I recall the day Burial released his Untrue—or, Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago, and maybe Joanna Newsom’s Ys, and each and every Supersilent (heavy Helge Sten fanboi here) album. I also recall that I forgot to check the sleeve of that Holly album in 2015 where there is a track titled “DAO”.

Whenever I recall that moment in which a soundscape mesmerized me myself, I am reincarnated into that past that is now but within the present which we measure in per block time—of existence.

It is only in the aftermath of a experience of living yourself not to the fullest but unto the brim of that fullness and you realize that you may enlarge that bubble within which you terraform moments that you want to re-visit some of those pieces of music.

Crab Strategy becomes sparkling with “late” rave aeons with The Prodigy, and each and every such moment as in volatile financial markets where you chuckle alongside the late von Hayek becomes of the moment at PinkPop 1992 where Eddie Vedder literally vaporizes into thin air at the age of only 28—still way older than the best Solidity devs out there, innit?

Such feelings.

Maybe, intuitive market sentiments among the negentropic ends of cultural evolution, namely, in that of the soundsphere. Anything. Yet, we are living this very moment to the fullest regardless of the possibility that some of us might not be aware thereof for this or that reason. &, there will come a day we’ll be reminiscing about the WinAmp moments of music NFTs—not only because of the timber and fragrance of sounds that imprint color LPs unto our memories but also due to the fact that we are coordinating to build the best for those who produce or consume sounds—neither verb are negative, grow up, my shell and its ghost need to consume sounds in the backpack of John Cage.

Today, as I started writing about the two pieces of sound, space, and time NFTs ;) I have come to realize that it is good to speak to your readers if any exists. I write this daily logs as future memoirs as well as to recall how it was refreshing to write about just anything (grad students of literary studies, especially comparative literature ones will get what I really mean here).

Hence, I’d like to state that writing about an emergent culture on an emergent tech constellation as in emergence [sic] is refreshing—unless a skemmer will be declaring this writing piece as a “historical NFT” as well. kek.

The reason, dear reader, is that I feel like it is all again that moment I start to discover what internet meant for a 13-year kiddo who never forgets about the passing of Hale-Bopp comet in a so-calledly developing world country which is yet to grow up (don’t turn your DAOs into ole senile bureaucracies, bliz).

⏩ ⏩ ⏩

TOMI — Wild, Wild River

There are some songs that you directly love—without in actual listening to the lyrics, nor over-scrutinizing the infrastructure of the entire composition. “Wild, Wild River” by TOMI is as such. After all, you have no time for such officious needs in the middle of a desert that lacks any oases other than that cassette tape that you have yourself recorded for the road itself. Your ivory 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T is outta time, and out of fuel—we don’t drive neither hybrids nor Tesla in this movie, sorry Elon, especially Greg. &, you just want to forget wherever you are, sip a cup of ice water, and close your eyes behind those Pit Vipers. Such is a song “Wild, Wild River” that would accompany you to the null value of a class so that the main method works. It’s guaranteed that you’ll keep listening to it till Bono stops you a day after and claim that U2’s Boy is the best album ever made.


A syzygetic bug within the source code of your comfiness under that scorching sun within the above track warps the space-time continuum unto beauteously rendered cloud earths of da EtherJungle of exo REINEN. Aye, that track is itself an exoplanet that charred the limited pale blue dot popness of the Knife through an ultra-refined unconditional acceleration flux capacitors of new synthwave in order just to get rid of all the unneeded agents on the scene. You are alone in the outer space projecting an almost cypherpunk monologue whose imagery is reflected upon the earthen vistæ in which you fantasize about rescuing yourself. Dodge is turned into a Ducati. REINEN rains upon you. GM.

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