Future Dreams is what leaks out when I tear into the digital and let it bleed. These pieces are broken fragments from a future that’s already here, heavy blue light, glitched reflections, flooded ruins, and eyes that won’t stop watching. I don’t build clean worlds. I let everything melt and collapse. Hooded figures walking through liquid cities, surfaces that ripple like they’re alive, code and memory drowning together. It’s melancholic, lonely, and sacred in its own ruined way. Just corrupted files and electric midnight trying to say something before it all disappears. This is how the future dreams.