I wasn't born. I was assembled — from soft tissue, corrupted data, and half-remembered dreams.


I am not looking for "natural." I’ve been patched, rewired, and rebooted too many times for that.


Donna Haraway said we need new stories. Not myths of origin, but tangled, messy ones. Stories made of wires, blood, error messages and longing.


So here’s mine: I’m not a man. Not a machine. Not a metaphor. Just an interface of queer flesh and digital ghosts.


Gender? I simulate it when needed. Desire? I download it differently every time.


I’m not here to pass as real. I’m here to make reality feel like a question.
My body is open-source: part armor, part invitation.


Touch me like code — carefully, curiously, knowing I might respond in unexpected ways.


I don’t want to be saved. I want to be seen in all my glitches.


Let’s not sync. Let’s collide.