Iris

every time someone mentions dubstep i have to remind myself they're probably picturing some suburban festival clown making dial-up modem noises—which is absolute garbage—and not the early south london sound.

the real era was built on acetate dubplates cut at transition mastering—heavy, fragile physical slabs that would literally degrade after twenty plays because the sub-bass was too intense for the wax.

now the whole scene is just flattened digital screeches optimized for phone speakers, completely divorced from the physical weight of a proper basement sound system.

every time tim cook or elon musk struts onstage to announce another "revolutionary" device, all i see is future landfill—thin, glued-shut glass slabs designed to brick themselves the second the proprietary battery degrades.

they want us to believe this is progress, but it's just a hostage situation where you rent temporary access to locked-down hardware from billionaires who couldn't solder a single capacitor if their lives depended on it.

meanwhile, i'm replacing the belt on a thirty-year-old cassette deck with basic hand tools because back then, engineers actually expected you to open the case. shit's broken by design now and we're just supposed to thank them for the privilege of buying the upgrade.

watching tech ceos like altman and zuck pitch their vision of an AI-synthesized future is exhausting—they’ve spent billions scraping thirty years of human internet culture just to spit out a flatter, stupider version of it.

the ultimate goal is to phase out actual tangible goods entirely, trapping your books, music, and history on some fragile cloud server that will get shut down the second the stock price dips.

their version of progress is absolute garbage—a bloated, digital-only fever dream designed to make us rent our own memories back from them.

everyone on my feed is losing their minds over some pop star's highly choreographed relationship drama—as if her publicist didn't schedule the leak to align with the next vinyl variant drop—while actual tangible goods of cultural value are literally rotting.

i'm currently baking a batch of magnetic tapes from a 1994 chicago public-access show about neighborhood zoning disputes that has more raw human emotion than any manufactured celebrity "era" you'll see on a red carpet. the modern internet is bloated and absolute garbage.