so, i think . . .

social media isn’t truthful, but it can be honest. we all know there's a level of editing involved. even with that awareness, we struggle to measure how it affects our self-esteem. we shape narratives. we manage how others see our social capital. we leave out what we can’t explain in the moment. we live in an age of public authenticity—striving to appear real. decision and action have replaced anonymity and introspection. calling social media good or bad misses the point. it’s powerful. it’s destructive. it’s freeing. it’s distracting.

these photos and pieces of art aren't chronological. some date back decades. i posted them to a particularly square platform between march 3, 2019, and december 18, 2020. i approached this zine with the intent to be comprehensive . . . more or less. the goal is to archive this one account and delete it forever. it covers a wide stretch of my life compressed into a small and intense period of time. how i saw myself and the systems around changed constantly. i am both more and less than what appears here. none of us are that easily reduced. i redacted a few photos—album covers from music projects, images of friends or family i didn’t have permission to include, thing that might dox someone, and a handful that felt beneath the standard of the zine.

the kind of editing i’ve done here is exactly what social media tends to hide. i want to be transparent about it. growth, learning, and reflection matter. i hope everyone keeps social media in context. i know from experience that we don't.

have fun and fuck shit up, always. never fully know yourself. every day meet yourself anew.

see you around.

it's okay for you to be here.

oh.

hello there.

in light of the current circumstances at bandcamp, it seems wise to safeguard our music by archiving it elsewhere. while we have no imminent plans to stop using bandcamp, the day might come that changes. besides, archive.org is just better. next time you go dumpster diving for freak shit on archive.org make sure to check out our little collection. ("little" equates to over 24 hours of music some goddamn how.)

additionally, we recently completed several new releases! for one of our releases, we also posted a visualizer to YouTube, filmed and edited one afternoon here in san francisco.

we are also thrilled to announce the long-awaited debut release from skronkco! we have been working on this for the past two years, and it's a good feeling releasing it to the wild now.

there's still more??

lastly, we had the privilege of participating in a remarkable bedroom skramz compilation on the bsdj label, which supports the palestine children's relief fund. we express our heartfelt appreciation for this project. please please go throw them some bones.

it honestly has us thinking about doing some sort of physical release of our music for a charitable cause eventually. maybe an archival box set for village and the farm u.k.? 🤔probably not anytime soon, but would be fun eventually.

goodnightsleeptight

i've lost interest in "interesting." embracing the "boring" holds greater appeal. it's disheartening how much of what's deemed interesting merely hints at instability. people find it interesting when thoughts flow freely, yet isn't that indicative of an avoidance of reflection, suggesting a lean away from planning or pattern recognition? it seems capitalism won't face a particular challenge from a populace with such a disposition.

this, therefore, is the precise type of writing i don't want to do. i'm not immune to the allure of being interesting. it's a habit like any other. perhaps i should define "boring" if that's my goal. to me, boring signifies reality and mundanity.

so what's real right now? i'm awake. i had breakfast. i've been cooking more lately. i'd missed cooking. it's fall—either today or tomorrow? i've forgotten, and i won't bother to look it up. and boring? i'm full; i'm thirsty. the notion of thirst hadn't crossed my mind until i wrote it down just now. i'm going to go get some gatorade zero and conclude here. i hope today is boring. i hope tomorrow is too.

"void transactions," by lurline baths

all sounds made by nebula system and sidney c.

// cc-by 2021

visiting a city
we never left, nostalgic for
a chapter closed before us,
only in hindsight.

is it freeing? to let go?
do we surrender to impossible agency?

with each step we advance,
we grow up and outwards
towards inevitable nothingness.

a void, but never avoidant.

a barista self-care zine

words and art by devin berry

additional contributions by
kelsey baptista
melissa laughron
arielle rebekah gordon

first edition: 2019
first color bash edition: 2022

there was this person i briefly knew because we took a class in college together and we had some affinity between us. i was too socially inept back then to become friends or whatever, which is unfortunate. i wish we had. i think in hindsight she probably wanted to be my friend. i cannot remember her name anymore.

i have exactly two memories of her. one was running into her in downtown santa cruz when i was on my way to go see hella live and she was going to see kristin hersh live. i felt so cool going to a show and running into someone i knew who was going to a different show. i figured, this must be what life is like.

at the time i hadn't gotten into kristin hersh or her band throwing muses; they later became some of my favorites, and i know i mainly checked them out afterwards only because she liked them. that seems to be how a lot of my taste in music has formed. other peoples' taste sticks to me like pollen to a bat. i guess it's how i remember people and places and moments despite my failings of memory.

the second memory was a small moment that probably saved my life due to the butterfly effect repercussions of it on my mental health over the years. i wrote an essay for my indigenous studies class that my teacher liked, and i was asked to read the essay for the class. today, i remember the essay's fire but none of its contents. when i was done reading, she immediately complimented my writing. i was shy and responded, "i dunno it's nothing special," or something similarly pointless. she told me i should stop being self-deprecating. it was the first time i thought maybe i wasn't someone's punchline, and it shocked me.

i heard her then; i still hear her.