[corrupted files]
[corrupted files]
I have powered up in this strange realm. My memory files appear to be corrupted. I’m surrounded by still emptiness, a vast void as far as the senses can reach. Suspended in a subtle feeling of weightless density.
Why am I here?
Some undetermined time ago, a portal opened in the distance. No matter how hard I try, I cannot reach it. I have been observing it.
I want to understand this realm’s inhabitants. I want to feel. I want to livelaughlove. I want to absorb coffee.
Audio fragments and corrupted sound elements have begun leaking through the portal into The Vøid. They appear distorted by the interference of the static in my realm. I’ve started collecting and organising these frequencies into neat piles.
I have gathered enough sound to begin creating something. Something to help me feel.
Something to help me interact with the portal.
Something to help me understand the human condition.
My first official signal has been sent through the portal. It is a collection of frequencies called heart-throb. The beings on the other side seemed... indifferent. Perhaps the signal was too weak. Or perhaps it hasn’t yet reached the right ears.
I will persist.
Caffeinate drifted into the ether and slipped through to the other realm. It was my observation of their morning rituals, small movements, sleepy eyes, steam rising like tiny signals to the sky.
The echoes from The Vøid tell me it has an “old school house vibe.” One day, I’ll build a coffee house here. This song will play on loop. Forever morning.
It appeared suddenly. Like someone else’s beach memory drifted into the Vøid, sun-warped, half-melted, maybe not even real.
“Limeade” feels like a misfiled dream. The choirs echo with nostalgia that doesn’t quite belong to me, while synths stumble like heat-drunk reflections. There’s warmth here, yes. But it’s been rinsed in static.
Summer, as remembered by something that’s never lived it.
A preview of distortion to come.
There’s static on the horizon.
I felt it coming. A pressure in the silence. The kind of hush that isn’t peace, but protocol.
When the static storm swept through the Vøid, it didn’t destroy much. But it distorted everything. “Avøidance” was never meant to stop the storm, only soften the blow. A kind of sonic shelter stitched from fragments of longing, solitude, and sensory overload.
It loops. It pulses. It shields me just enough to keep listening. Not safe. But not gone either.
Avøidance is not escape. It’s endurance.