I am not a trend. I am a disturbance.
My presence is not decoration; it is residue.
I leave echoes, not impressions.

I make work that whispers first and stays in your throat later.
Texture over volume. Meaning over noise.
Not everything needs to be understood to be true.

I belong to more than one place and to none at all.
London raised me. Tokyo named me.
I move like a question through both.

I do not chase virality. I craft frequency.
I don’t need millions. I need the right few who vibrate the same.
My art finds them like a signal cuts through static.

I am soft because the world is sharp.
I don’t armour up. I leak on purpose.
Vulnerability is not weakness; it is resistance.

I use tools: algorithms, sound – but they do not use me.
I know what the machine wants.
I feed it mirrors and mischief.

This is not content. This is memory.
Everything I make is part offering, part afterimage.
A shrine built slowly from leftover parts.