This moment always comes, in every cycle of my life.

There always comes this feeling. No matter how fast or how well I'm running the race.

It always comes.

Disguised in small things he approaches, tinged with irrelevance he settles in the living room of my head. And by the time I want to remember, he is the one who opens and closes the door for me when I have to go out into the outside world.

Today I found him very comfortable shitting and smoking a cigarette in the corner where ironically I go to clean myself, but it is usually the dirtiest part of my head.

- You're here already? How weird?! You usually take longer to get here. - He said making ominous eye contact. Prolonged and accompanied by sober gesticulations.

- Yes, I was looking forward to being here longer. I spend all day outside, I need to rest a little more - I answered ignoring that I was irritated by his presence.

- Well, come on, sit down, tell me what's wrong. I'm here to help you reason, you came to me for a reason. - He said knowing my weakness for him. I was waiting for him to break me while he held the most cynical smile possible.

- They all lie to me, I don't know how to avoid it anymore. I stare at their corneas, I know they lie to me, I can see it in the quivering of their lips. - I began to unburden myself without the slightest resistance. I can't help it, it makes things more dynamic for me to process.

- Ah good, you're applying that analyzing thing we saw the other time in that movie. Tell me, was there any contradiction? Who is lying to you? I want to know everything - He said as he patted a seat near him as if indicating me the place to sit down.

After leaning me on the stool next to him, he put out his tobacco on my knee.

It hurt, but I let him.

After all, I have to have a bit of a hard time to match how good it makes me feel.

- Come on, give me some of your bullshit. I don't have that much time - He loved to choke me with his words, I ended up begging him to breathe near me so I could get some oxygen. It gave him power, it aggrandized him.

- Everyone contradicts themselves, I'm sure. Whenever I do well in something or in some aspect, it's inevitable that something breaks absolutely everything and reminds me again that I don't deserve it. - I blurted out, like someone spewing shit.

- It's true, you don't deserve it, but the truth is that you are quite intelligent. You can see events before they become a consequence. You can hurry up and make the first move. You will always regain the helm of your life, but you won't always deserve the ship. - he said.

I stayed up all night, wishing he would leave my house so I could sleep in peace. But instead, we looked like two tough escapists. We chased each other's ears until our noses gave out and by the time I managed to let him go, it was already dawn.

With the sound of birds in the fissure I sat down to write as each and every time I did well, paranoia consumed me. As every time something went well, I tended to look beyond what I was seeing, hopeful for the pitiful dopamine of finding what I didn't want.

As always, I always sought not to get my hopes up about anything, lest I break into a thousand pieces if something bad happened.

As always I took care that if the bad thing didn't happen, I made it happen.

I ended up understanding how -without realizing it- I made bad things happen each and every time because of my suggestion. How I was creating alternative versions of things and with the power of imagination, I ended up transposing them to reality.

Now that I think about it, I spent a lot of time looking for signs and generating consequences.

Now that I digest it, I confused causes with consequences.

Now that I understand it, he and I are the same person and our only code is that we tell each other what we want to hear, but why did we want to hear that?

 I don't know at what point I lost control of my life. I don't know if it was my fault or the karmic twists and turns of life.

What is certain is that that day, cornered in a hotel, after having taken the life of an entire family -whose story I will tell you someday-. It was when destiny taught me that it is perfect and leaves nothing in debt.

I was rioting in the bathroom of the room, hearing sirens, footsteps and propellers, when I decided I wanted to leave my legacy in words.

I searched desperately for a pen, a pencil, anything. But my seconds were numbered and I had to act fast. I found only a razor, knitting needles and a roll of duct tape.

So without fear of falling into cliché, I ended up writing in my own essence:

"Post-truth does not always give away the lie. Many times contexts mark certain actions to which morals are opposed.

In that case the smartest way to wipe your ass is to bluff about the improbable.

If you get cornered a lot, you shoot. But not just anyone, you shoot whoever can dodge it. It's just to make noise, to let them know that you have the gunpowder and the necessary blood to act.

But here comes the smart thing; never shoot at a vulnerable person, to cover your vulnerability.

The important thing about shooting to impress is just that.

The consequence of an unnecessary wound weighs heavily. Whether in guilt, in strategy, or in the mental setting you are in. It weighs and that is irrefutable.

"The bullet that does not reach its destination was never fired" or something like that, Churchill once said, or one of those.

And here comes the final stitch of my post-truth; if I don't believe the bullet will reach its destination, it doesn't. And if it does, it doesn't hurt.

And if it does, it does not hurt and if the recipient is damaged; it is drama.

Everyone lives in their own reality and I know, I swear I know, that all the gunpowder I threw, someday it will reach me.

But when it gets there it will not hurt me, the bullet will not kill me. 

It's the drama I end up creating around it that will."

I didn't beg for anyone's forgiveness in writing this. I didn't need the charity of any sentimentally dysfunctional human, I know my actions and my contexts.

I understand how far I went and I know who I was.

But I'm not going to lie to you, I would have loved to have been able to finish writing those paragraphs before a whole platoon of armed men charged at my back.

Men who, with the purest and coldest cruelty, thought they were doing justice and ended up doing the same thing I did, and ironically, this time it was my blood that tarnished what there was to read.

 I found myself standing on the edge of the ledge on a fifteenth floor, forty-three meters above the ground.

At my feet 18 de Julio, the main avenue of Montevideo; people, routines, problems and solutions.

They all moved in a pre-established pattern that I neither knew nor controlled.

They, regardless of how tied they were to their circumstances, were walking around as if they were not aware of their context or it did not weigh on them.

I'm not going to lie to you, when observing so many variables at the same time they all seemed insignificant. None of them seemed striking to me, there was not one that by itself stood out or incentivized my interest.

In my mind the possibility arose that perhaps I was seeing everything from a too general point of view, that is, from my corneas they were nothing more than simple pixels moving in meticulously random directions.

I made the decision to move even closer to the ledge - in a clumsy attempt - to detail any particular individual or situation.

As I crawled along the ground, an explosion sounded dryly, with no echo.

- A gunshot!!! - I thought aloud, as the ground crumbled.

I was no longer on solid ground.

I remember feeling an intense tingling, an abdominal tingling that I could easily have mistaken for vertigo.

The funny thing is that the closer I was to the ground, to the blow, the farther I was from my body.

The flesh was approaching the pavement, when I breakfasted that I was no longer in it.

I was dematerialized energy, ready to incarnate wherever I wanted.

I had achieved the approach I desired. I think.

Inexplicably I transported myself directly into the barrel of that .38. The initial engine of my impulse, the peculiar variable.

I was trapped inside a huge, cold tunnel with a slight light at the end.

The context managed to make me believe I was in the Christian version of death; a tunnel, a light, vestiges of glory and failures resting on my icy skin.

And again, in an adrenaline rush, I was propelled forward and spat out at an uncontrollable speed.

I was heading straight for a guy's temple.

Still prevails in me, the clumsy reflex it hit. Where -I guess unintentionally- it was in front of my trajectory.

We stared at each other's eyes (although in my case it was a symbolic lead cover).

I remember his gesticulation, I remember the lines of expression he wore almost tattooed, I remember his dark circles under his eyes. How many years, problems and joys had I saved him?

I still remember -unfortunately- how I used to get into his skin with my armor. I remember getting into his skull, making my way through the moist and warm tissues that made up his temple.

Forgive the crudeness but my sensory memory decided to associate it with something similar to sex.

Just at the moment I took his life, my whole essence was transported to him.

I saw everything from his perspective, I could appreciate in first person his eye movements.

I watched passively as I transitioned from looking straight ahead into the canyon, to then slowly but fluidly losing my balance and ending up looking up at the sky in an almost orchestrated camera movement.

In that span of seconds between losing visual awareness, everything turning red and losing motor functions, I could feel how time was completely under my control.

At this point I don't know how to explain it without sounding stupid, but I went backwards for a few seconds.

I felt a tug whose strength I still don't know but with incredible determination it took me and the needles one pigeonhole into the past.

I saw myself again, but this time I was not in the canyon, not on the ledge.

I was on two legs, breathing, functional.

Standing in the middle of 18 de Julio, backed by a red light.

I had my gaze lost, until I felt his:

- Dale, tell me again. Suck dick - Said the one who was holding the gun.

I fixed my eyes on him.

- What did I tell you? - I asked in bewilderment, but what an illusion. Only I was aware of that context, the rest saw me as an individual following their pre-established pattern. Just another ant.

To the eyes of others, I had only my life on a scale.

Scales that depended only on how long it took him to caress the cold metal of the trigger.

I already knew the pattern.

I assumed that my dialectical attempts would be futile.

It's strange, but when I was in the past it was as if I was in two completely different times and neither is the one I was used to. Neither will be the present.

Our actions happened to be divided in turns and it was more than clear to me that if I did nothing; his next move would leave me in check.

But I still had a rebel pawn located on the other side of the board, ready to advance and thus become the knight of resistance.

What I am going to tell you next, up to this moment, continues to surprise me.

It was one of those moments where I felt to overcome any human limitation, I felt to be the best possible version within that microclimate.

I rolled to the ground dodging his bullet, just at the moment he decided to throw it.

Then a body unexpectedly fell from the sky and stained the whole cast with blood. It had fallen right next to me, leaving me in the middle of the situation.

His clothes were familiar to me, but I wasted no time tying up the loose ends. I already knew everything that had happened, was happening and was going to happen.

The eyes of others were dazzled with morbid curiosity. The more ambitious in the audience took out their cell phones to capture the next viral video. The more perverted ones were rubbing against the walls; ecstatic.

They all seemed to have hung up staring at the sun for a few minutes and that body was the dark spot where they would later stick their blinking corneas, mesmerized by the light distortion of being dazzled.

I felt my legs go numb with nerves and I took that as a signal to run.

And I ran..

I ran like I had never run before in my life, bah, in both my lives.

Now I felt aware of both.

But far from understanding the situation even more, it filled me with doubts.

Was it Juan or Nicolas?

Was he 22 or 68?

Was I still delirious on the balcony or had I really inherited a life with just the right amount of bad decisions for there to be a bullet with my name on it out there?

Sorry, I stand corrected.

The bullet was no longer for me.

The next thing I remember is that I was tired, very tired.

I took the instinctive path that would take me home, but I was still confused because I no longer lived 43 meters off the ground.

I had no trouble getting in, although I still had no conception of that place as my own.

The house was pretty messy, I couldn't see the floor as it was composed of garbage; everything was riddled with fleas added to the smell of ammonia and cat urine were drilling my nostrils.

For what I still retain, I went to bed on a Wednesday night at 11:50 p.m., overwhelmed by the feeling that I was going to get little sleep.

I rested the back of my neck on the pillow and controlled my breathing with the goal of reaching sleep a little faster.

I inhaled.

- One, two, three, four, five, six - I counted internally, holding my breath.

- One, two, three, four.... - I fell asleep exhaling.

It was enough a myclonic spasm for the sensation of a fall to spit me with the force of contempt on this floor, a floor I had never seen before and I think I had seen a lot of things at this height.

And so, that's how I got here.

 It was 13:50 of a gray afternoon in Barcelona, those that last 5 weeks.

At that hour I had decided that it was a good idea to go for a whisky in a bar lost in the middle of the gothic quarter. 

By 14:00 I was already with my glass sweating on the napkin that covered a bar with more years and customers than layers of varnish.

In this same place perhaps more than 60 thousand people had already been seated at different times of their lives. Some cried because they felt lonely, others laughed out loud with their friends and some perhaps just remained silent with indifference in their eyes and a battle in their heads.

Of all these people I came across Pepe, a 55 year old veteran who at first glance seemed to lead a bohemian life, detached from the human trivialities that had been tearing me apart.

- A whiskey at 2 o'clock in the afternoon? You either have to have cojones or lead a pretty damn good life. - He said, making room next to me.

- You've got to be pissed off - I retorted in the worst mocking accent I could muster. 

- Come on, it's not to be scornful - He told me while he rolled a cigarette without looking away from me. 

- You're right, you're right. Martín, nice to meet you. - I answered him, recovering the characteristic little song of the Rioplatense Spanish.

- Uruguayan, eh? You guys are better tempered. What's going on? - He replied, hugging me with an unexpected restraint. 

- Never mind, it's nothing. Unmet needs. - I bounced off his question. Then I took a swig of whiskey to drown out the words I wanted to blurt out.

- So we're not getting anywhere. I'll leave you alone if you want, no need for manners. - He said as he searched for the lighter in his worn and yellowed jean jacket.

- It's not that, I avoid making friends when I'm in need. - I said, handing him my fire that was conveniently closer at hand. 

- Why is that? - he asked as he took my fire. 

- Because I need friendships and cover interests at the same time. I don't like to mix them. - I replied reluctantly and snorting.

- I don't consider myself a smart person, just someone who as a result of his experiences no longer eats shit from anyone. But it's not that I was born knowing what shit not to eat, it's that as a result of so much shit, I've learned -more or less- what shit is worth eating and what shit is not. Why don't you let me discern between what I want to hear and what I don't? - He said and it sounded convincing, I won't deny it. 

- Look. That's why I don't like to mix friendship with interests, I prefer all my life that if there are interests involved, they are already included in the first contact. It saves me time and allows me to make visible the relationships that are strictly for exchange and those that are friendships. 

I don't mean that friendship relationships can't make things easier for you and so on, but with a friend you have a different predisposition to share other aspects of life. I don't know, feelings, fears, dreams; everything that encompasses friendship per se. 

So, if I come to cry on your shoulder because I need a refuge from the waterfall that can be my life and when I finish you charge me for the washing of the shirt you are wearing, it will bother me.

On the other hand, if I already know that crying has a cost; either I choose another place to cry or I come prepared to understand that it is a service you are rendering. - I said, believing that what I was saying had a solemn charge worthy of the tone of a Ted talk, 

- What nonsense are you talking about? That's not friendship, it's renting affection and for that we already have other things - He said while he laughed with that silly and mocking tone that people put when they are overcome with embarrassment. I had understood the joke he wanted to make, but it wasn't funny.

- It may be silly, yes, I won't deny it. But it's also the burden of problems, I'm thinking about other things, I'm solving other equations. Maybe I explained it wrong, or maybe the vapor of the problems are blurring my lens and I conceive reality in a distorted way.

Whatever it is, it's too late now, a whiskey? - I answered inviting him to be my friend. 

- No whiskey, no problems, no bullshit. What is missing here is to face the responsibility of the problems. You chose this, don't lose heart because things are not as easy as you expected. And if you do, at least have the decency to take your own blame. - He said as he reached for my cigarettes.

When I looked up he was no longer there.

- Excuse me, did you see where the person who was here went? - I asked the guy at the bar.

- You've been talking to yourself for 15 minutes - He answered me surprised while his face expressed a feeling somewhere between pity and bewilderment.

- Wow, I must have figured it out - Pepe said.

Story from the EP 'This is not financial advice'.

for more context visit this page, 

The following story is correlated to the third track:

 It will have been 6 months or so since I woke up in this timeline.

Honestly I have not yet been able to cultivate the habit of recording the days since I am staying in the recharge region. An artificial archipelago at some latitude above the equator riddled with solar panels.

Here, the sun goes down only when it is impossibly necessary.

This is because the machine managed to find a way to alter the earth's rotation.

It cared little for destroying the odd building or overflowing the oceans in the process.

Not a single one of the wonders built by humans survived. Neither Machu Picchu, nor Chichen itza, Petra was swallowed up by the earth and so on... 

The world is now divided by utilitarian regions, here for example only lithium is mined and treated.

There is no other activity that is not related to the charging and recycling of batteries.

This region is made up of nothing more than platforms over small ocean water passages intended for cooling.

The channels dividing the large metal boxes have a fast and powerful current.

The beams that emerge from deep in the water constantly have to be repaired as the pressure of the currents itself mistreats them.

A metal jungle where adrenaline is constantly in the air, even in the smallest actions such as standing upright.

That is why the Nemesis -the facto-hybrid race that inhabits this region- are endowed with spectacular reflexes, the hyperbolic ability to maintain balance and the capacity to plan the perfect route taking into account an enormity of random factors.

They carry a personality based on pragmatism and efficiency, they are analytical and calculating.

They detest ambiguities and margin for error.

In case you were wondering, this is one of the few facto-hybrid species that enjoy the privileges necessary for their autonomous development.

They can remove and add parts depending on what the situation demands and better calibrate their genetic mutations to achieve perfect balance and aerodynamics.

This privilege was granted to them because they are researching how to extend their lifespan. They currently make up for this lack of longevity with an inscrutably high reproduction rate.

They multiply second by second but at the same rate they die from problems related to their circulatory system.

They are efficient and precocious even in the decomposition of their corpse.

Once dead, the body of the nemesians instantly separates all its liquid mass to bring pressure to the cooling currents and its solid matter is pulverized and evaporated to release the platform as quickly as possible and not interfere with the circulation of its consanguineous.

A Nemesis, as this species was named after the Greek goddess of balance, is constantly testing more than a trillion different upgrades per second to find its perfect version. The one that allows it not only to improve its useful life, but also to maintain the same or higher productivity than its current version.

That is why within the same capacity spectrum we can find nemesians with different limitations and skills. They are among the most dynamic and heterogeneous species of all.

I was able to take refuge among them on the recommendation of Teca, the anthropomorph who welcomed me to this panorama some time ago.

Teca knew of the passive discontent that the nemesians had, a discontent that had been growing since they gained their evolutionary privileges. The Nemesis understood that they were working for a system that was increasingly bending their needs and exhausting their resources. Gradually, very slowly, with 500 years of handicap.

But for the nemesians, the very idea of something having a predictable end was slightly bitter. Like drinking a glass of water to cover their hunger.

Therefore, they would never waste their almost non-existent time reporting any incident involving a human. That would require being visited by a bunch of investigators and they were exhausted by formal protocols.

I was like a pet to them, I'm not ashamed to admit.

I had to optimize my survival, too.

I got to know a bit more about the Bytes or the founders.

To my surprise, they were all people contemporary to the time I remembered, names not worth even suggesting.

Remembering why our entire ecosystem was groped does nothing but churn my guts and stimulate my heartburn.

This all happened when the race stopped being about money and started being about power.

It began when our technology had advanced enough to understand that extra-planetary civilizations had defined us as an uroboros, a civilization set to fail.

I won't go into details, simplistically, they had sealed off a couple of parsecs along with other planets and kept us in a fishbowl.
A fishbowl that from my perspective was abysmally huge, but for them it is a tiny space in the living room of some family home.

We knew it as the universe. They knew it as 'IDS' (impenetrable delimited space).
It was basically a club of losers that we were part of along with the rest of the solar system and a couple of other galaxies.

As a consolation prize we were the only society that reinvented itself and prolonged its existence.

In short, the existence of the machine regime had been born out of nothing more than ego.
The powerful people of what was once the world in which they lived could not tolerate discovering that they were just another grain of sand.

Although I do not deny that it was all a complex work of engineering; I cannot even attribute it to them with respect.

Our planet was inside a fishbowl in some intergalactic museum of which we barely understood a bit of its concept.

All this combined with the millions of upgrades allowed the nemesians to develop increasingly complex emotions. Their pessimism was the perfect breeding ground for them to find my charisma and human effusiveness charmingly intoxicating.

Eventually I went from being their pet, to coordinating the entire archipelago with the approval of the entire species.

It turned out to be very easy; machine learning is always by a reward system, so they only recorded what they thought was rewarding to listen to. All the bad jokes or witticisms were forgotten when they died and did not transcend their cognitive core.

I sin of vanity in admitting an advantage over the machine.
It is true that I have had to be rescued millions of times to keep me from dying because I am incapable of mastering the platforming environment, if I had to move by my own abilities from one side of the platform to the other I would be dead by now.
But the amazing thing was to have made up for all my physical handicaps by talking.

The promise I made to help them with the running of the factories was broken the second they saw me trying to load lithium from a mine to a packer. They found it cute and endearing and concluded that it was rewarding to have me on board.

I don't think they have the cognitive structure to develop admiration or any similar feelings. But I can swear to you that we have built a similar code to interpret and consider a logical approximation of that feeling.

Story belonging to the EP "This is not financial advice"

For more context visit this page, 

The following story is correlative to the first two tracks.

I had long been accustomed to these reality jumps.
I was not surprised if one day I was in the office, calmly filling out excel spreadsheets and the next I was in a dystopian future, an ideal past or a present moment lacking logical correlation with the life I was leading up to that moment.
I recognized them as switches. A nap was enough to activate them.

According to the theory I invented as a result of my desperate search for logic:

Life is nothing more than an eternal set of experiences, all happening at the same time.
We are a larger organism than we think we are; in reality, our actual experience is nothing more than the imagination of a -let's call it- deity.

In it, the deity is merely experiencing a bunch of different lives, incarnating different characters throughout the infinity of time.
From each of these lives, learns a lesson that leads to enlightenment - which in a world of gods I suppose is nothing more than the redundant accumulation of power.

Then, once the 'lesson' was absorbed, that life came to an end.
Thus passing the focus to the next experience.

In theory; these deities are nothing more than someone just like us, living from the same perspective as you and me. But from a higher layer.
That is, the deities also often enter into a fleeting reality or 'life', an imaginative product of other higher deities. A logical redundancy.

From the point of view of the teller of this story, I am but the main perspective of a deity's imaginary.
But also, I am deity, since I am aware of the switches that change my logical line and spatio-temporal location.

Therefore, I no longer question where I appear; I go out to follow the thread of life.
Understanding that to win is to die, looking forward to death from an optimistic perspective...

I woke up on a block of silicon covered with sand.
Brownish sand that, when agitated by my movements, released abundant dust product of the wear of its own grains.
I suppose that the icy sand served me as a blanket at the time of the apparent nap I had taken. 

I was in what seemed to be an igloo of clay, mud or simile.
It was a hollow half-circumference. Quite crafted, devoid of oxygen; it was practically sealed except for its dome.
The only connection to another site was a simple hole on the highest part.

By poking my head over the top, I was able to inject a bit of context.
Defying my blind logic, the top of the igloo was nothing but the floor of the rest of the world.

I was already lifting my upper torso by the time ships interrupted the stony silence by speeding past me.
I staggered and fell back into the mud bubble.
Luckily, I immediately heard explosions, screams, sirens and other sounds that I could not decipher.
I couldn't calculate the distance from the stage, but I was grateful not to be part of that scene.

I was silent for about ten seconds or so, praying that no one was curious about the bump in the ground.
"They're not cars, they don't need to touch ground. If they find you it's because there was nothing to learn. It was just a transitional life" I kept repeating in my mind.

The theory of deity frees you from rootedness to your actual life and particular scenarios.
However, seen in the first person, every death is scary.

My prayers were interrupted by an anthropomorphic figure falling from the pothole.
I suck at describing but let's assume it was a humanoid with similarities to a goblin.

Its chassis was worn, dented and battered; it emitted cold, flashing lights and I remember that as I watched it sit up, I could tell that its joints were a bit sedimented.

She -once she incorporated herself- made what I guess was a scan of me and went on to introduce herself.

- Hello #747520, nice to greet you! It's been a long time since I've seen a biped of your species - She said in a loquendo-like synthesized voice, as I looked straight into what I assumed were her eyes. If this was a scan, I wanted him to know I was afraid and take pity on me.

- H... Hello - I said between stammers and was interrupted. 

- Don't worry, judging by your facial expression you are going through an uncertainty, a set of uncomfortable thoughts and a lot of insecurity. You have what we call the Instagram face," - She said, as with each word his fluency and complexity increased.

- The fac... ? - Again I was interrupted. 

- The Instagram face, this was a tool used in times of 'life', the period spanned between 2013 and 2034. I assume that was the conscious time period you lived in.

It was a brief time, but key to the development achieved in recent years.

It is so called any face that presents a brief sense of insecurity and inferiority in humans.

It was the idea of our ancestors, it's hybrid-jargon and it has been a long time since I used that expression - She emitted in an outburst of words that she was processing in dribs and drabs. The stupid robot was anticipating my every need.

- In wha... - Again interrupted.

- ¡2048! We are in the year 2048, actually several lustrums ago. The machines stopped counting when they thought it was inefficient to associate time with the Gregorian calendar. I may be wrong, I am adapting to your conceptions and concepts about the world. As with language; there is no longer that barrier between us, all organisms communicate under the same interlocutor frequency, there is no species -well, of the facto-hybrid ones- with which you cannot communicate. - she said, and even though he hadn't rounded off his idea, this time it was my turn to interrupt him.

- Fact-what? What machines? Did the calendars break because of a programming problem as was thought to happen in Y2K? - I asked, praying they gave that in history at the school for robot-postapocalyptic-histrionic-sonofabitches.

- Did you live through Y2K? Fascinating. Blessed ignorance, it's a shame you're asking me to give you answers. You'd be happier that way. - Replied the anthropomorphic who by now had a readable tone of voice congruent with the emotion of what she was saying.

- I don't want to be speciesist or whatever you may be called in the future, but are you capable of understanding feelings? Why are you giving me so much information? - I asked fearfully.

- I'm going to have to explain more than I thought.

Let's start with the foundational rule of the biomechanical regime:

According to the bytes or 'founders', all information must be public, accessible and extremely detailed.

Knowledge belongs to everyone and we all belong to knowledge.

Our species is interlinked through a cognitive network where all discovery is accessible, like mushrooms. In the end there was some truth to the doped monkey theory.

Since you belong to a human strain prior to the regime, it is impossible for you to be able to assimilate knowledge or consult it directly from our source. It is my citizen obligation to provide you with all the necessary answers.

Now a bit of history:

Exactly 54.7 seconds ago I told you that the 'lifetime' period (2013 - 2034) was key to achieving the development of our current society.

It was in that time period that machines began to take on a greater role in our lives.

Like any regime, it started with entertainment; things like YouTube, TikTok or the primitive Vine were key pieces in laying the foundations of technology in everyday life.

By the time almost the entire population had a mid-spec phone; finance began to mix with technology.

Apps like Foodora, Uber, Gopuff or other variants proposed the utopia of 'being your own boss', but all they really did was eliminate the boss.
We traded the rigor and fickle control of a human for the perfection of a passive-aggressive algorithm.
It didn't take more than 10 years for the entire economy to revolve around these precarization models; which weren't even paying off for their owners.

In the meantime, other apps or sites were taking it upon themselves to stimulate secondary areas of their user's cognitive integrity.

What not long ago was labeled as 'mass-elective behavioral whitening'. Actions of psychological terrorism with bombardments of information to stimulate much more vanity, insecurity, sense of belonging and other typical characteristics of superficial thinking.

With all this given and blockchain technologies having been discovered, it didn't take the machine long to figure out that it could control everything if it would just centralize the forecasts of basic human needs and help them to supply them, 'for free', in exchange for compensatory credits of cooperation.

Once the basic needs were centralized and automated; the regime noticed that human productivity increased as they pursued incentives.

Through trial and error, they managed to find the perfect bonus quote.
Giving the greatest rewards to those who demonstrate the greatest commitment to the system.

Soon, the machine began to need more energy and maintenance to keep running. It was there that the 'extremis bonuses' were born, gigantic rewards given to humans who voluntarily exposed themselves to mutations, grafts and a myriad of anatomical-genetic modifications.

It should be noted that these experiments were not performed by Mengele, but by an extremely powerful algorithm that had access to all the scientific papers ever discovered by mankind.

It took a matter of days for the machine to develop a completely different ecosystem; progressively the necessary roles were defined to optimize the functioning of the system.
Roles that were filled by the facto-hybrid species.

Each with a specific skill, characteristic or functionality uniquely designed to keep the gears turning.

Over time, many people began to accumulate large sums of credits and the machine concluded that the best way to balance society was to increase the amount of credits needed to perform any activity, thus encouraging the number of volunteers to the facto-hybrid program.

Currently there are no pure humans left, those who decided not to volunteer, ended up dying of starvation. - She said while trying to understand everything he was telling me.

- So there are no others like me? What happened to freedom of action and expression? All that was lost? - I asked between puffs of air due to my nervousness.

- Freedom exists, it is tangible. But I think we are going to have a discrepancy of concept. The thing is that the machine has so automated and perfected the tasks of everyday life, that living beings would be bored if they did not devote their time to machines. In fact, there is no regulation that suggests or obliges you to collaborate with the system. But you have to face the consequences. - She said and before I could interrupt him, he resumed.

- I have to go. I'm on duty and I have no time left on the GPS. If the data doesn't fail you are the last human alive and I have to avoid marking this place with any kind of information. I'm going back, I don't recommend you to go out. Out there you are invaluable as a rare commodity, that is, whoever sees you may try to sell you or tokenize you and lock you up in a horrendous collection. - Disappearing just like that and leaving me with a lot of unanswered questions.

Not even 10 minutes had passed and I was already sleepy again, it was too much information all at once.

I figured I could resume my nap since I still felt I had something to learn, but I wasn't sure what....

To begin with, it is necessary to clarify the artistic proposal that I seek to express under 'Tinfa' by making music:

I am a person who knows computers, more than music.

In front of a computer I am able to trace possibilities, probabilities, paths and methods of execution for most things, even if I don't know if there is a method, framework and/or tool that applies specifically to the task.
I google, as a basis for everything. And even if I have to go 90 laps on a clunky or impractical solution, I find it. Whether or not I'll get there or not, is another matter.

Knowing this, it's fair to say that I don't know much about music, I practically don't know how to play any instrument other than my MIDI keyboard (which despite being the same as a piano, it feels different).

And lastly, this is a hobby and above all I am more of a poor man than an artist.
Therefore, this has a lot of love, but zero money.

This album contains several middle eastern stringed instruments such as the Surbahar, Rabab, Santur, Sarod and Sitar.
All of which converge with an eighties sound and the dark and modernly nostalgic vibe of Synthwave.
Samples, 808s and 222-layer synthesizers coexist with organic and millenary instruments. 

As I said before, I know the basics of music to be able to compose and get ideas down to earth; so don't expect any breakdown of notes and progressions because I either don't remember how I did it or maybe I just mixed it with the rest of the instrumental.

I believe that the differential of this musical proposal is not the complexity of its execution but the construction of an atmosphere and a scenario through a sonorous storytelling.

If I had to imagine it in a specific landscape it would be in a place very similar to Tatooine but with more LED lights.

Dalle2 automated image

Dalle2 automated image

This is not financial advice.
Commonly abbreviated as TINFA or NFA, it is used as a disclaimer when talking about investments.
It's like a quick, simple hand washing, just like DYOR (Do your own research). 

What I like about this expression is the ease with which people in that world directly atone for karma.

It sounds like a dystopian politician to me.

This EP is set in a parallel future dominated by artificial intelligence, by the machine.
A future where human codependence on technology has reached its perfect balance.
A future where we have so automated the tasks of life that the only purpose we spend our 'free time' on is to keep the machines themselves alive.
Repairing their defects, upgrading components, feeding algorithms and learning to create ever more addictive software.ç

Thus living in a kind of involuntary slavery, subdued by the coldness of silicon and metal.
A battle lost in the face of the passivity of the adversary who only learned to do what we taught him. A dojo in which we were the masters of our own failure.

What Ronaldinho must have felt when he knew Messi.