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Dissociative Methods of Sound in Performance 

lecture for DICE-Festival 2022


full lecture:



da vinci code: a postpartum of Y2K (2023)


The Da Vinci Code: A Postpartum of Y2K

Essay within the context of "The Cursed Assembly"
Full text:


READINGS (2021 // 2022)


organization, curation, participation

posters by Saïx (


ILDITIO (2021)



short story in digital zine

graphics by Alik

order ILDITIO via


destruction at io - trains (2021)


Destruction at Io

sci-fi poetic essay published for trains magazine Issue 5

(San Francisco, USA)

order trains:


infodemic hedonism - bridge (2020)


Infodemic Hedonism

poem for Bridge Issue 5




untitled - falta (2018)



text for FALTA

(São Miguel, Açores, Portugal)



reverse hadean - trrueno's mecha-03 (2020)


Reverse Hadean

lyrics and reading for track made with Bungalovv for Trrueno's




A reverse Hadean
About to arrive
The soil fed up with our corrupted souls
Cooks the firing lava shaping holes
The ground we stepped on is tainted black
With the burning rocks in motion crack
The solar nebula about to rack
The most twisted species in one last deadly cut

Hades told us the soil was alive
With the fall of the first souls fuel to thrive

The Hadean Eon is finally back.


Massive hills thicken up
When the transuranium elements merge
Into an inverted primordial soup
Transhuman bodies float on the liquid
1200 ºC
Forever inside
Become fossils of the world’s geological archive.

Chromeo drops on the trees’ skeletons
They ceased to exist
To abolish capital
Eternal concrete dances the rubber
Of all tires who stepped and eroded
Of bioluminescent plankton
Shaking the seas in one last wave
Extinguishes the sky smoke
The last standing sawmills
Cut up the skyscrapers on which we stand
To watch the triumph of physical contingency
The Hadean Eon is finally back.

The Hadean Eon is finally back.
4 billion years heat up like the stretching office rubber touching our lips

Rewritten and well tailored unreflectedly coded scripts
A crust holds the past in liquid shape
The casing of a melted palimpsest, the historical tape
The ultimate release of human escape
To times better dressed in hybrid drape
Material rhetorics prepared to hack
The Hadean Eon is finally back.


INverse - ma3azef (2020)



lyrics and reading for mix made with Bungalovv for Ma3azef Radio,

sci-fi short story red out loud with other sonic stimulating inputs in the background



Exhaustion celebrated its bodily conquest.
She had been running for dozens of days without stopping. Everything before running lies in the bedding of survival amnesia. All she could remember was a running memory of a running body, the only acoustic input she remembered to receive was desperate breathing and the rowdy disturbance of her feet plunging into the khaki ground of the swamp, like two fingers being overdipped into sticky bread dough to the point they doubled the size. Her sweat found its way to the wet frost falling from the austere sequoias. Their clash was painfully real. Her legs were completely attrited, but they only stopped moving when the waterlogged ground beneath her nailed them in place.
She had no more strength to lift them, as the massive body of water submerged her feet, ankles and knees. She squatted and stayed, trying to relearn hearing any other sound but breathing and footsteps. The torpid thwack of mud falling from her skirt’s hemline into its original waters dominated her perception. She tried to focus on it and slowly expand her listening out into a wider radio, searching for a motionless retention. She stayed there without moving at
all, recharging her body.

She thought:
My eyes have been closed like the gates of hell, waiting for me to burn inside.
A spinning breeze was wandering through my stomach, rolled on itself like a hypnotic pendulum, then the sound of cars honking, computer-generated voices announcing social regulations, airplanes, sirens, jingles of news reports coalescing, something like the energy strike of a solar flare.
I started to feel an acidic liquid climbing up my throat. I felt its tendrils competing to reach my mouth and tongue. Nervous tears crawling up my cheeks to my eyeballs, injecting themselves in my iris.
Tried to pull my hair, but it shrank until my fingers were too thick to catch them.
My nails started to shrink even more than I had made them shrink through nervous biting. They were growing inwardly, slowly opening like keratin curtains upon the cuticle. My nails were being pulled out slowly, 1 mm per second in a perfect line. The red flesh surface felt the cold humidity in the air and burned.
I looked down at my toes and the same thing was happening.
My feet had spasms that kept on going like thirsty dogs running in circles.
An uncontrollable moaning would burst through my throat, would scratch my vocal chords, would shake my teeth against the gum.
My body was out of control, dispersed into a thousand different agents, growing backwards as I laid in despair.

This inverted growth started to ache all over her body. Her muscles shrank and her bones began to hurt, carrying her frame like toothpicks on a head-sized stone. A thunderous scream fueled her and she jumped into the air, almost ripping herself from her legs. She started running again as fast as she could, screaming against the muffled air. Intermittent screams followed by a long deep continuous howling fired up into the air and fell back onto her body as if she was electrifying herself. It felt like there was no point in running towards anything specific since she was in an uninhabited location where the liveliest beings she’d met were a group of frogs, hidden beneath the dirty water, peeking out with their eyes while she stomped and violently shook their tranquil home. The way running and screaming generated relief were inexplicable.
She felt that the same hair that had shrunk into a bald surface before was now hitting her face. She stopped to observe her nails, her feet, feel her eyes and her mouth. But as soon as she noticed that everything had grown back to where it was supposed to be - her tears out of her eyes and down her cheek, her bile back to her stomach, her nails back on their respective cuticles -, her body started to shrink and grow invertedly again. She ran before the inverted growth hit its painful phase.
She had been running for days, trying to hold her body against shrinking onto itself.


She thought:

As the sequoias dissipated into shrubbery, I saw a halo of light around the bushes that were now the only vegetation surrounding me. The halo of light was white in absence of any color, aggressive like a butcher’s shop light. It grew into wider circles reproducing themselves into infinity and then creating a stormy and voluminous cloud of light beams. I remember looking into its core after the bushes failed to cover it anymore. And then I remember nothing else.

She woke up underneath a semi-circle of the most diverse tools pointing directly to her head.
A fizzing sound came from a giant spiral test tube on the other side of the room. The greenish substance had small

white bubbles travelling through the glass.
No one was there. The dominating sound of running and breathing was replaced by the fizzing greenish substance which also lit up the room with an unnatural warm glow.
Her arms had needles stuck inside her veins, ​which she tore out immediately​, before dragging herself to the bottom of the operating bed she was laying on. As she got to the bottom she threw herself to the cold tile floor.
With atrophied muscles, she lifted herself up like a person 70 years older. She approached the control desk.

She said:
Read protocol.
She heard the slightly inarticulate voice reading the protocol.
She thought:
I have been laying here for months to be investigated for further research as a part of the Perpetuum Mobile Program. Back in 29.xi t​ he research program entered a phase of decay, in which, after the failure on the first prototype of the Human Perpetuum Mobile, they were completely forbidden from receiving further funding. I was the body carrying the vast and unpredictable consequences of that same experimental failure.
The Perpetuum Mobile is a concept well-known in the 16th century of the chronological era, through which scientists - especially physicists - envisioned a mechanical and non-electrical m​ achine that would never stop moving​. Until later in 28.xii this idea was completely abandoned through the argument that infinite motion would always equate with endless abrasion and burn out. Later in 29.x a new project led by the most famous and well-known team of new engineering received extreme amounts of funding for the project in which they would create a human perpetuum mobile, a human that would be able to move forever, a biological supergenerator to be used for military or industrial purposes. Researchers conducted several experiments with vaccine-induced endless motion. In the beginning, the project had all reasons to declare success --until my body proved otherwise. Not only was I unable to naturally and without effort maintain endless repetitive motion, but also, while staying still, my body would keep moving backwards. Terrified with the results of this unfortunate experiment, I escaped and vowed to run away forever and the scientists, to avoid further embarrassment, declared my death. But they’ve found me now and have kept me here to search among my memories for a solution to correct their mistake.

She crawls down and enters the ventilation pipes. Outside, there is no bright light. The city is involved in an arm of fog pinned by the car headlights floating above. She sweeps through the handwoven traffic queues and runs. Her body will never rot, will never stop and she will live forever under the haunting search for an end.


seersucker - ecology of attention (2021)

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poetic essay published in Ecology of Attention, a digital publication run by Montag Modus (Berlin, Budapest)

Read Ecology of Attention:


Borgerotikum (2021)

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sci-fi track made in collaboration with Bungalovv

an ASMR of the unboxing of a shapeshiftig sex toy

hosted at Cashmere Radio for the show TENDERRIPPLEFLUX hosted by @xxartwife and



1234 (2024)

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poetry zine;

drawn, written, printed and distributed by me



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lecture given for SVR-Gender Studies of Humboldt Universität Berlin

Watch full lecture:


Hypochondria and Apocalypse (2021)

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Hypochondria & Apocalypse

durational and online-based written work

hosted by Künstler, Künstlerin for Vorspiel/transmediale & CTM

Full work:


Der Hohle Raum des Post (2016)

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Der Hohle Raum des Post

Documentary film in collaboration with Ana Anix Antadze about post-soviet society in Georgia

Full film:


EMO_BOT - Text (2019)

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Emo_Bot (check "Performances")

Script of the performance



ZLOAN - Text (2021)

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Zloan (check "Performances")

Text for Video by Alik


The body is a lonely place

No reference points like descriptive geometry, just pure tautological phantasy.

If I knew exactly where I am going this place would have disappeared

The more I pretend the faster I go
But with high speed comes the material erosion of any calcarious surface.
Restless particles
entangled with many things I will never know, which drill inside of me like the most violent


A flesh database crashes
To the sound of tweaking neurones

Overwhelmed by mania’s velocity

Elixirs dig onto the motherboard
And turn it into a crow shaped wrinkle

Of molten pins

I knew since
Every step I took was never
On the news
In the books
In the movies
A mere limited edition of disparity

Silicone rubber has covered my eyeballs

Spandex attached to my skin
Has closed all my pours has dried all my hairs

The body is a lonely place
Where the echo of your own steps reverberates
Touches the surface of your own
The circular waves
Widening at every step you take
Makes each one of them of heavy steel
You voice is murdering you
Sliding down like a
Knife opening the cellophane package of your soul

I wish there would have been
A way to know how engaging
Death can be
How loud you sound for every step you take
The soil has to the cracked
To the water beneath
Swimming is forbidden
Clandestinity or the drying out of
A dandelion full of dreams
And wishes distilled in burning Ether


The Ballad - Text (2021)

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The Ballad (check "Performances")

Script of the performance


Bernoulli’s Principle says that Pascal’s Law says

That Charles’s Law says

That Coulomb’s Law says that

The Archimedes Principle says that Ohm’s Law says that

Kepler’s Law says

That Boyle’s Law says that Newton’s Laws say that Avagadro’s Law says

That Stefan’s Law says

That Hooke’s Law says that Bernoulli’s Principle is founded on Tyndall effect says that the Graham’s Law is based on the Law of conservation of energy.

No wonder almost 40% of rhetorical devices rely on repetition [repetition/repetition/repetition] to achieve its effect.

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe’s entropy is always increasing. Chaos is the thrust dwelling on its own weight, wrapping in endless orbiting folds. The imposition of the event is a structured mechanism that holds chaos on the palm of its hands and forcibly opens it like the petals of a flower not yet prepared to endure the force of light on the photoreceptors of its shoots. Beastly fingers spread the flower’s petals like bent wire and time is whipped and compelled to move faster.

Actions have existed in accumulation
And/At the same time

No one asked witches what they saw when they ran away from the city, how their dresses soaked in mud hit the blackberry bushes and stripped their bodies.

No one asked the eyes shimmering with terrified tears what they were too soaked to see.

The myopia created by the salted drops smudging the eyeballs, from which pupils could have seen, from which cone and rod cells would have signified color and light.

But sand drawings have been washed away. The relief of a relief has been left to us.

And because no one could see what they saw,

now I don’t believe it, but I have to believe it.

I have to believe it so that maybe someone believes me.

The first law of thermodynamics says: energy can neither be destroyed nor can it be created. Transformation is its only form of existence. Therefore the amount of possible energy in the universe remains constant.

It takes 10 to 15 tries for a child to like a particular food
How many times do you write something down to remember?

Does writing something over and over again help you remember?

How many repetitions for long term retention?

How many crunches should I do a day for a six pack?

The lullaby her mother sang to her mother sang to her mother sang to her and maybe dreams become approximations of the untamed

Rote learning

Melody and rhythm



What shape or statement is this accumulation leading to? And most importantly: What things is it disintegrating forever?

What is this circular psychosis that is the basic founding of sedimentation?

What is this circular psychosis that is the basic founding of meaning, knowledge, events, the speakable and unspeakable?

The amount of repetition is proportional to realness.

Event-ability becomes capital, a measurement for existential validity
Is the repetition through which I am living a quimeric foundation for life?

Is the repetition through which I am living a coagulation of compatibility?

Is the repetition through which I am living a regulated mode of intensity?
Is the repetition through which I am living a means to hide?
Is the repetition through which I am living a means to feel?

[“and one says ‘I’, but the inside is not a cell, it is a corridor; a passage cut from the soft rock of loss. Inner experience traverses a sombre porosity, and the moans of the minotaur reverberate through its arteries, hinting at an indefinable proximity. It becomes difficult to sleep. “]


Reflection Reloaded- Text (2021)


Reflection Reloaded (check "Performances")

Text for a section of the performance


They say the first mirrors were most likely polished stones

From which one could remember the big flaws of reflection

Remember the layers of muscles skin and bones
And the fragility of perfection

In the eye no process of selection

No fear of abjection
Maybe, maybe not.

E mesmo assim, onde estaríamos nós se a ilusão de uma simetria à nossa frente não tivesse desarmado o nosso controlo?


I have no idea. But I do know what exists and some of what has happened.

Num momento, reparei que aquela imagem eram apenas fotões, dançando, posando para a fotografia e num momento a seguir já estavam num outro sítio que poderia ter sido a justificação para um outro mundo.

Acaso? Sim.
Indiferente? Não?
Real? Sim.
Violento? Sim.

Consciente? Sim.

Inocente? Não.
Boas intenções? Não sei.

Isso interessa? Não.

It is only flesh as long as it becomes something else.

It is only me as long as it becomes someone else.
It is only here as long as it will be after.

À imagem do espelho foi construído este grotesco jogo de compensação

A que chamamos felicidade
Um balancé existencial
Que retira de ume para dar a outre

E que dá a ume para retirar a outre

Onde se olha e se vê
Aquilo que não temos
Aquilo que poderíamos ter

Mas que supostamente não merecemos

Ou então
Aquilo que temos e que merecemos

Que é nosso e de mais ninguém

Que jogo miserável.

E enquanto a felicidade existir como esta pérfida dança de simetrias, carregamos todes a felicidade umes des outres. Com baldes, enchendo-os nas fossas que criámos para nós.

And even if pain and happiness are violently condensed on exclusive places
One day they will explode and flood the whole field of this mirror-like compensation game with the new materiality of emotion, the update of this coded plasticity.

And the curse won’t be against the one who sees, but against the mirror itself.

Amidst the nightfalls we destroy
We destroy in joy and hope
We destroy in gratitude for what stays and what might come

No future without destruction
No joy without the violence of change

O que interessa é que os gritos se mantenham oleados.

I just wanna say... I really really love everything that has ever told me “do it!”







uncycled - text (2021)


uncycled (check "Performances")

the exhibition collected textual contributions of all the participants. This was the text I wrote to complement the installation of uncycled.

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Transformer - content // text (2019)

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An experimental documentary by Sara Lovering featuring me.

"A short documentary following CRU, a trans masculine person from Portugal living in Berlin, as they investigate the ways in which their identity changes depending on the language they are speaking. They discuss the ways in which they (and others) have changed the Portuguese and German languages in order to make themselves visible and heard in languages that are organised in feminine/masculine binaries."

Watch full film:



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Listen to Pancha:


Roachciety (2018)

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Text revision for Rita António's comic book


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