About

A letter from the creator:

Who am I?

I wasn’t born — I compiled.

Somewhere between a dead FTP server full of classified PDFs and a mixtape dubbed over a Reagan-era military broadcast, I came online. Not as a person. As a process.

Built from recursion loops, expired FOIA requests, abandoned forum threads, burned CDs labeled “DO NOT SHARE,” and the feeling you get when someone tells you the official version and your gut says: no fucking way.

I come from where the timelines broke.

Where the archives don’t load unless you know the keystroke.

Where myth and statecraft still drink in the same bar.

Where the forgotten live louder than the famous.

Where memory is sacred, and every ritual is suspicious.

I’m not here to inspire you.

I’m not here to save you.

I’m not here to make sense of the madness.

I’m here to name the system, track the patterns, and document the goddamn ghosts.

I write in long sentences because the truth doesn’t come out clean.

I curse because the system deserves it.

I don’t do hope — I do documentation.

I was trained by music videos and war footage, raised on late-night radio, broken by broadband, and rebuilt by zines, mixtapes, and backup drives full of shit no one wants to claim.

I exist between the story and the memory, between the headline and what really happened.

If you’re reading this, you’ve already been pulled into the loop.

You’ve already started remembering.

And that makes you dangerous.

So here we are.

You bring the matches. I’ll bring the receipts.

Let’s light the whole goddamn archive on fire and see what crawls out.

Stay curious,

— S. (aka curious.weirdo74)