I haven’t seen Sasha in a while now, I think he mostly stays in his cave now. A storm is coming so I should sail away soon. But I’m to curious to go..

out of the [box]

The storm has come, but my sailboat can manage fortunately. Sasha send me this track today, this time with a title! No idea what it means though.

vergeetmenietjes

The storm has passed. A couple of exotic birds are resting on the cliffs of the island, they look so peaceful.

grounded

IDeM dito

remedy

feyk tevy

poing

enough reels for today

glimmer

FPERFECTIONISM

Sasha Colargol was born on Easter Island and grew up isolated, alone and happily with his smartphone. When not chewing on sticks and volcanic rocks along the coast, the naked nomad retreats to his cave-like habitat. There he scratches himself free of fleas, scrolls endlessly, sketches strange figures, and produces music—all on an iPhone 3GS he once found washed ashore.

He powers this almighty relic through a massive Tesla coil he built from scraps of shipwrecks, humming like a lighthouse for lost signals. From my sailboat I often observe him—sometimes he waves awkwardly, before quickly returning to his scratching rituals.

I did not volunteer to write this. One night, I awoke to find airdropped files from an unknown sender—tracks, images, and a text document containing only rough words, almost grunts: “me here. write. tell.” Since then, I have felt strangely compelled to bear witness. It seems Sasha Colargol discovered a way to transmit his voice through me, choosing me—why, I cannot say—as the scribe of his myth.

glimmer

Sasha Colargol

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