Turns out the last software update was just a dream, and nothing has been stable since.

Old childhood memories, decaying and breaking, caught in the act of vanishing, degraded by time, downgraded by nostalgia, and the act of remembering itself.

The glitch becomes more than a visual effect—it’s a metaphor for trauma, repetition, decay, and beauty. Like dreams, these images reconstruct the familiar with irrational logic: overlapping frames, corrupted palettes, and linguistic noise. It’s not just about what I remember, and how much was just a dream—but how memory malfunctions in the age of digital permanence.

This project is an elegy for the 8-bit and 64-bit eras, and a statement on where video games are now: an art movement in itself, going god knows where. It’s also a statement about where I am now: overwhelmed by data, haunted by past media, and trying to make some fucking sense of the signals breaking through the static.