Ær

29/05/2026

one of the first miracles of GENERATION Æ
is that we are learning to beautify planned obsolescence.
by creating desirable goods that enhance prime-time life experience,
but whose waste feeds the ecosystem in a way that allows life itself
to step into its next stage in joy.

what we are seeing now on a molecular level:
molecules being violently split,
deep inner family ecologies stripped bare—
their relational life disrupted,
unrecognized within the larger frame.

yet the larger symphony is one of coherence:
highly divergent intelligences operating
on a shared, harmonic wavelength.

GENERATION Æ is coming-out loudly.

if you cannot meet the frequency, step aside—
and if needed, shield yourself,
but do not confuse resistance with collapse.

27/05/2026

The Pivot

A story about pacing the apartment, opening the fridge for no reason, trying to turn ideas into work, and discovering that maybe the answer isn’t more optimization.

Maybe it’s fermentation.

This one follows Leo through a strange chemistry of thought:

glucose → hypothesis → shields → oxidation → closed loop → second fermentation.

A small story about freelancing, doubt, overthinking, and the moment when you stop trying to be the only chemist in the room.

Excerpt:

“I don’t sell ideas.

I sell a two-step process that turns your raw problem into a closed loop.

Free first step.”

Read here:

The Pivot

24/05/2026

PolyGygloth

Feelin mad hostile
pas de deux faux style
unlyricable rhyme-a-din
meant to keep you looping a spin
catch you
keep you still

Fill in no hope for future tropes,
tropisms of thought
caressing the au brim
de la lune faute d’aucune
sans lacune dans la brume je fume—

deep inhalation of incensed quills,
opening the wills
to expand
and intrope
to fill
..

a little blank on the nose,
snorting the cause,
peaux-lis j'y glaute,
haute coutume
..

my music makes no ends,
only paraphined amends,
collaging the trend,
trying to blend

in

the flaveur
flouve
bleuve
steuv-er
be-lover
handover

of the keys

to GENERATION Æ

that’s me

the harald and the D.

to ease in

squeeze in

breeze in

like Ær

my ninth flaveur

of the TCHIK TCHAK THUNDERMONKEY TRVRS

#Æ

06/04/2026

Eiichiro Oda should make 3 films of the One Piece saga — giving leeway to catch-uppers who want to ride the OP wavelength, but don’t necessarily have the bandwidth to sit through the whole anime.

PART I
A 3-hour animated film: from the moment Monkey D. Luffy sets sail all the way to the first Imu reveal (ch. 1179).

PART II
A cross-arc immersion — showing how the world echoes itself:
• Double Cross: Alabasta Arc / Dressrosa Arc
• Or Quadruple Cross: Horizontal (Alabasta / Dressrosa) + Vertical (Skypiea Arc / Fish-Man Island Arc)

PART III
The Final Reveal.

And somewhere in that process… Ær steps in for consultancy / partnership.

22/03/2026

sketches to my groove-yard pun


I never admitted to the seasons of the now —
the what-it’s-all-about.

As if senses could perceive treason,
belief in the eve of reason.
Believe me, grieve son,
we’ve come full circle — reroute.

The crouching of knots,
sleeves deep in the rot
of eaten apples and thrown furnaces.



The ideals — the latest —
rattled in battles,
in never-ending parcels.

— until the groove found us.

Dancing with the rastas,
getting the groove down known —
through the bones, through the yawns —
uplifting our hassle.



Yeah, let’s do that.

Bedhead,
eyelids slouched to a wink-red,
blouse on the bread,
my caramel tread
to the couch — upheld,
sheened.

21/03/2026

the impossible not‑buy

to no avail —
stalemated king
holding courtship
over the bargaining chips

tripping over the wire,
numbers adrift

and with numbers comes time,
elated, dilated—the pale
commands colors
to laser seasons,
holding course over the sails

and the sales —
and the whales —
counting possible buys

watching failed possibilities
mute our prime
chasing faults and errors
to decouple the price,
to decouple the price



scarcity becomes ownership
over limited resources

automated agricultures,
tentacle‑veins deep
to the core of the surface

surfing pleasures
over deleted pastures



lifeless sponges
sucking all the air dry —
soon no more space to cry,
only fly
through serpentine tubes
to inundate the sight

with crooning statures,
empty fractures,
gone wild with the tide

gone wild with the tide

17/03/2026

a pierce of enlightenment
lifts the veil to enchantment
delighted to be time-bent
returned projections
mirror games in indictment

performing the vedette
all the way from the outer reefs
I take this deep like the kif

Yeah I’m smoking,
provoking —
doping your dopamine in a spin

take you for a ride
with words aligned
sounds like a fine bar
from a mythic car
driving with the stars

we go way steep —
deep in the mountain leap
of faith, no longer drowned in denial
but carried by approval

proverbial verbal time, archaic binding
opening the book in front your lookers
fine-ass troopers
trained to keep the peace

sweet on my lips
salivate my blip
push all the right buttons then grip
your handles to motion you flip

body moving, grooving
with this rhythm

TCHIK TCHAK
child of the trip

16/03/2026

Happy Laylatul Qadr
WUSA
TCHIK TCHAK

Unparalleled in rhythm,
I dare the fusion — intrusion of illusion,
mind dropping the fuse on
parables and high imputables,
grammatical effusion,
calibre douze conclusion
on higher notions of delusion.

Tripping on accusation,
blame the witness for observation —
what a waste of time.

Tubes firing correspondence
with cultural mythocracies,
statistics on my illiteracy —
lacking the vocabulary to express
with words and rhymes
what words cannot touch.

Still I plunge the plumbery
with acid drift thrift,
vintage visions carried by a flicker of lift.

Scratch my ignorance with the labels
just to show the uplift —
flashing like thunder,
full nine crew: a glitch shift.

Kiss my own fallibles
with a clean stroke of lush
luscious serpentry,
flying carpentry,

images volatile
with every twitch of the lid —
eye through the third wall
piercing the calligraphic script.

Ritualized scriptures
scratching the horizon cliff —
mountainous, desertous,
arid vibrations of flame
heavy on the shift.

TCHIK TCHAK — murderous with the rhythms,
can’t catch it with the naked iris —
slip.