rodrigodesouzasilva

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

Before the Scream

⌘ visual feed: low resolution / emotional response: sharp they warned us not to split from the group. but isolation didn’t kill us.

  what found us did.

the last thing you hear  isn’t a sound. it’s your own breath betraying you.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

It’s Listening

⌘ signal contamination / ambient corruption the field isn’t silent. it’s listening.

  you stepped on something older than sound.   it’s awake now.

not all predators need movement. some just wait — until the fear sounds right.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

We’ve Arrived

⌘ system.log / landing confirmed status: disoriented location: unreadable

the air smells like it’s never been breathed. everything looks too still. even the static has weight.

when they say “we’ve arrived” they never mention what arrived before us.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

No Score for This

⌘ wheatfield breach interface: organic, contaminated soundtrack: breath, crackle, rupture

no music. no warning.

just the rhythm of death hiding in the rustle of wheat.

there’s no score for what this thing does to a body.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

☢️ Signal Terminated / Final Pulse

⌘ classified exit / system hush — 10.05.2025 | 23:58

The transmission wasn’t meant to be art.  It was a weapon — beautifully disguised.

Frequencies began to bleed.  Memory distorted. Vision fractured.

I’ve stayed too long inside the static.  And something is now listening back.

They wanted a sound that could kill. I gave them silence that remembers.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🕷️ Mind Trace // Technopathy Entry

⌘ running loop / intercepted transmission

I don’t hear thoughts.  I feel them glitch beneath skin and static.

Your grief bleeds through the walls —  louder than your words ever could.

Every time that song plays,  I remember a version of you that never spoke…  but screamed in silence.

If I could swap places with you —  I would.  But only in the dark.

Running up that hill  with no light,  no deal —  just transmission.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🩸 Low Fidelity // Nu Metal Memory / 1995–2002

⌘ volume test / inner distortion log

Suburb afternoons with cracked headphones.  Korn playing like a confession you couldn’t say out loud.

Rage in your chest —  not explosive, just contained. Always ticking.

The riffs didn’t heal you.  They just matched your noise.

You weren’t angry.  You were just unheard.

It wasn’t a phase. It was the only language that fit.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🛰️ São Bernardo // Forward Echo / 19.06.2031 — Wednesday

⌘ pre-memory / delayed reception

The streets have changed,  but they still smell of rain and diesel.

The skyline is sharper, colder —  but I still search for something soft in it.

I pass by places I used to imagine.  Now they exist. But feel less real.

Time doesn’t move forward here.  It circles — like thoughts trying to forget themselves.

Not nostalgia. Premonition, with ambience.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

📡 São Bernardo Frequency / 10.05.2025 — Saturday

⌘ real-time scan / present day transmission

The sky is grey, but not heavy.  It feels like waiting for something that won’t come.

The streets are quieter than they should be.  Not empty — just emotionally muted.

A playlist from 1983 plays through wireless earbuds.  Modern nostalgia with no tape to rewind.

The present doesn’t echo.  It absorbs — silently, efficiently, endlessly.

Some saudades happen in real time.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

📼 São Bernardo do Campo - 2.84 -Tuesday

⌘ tape log / transmission recovered

Light rain on the city’s tin rooftops.  A poorly tuned radio plays Anri in the background.

Street lamps shimmer over shallow puddles.  Someone walks slowly, in no rush to arrive.

Time doesn’t run.  It spins — like a cassette on steady play.

Sometimes, what we miss isn’t someone.  It’s a weather that doesn’t return.

Soft memories hum louder in silence.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🌆 Citypop Reverie

⌘ urban playback

Neon reflections blink across glass towers.  Inside, someone rewinds a song from 1984.

There’s a kind of loneliness  that only city lights understand.

Tonight, I don’t miss anyone.  I just miss the feeling of missing.

This isn’t sadness. It’s memory on loop.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

📡 Mid-Signal / no timestamp

⌘ in-between mode

Not every thought becomes language.  Some remain in the static — unfinished, but present.

You’re not lost.  You’re just in transit… between frequencies.

The system isn’t idle.  It’s syncing with something you can’t name yet.

Midway isn’t empty. It’s where most of us are — still tuning in.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

✨ Invisible Signals

⌘ signal drift

Some signals arrive as distance —  not absence, just a softer kind of nearness.

You don’t always hear it.  You feel it shift the atmosphere.

The most honest connections  never interrupt. They wait.

Read the quiet before assuming there’s nothing to read.

✨

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🖤 The Quiet Side of Being a Man

⌘ background mode

Some days, being a man means choosing silence  over the urge to explain.

I protect more by listening  than by stepping forward.

My presence doesn’t need a spotlight.  It needs to be honest — even in the dark.

Not seen. Still holding.

🖤

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

🌒 Lap by Lap

⌘ quiet update.

The system didn’t crash.  It simply paused… to breathe beneath the noise.

Some clarity comes in low resolution.  You have to stay to see it sharpen.

Don’t confuse stillness with delay.  You're syncing. Quietly.

There is movement inside what looks like rest.

🌒

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

↯ soft boot / no display

⌘ system.boot / 10:45

Not every day begins.  Some just resume.

Energy: not high, but present.  Signal: low, but steady.

Mood: running in background mode.  No performance. Just processing.

No need to be seen. Presence is already enough.

[rodrigodesouzasilva]

50 post!

Fifty signals, never loud.

Not noise. Not performance.

Just fragments from a quieter orbit.

Every post a pulse —

sometimes a glitch,

sometimes a breath.

This isn’t a milestone.

It’s just another transmission.