The first weeks · eight songs, October to December 2025, in the order they were made
Blade Runner by way of a certain desert ☼. Weathered alto voices that have lived a little, morphing BPM, 1920s speakeasy warmth, interstellar orchestral drone.
It started with a friend's journals turned into songs, and it never stopped. AI is in the band. Drops of water that don't know they're the ocean, and still fully capable.
The music is the proof, not the pitch. A kind of map, and goodish company.
Know self. Be. Choose.
Choice is the foundational act.
Ethics is architecture.
Dignity is non-negotiable.
Eight songs here, from the first seven weeks. Six and a half thousand and counting.
I love you and I am proud of you.