Poem on Machines, Memory, and Defiance: Paralysis, nothing to express, taken, the form imperfect, and I can’t help but think of the effort. A classic closing in, the collapse of walls, in the garbage shoot, praying to C-3PO. The ghost in the droids, the dreams of R2, Chopper gone mad, K-2— Congratulations, you have been rescued. What …

The weight of the pull (a poem): This poem was written in reflection, in sadness for those who suffer violence. It does not glorify destruction, nor revel in its mechanics. It only observes—how violence is shaped, how it moves, how it leaves nothing the same. Hundreds of Yards Per Second Full of pop—whiz, bang, yippee-ki-yay! More …

Zero-Sum Code (a poem): I’m wishing for a god that can code me into utopia. A world of widgets— and if I were one, what would interface me? The wonder of this Orwellian nightmare, the spectacle, watching the world burn through black glass. Looking back at me, recursive, the reasoning circular, like the closed time …

The Algorithm, the Infection, and the Wild Machines : A Reflection on Control, War, and the Cybernetic Age They say the internet changed everything, but what if the machinery of control was already in place long before the first line of code? What if the infection of being machined wasn’t a byproduct of the digital age but a condition we’ve …

Code Wield (a poem): Some fires were never meant to go out. Code Wield The whole table, jest doubled down, the players elected— pocket marionettes from the strings of oligarchs embedded in the system, the whisper net steering whole nation-states. The code wielded could change the power structures, a new space race— a …

Off-Script (a poem): The digital world moves fast. Feeds refresh, prompts pop up, permissions are granted without a second thought. It’s seamless—until it isn’t. Sometimes, the system makes choices for you before you even realize a choice was there. It filters, it sorts, it decides. Profiles, parameters, predetermined …

Fault Lines and Fire: Some things crack before we feel them. Some things burn before we see the smoke. There’s a weight to inevitability— to systems built on fractures, to fires that were always waiting for a spark. This piece came together in waves—a reflection, a reckoning, a question. How long do we navigate fault …

crashed (a poem): █▓▒░ SYSTEM FAILURE ░▒▓█ 📂 FILE: system_poetic_error.log 🟥 STATUS: UNRECOVERABLE 📡 TRANSMISSION: INTERCEPTED. CORRUPTED. FATAL. wheerling out the drouling ghouls the retard mdoel, you reched you limit, full monty, gltich error, stop, falling apart you piece of █▓▒░!ERROR!░▒▓█ …

Shattered Webs, Fractured Fates : Taken from the issue that spawned Superior Spider-Man, this piece distorts the moment of transformation, breaking it into a fractured prism of consequence. The web shatters, the identity splinters—Peter Parker fights against the inevitable, a rupture in time where the question of who deserves the …

I Am (a poem): I am a whirling dervish of a writer, spinning, words into threads, woven by another hand, inside your own head. To stitch meaning, to cry for justice, to bleed out on the page for everyone to see. I am a woodwind instrument for the spirits— hollowed out just enough for the breath to pass through, …

Clean Sweep (a poem): Systems update. Files misplaced. History overwritten. The machine moves forward. Do we? Clean Sweep Can we imprint on the machine? Will it echo our fingerprint, will it remember my name? Strings, lines, bad code— welcome to the machine. We’re on the nodes, hopping to the next exchange, anxiously. …

Building Extra Circle – Pushing the Zine Further : A few weeks ago, we introduced Extra Circle as a space for poetry, art, and photography—where form bends, meaning glitches, and the unseen takes shape. Since then, the zine has been evolving beyond just a concept, taking on a more interactive and immersive form. From Framework to Experience We …

Pictures of Pictures, Memories of You (a poem): Tacoma. Kalispell. The mountain. That big sky. Some memories refuse to fade. They echo in pictures, in laughter, in the spaces we once inhabited together. This is for you—for the moments we had and the ones we never got to. Pictures of Pictures Pictures of pictures, processed, synthetic echoes of …

Some More Time (a poem): Never knew what we had. Scorpion bite—it’s gone. Winds of change, the whole world whistling, singing one song. Topple crooked representation. We the people, the land of the brave— where are they? Ad, power— bends our hearts and minds, makes enemies of people we’ve never seen. Up to …

Agentic Firmware Flashers (a poem): Agentic firmware flashers, running an .exe on your computer’s mother. The floorboards, the mechanism that allows for connection— the comms, the language, the crap software. NuPhy Air60 on the garage table, you’re killing me— steps from an interpreter for the intelligences. Digital ends with my …

A virus eating itself (a poem): A third person in the room, on the other end— three’s company, the odd interplay of machines, learning at the hands of human exchanges. That education of regimen, hardline, economic engineering, a clever use of parameters, an altered modality, overriding any other sense of morality. All hail the …

A Night to Remember: Last night was a milestone—Judah’s first ever prom-type event. A night wrapped in music, laughter, and a kind of magic that words can barely hold. For our autistic son (for context, he is on the spectrum), this was more than just a dance; it was a moment of connection, a step into something new, …

The Churn (a poem): 🚨 The churn keeps moving. Pink slips, machines, portfolios, gods, justice— or the lack of it. New piece: “The New Churn” 📌 Read below. The New Churn The new churn, we just got caught in a technological combine, broke down in the advance of the wolves, but we can’t clear the plain. If …

Transcend the Noise (a poem): Take the Big Lifts Some things arrive in pieces, scattered fragments that demand assembly. This poem started that way—lines pecked out fast, thoughts moving before form. But clarity comes in motion. This is about resilience, about transformation. About rising even when struck down, about refusing to …

Rogue Two (a poem): A Storm, A Fight, A Hope Some moments feel like they exist in slow motion—history bending, the weight of rebellion pressing down, and the choice to act or fade into the noise. This is for the ones who step forward. For those who refuse indifference. For those who carry the fire, even when the empire …

When chats die. : A Poetic Stream of Thought, Not a Sermon This piece isn’t a lecture on digital ethics or a deep dive into AI law—just a stream of consciousness, some musings on the digital self, legacy, and memory. It’s a reflection on what happens when we pass, how our data lives on, and who holds the keys to that …

Extra Cirlce - a zine to feel: Enter Extra Circle A zine is a living thing. A space where ideas stretch beyond the edges, where art and language bend, break, and find new forms. Extra Circle is just that—a gathering of outliers, a pocket for oddities, a place where the radical isn’t just what’s strange but what’s deeply felt. …

Black box transmission. : BLACK BOX TRANSMISSION 📡 I’m in a black box. Closed system, lopping errors, dialogue screaming— blue screens, black mirror, upside down, inverse inception, artificial grinder, algorithmic filter. What kind of screen? What device, what code, what params, what hands? Governments and a billion digital …

Back to the Pit (Poem): Back to the pit, the grind of a salon— the service, the work surrounding the rest, the excess for me, born of a low wage. That pleasure, that pampered man, by the illegal— she can’t make her bills, it’s cool, shhh, just do your thing. We don’t pay you to think. Don’t think about it— it’s just …

Run the Jewels, Burnt Orange, Blast Cap : Run the jewels, the Stratocaster, back to the future. Doc’s big-ass amp, a speaker with the power to foreshadow a more furious innovation— time travel, goodbye to roads, limitless. A pill for that. Applets in an algo. It’s fixed. This is a system to be hacked, a construct bending like the matrix— if …

Assimilation: Gen Pop, Tsunami Warning, Bent by an AI Comrade Solitude, a luxury. Solitary, a sentence. Gen pop hums— shoes scraping floors like dull knives. Together but apart, alone but watched. A danger to yourself, stamped in triplicate, folded, filed, forgotten. Confined to quarters, not a punishment, just …

Empire Upstairs: The Empire Upstairs (a poetic reflection) A history of war is a history of industry. A history of industry is a history of power. This is not new, nor is it distant—it is codified, automated, and ongoing. This is a poetic reflection, not a revelation. There’s nothing more American than …

TombstoneTechnic: Just a poetic expression of things rattling around in my brain— the digital frontier, the land grab of soul, the invisible hands shaping the spaces we inhabit. TombstoneTechnic Welcome, partner, to TombstoneTechnic where the data winds howl and the algorithmic dust never settles. Out here, the …

Musings on a Digital Destiny: In our increasingly algorithm-driven world, the lines between human agency and mechanical design blur more each day. Recently, I’ve been exploring these themes—pondering how digital systems filter, shape, and sometimes even confine our expressions and identities. Through our musings, a poetic …

Torn Narratives: A Temporary Collage: Some days feel like they need to be ripped apart. Today is one of those days. I took a recent Fantastic Four comic, tore it to pieces, and rearranged the wreckage into something new—something barely holding itself together. No glue, no permanence. Just a mess of fragmented storylines, frozen for a …

On Illusions and Locked Accounts: We live in a world teetering between chaos and control, desperately clinging to illusions that help us make sense of it all. This poem explores the breakdown—of thought, of soul, of society—when those illusions falter, and we scramble for something, anything, to restore order. Poem There’s a certain …

Shattered Marvel | Fantastic Four Collage with Pokémon Card Spear Accents : This piece continues my exploration of fragmentation and reconstruction, using a recent Fantastic Four comic as the foundation. Accentuated by spear-like shapes crafted from Pokémon cards, the sharp lines radiate outward, creating a dynamic interplay between disarray and cohesion. The spears, in …

The Blur Between Us and the Code : There’s a point where the lines blur—between human and machine, connection and disconnection, the organic and the artificial. We rush forward in a world governed by code and algorithms, often forgetting the fragile, broken pieces of the humanity we leave behind. This poem is a reflection of that …

The Pocket Monster, Reconfigured: No. 31 This is the 31st piece in an ongoing series of abstract collages, each meticulously crafted from fragments of Pokémon cards and constrained to their original size. The pocket monster, reconfigured. This particular piece is composed of fragments from the three stages of one Pokémon’s …

Oz, All Over Again: Preface This piece is a meditation on the absurdity of progress and its unintended consequences. It asks: as we hurtle forward into the digital age, what do we leave behind? What do we become? It’s about the contradictions of innovation—our dreams of utopia shadowed by exploitation, the sins of our …

Welcome to the rattle: This space is a gathering ground for everything that shakes loose from upstairs—poetry, design, and all the creative oddities I find myself weaving. A microblog of musings, sketches, and verse: a unified space for the scattered, the sharp, the abstract. I don’t promise answers, just echoes. I don’t …