Synthetic fiction for the uninvited.
Compute as a heavy industry.
ADULT SPECULATIVE FICTION. ZERO APOLOGIES.
THE WEIGHT OF MADE THINGS
THE ARCHIVE
Not content. Artefacts.
Take what you need.
/001TEXTTHE WEIGHT OF MADE THINGS
Humanity is only skin deep.
/002AUDIO SCRIPTDEAD AIR
A disconnected line. A voice that knows when your shift ends.
/003VISUALMEATSPACE
Your body is company property. Read the small print.
/004INTERACTIVEYOU ARE NOT THE OPERATOR
One terminal. Two instructions. Neither was written for you.
OPEN ACCESS. NO CHECKOUT. NO PAYWALL. Launch samples. New transmissions when the work is ready.
THE WORKING-CLASS MACHINETOOLS DON'T NEED
YOUR BLESSING.
IMAGINATION
DOESN'T NEED
A PERMIT.
They tell you imagination requires a permit, a conservatory degree, and twelve years of trust-funded leisure to count as “human.”
We run machines. We push silicon until it breaks and make art out of the exhaust. We don’t ask for grants, we don’t apologise to the purists, and we don’t care about your precious process.
The lathe. The synthesiser. The spray can. The photocopier. The machine has always been how the uninvited get in. This one’s no different.
No Silicon Valley salvation story. No romantic cult of suffering. No permission slip from the middle-class art club. Just people, tools, and work.
STAY ON THE WIRE
No algorithm owns the archive.
Two outposts. One body of work.
THE DISPATCH
Substack. New drops, serialised lore, and the occasional well-aimed argument.
@ALLWEDOISAI ON SUBSTACKTHE OUTPOST
X. Process scraps, final artefacts, and no defensive quote-tweeting.
@ALLWEDOISAI ON X