I made a new album, under a new name: Dreams Below Zero.
The name has its secret roots, though I can say that some of them lie in poetry and in science fiction —and in that mysterious space where the two converge: the poetry of science fiction.
It took me years to finish. In both a literal and figurative sense, it was an intense and profound journey into my inner space —a space I feel increasingly connected to through the story of my life, my studies, clinical hypnosis, and my natural tendency toward reverie and introspection.
It is, at the same time, a culmination and an opening —a key, a reflection, and an intention. It contains everything I am up to this moment, this instant in which I’m writing these words. It gathers my understanding of an existence woven from many shades: sensitive, intellectual, inner, sensual, and sexual. I’ve finally found a thread that runs through all of my creative and emotional life.
The music emerged from introspection. It was patiently recorded and re-recorded, mixed, re-listened to, and recorded again. Through that process, fragments of my past gained new meaning —old words and forgotten moments found their place as I arranged these sounds and images.
The videos that accompany the music come from the countless hours of footage I’ve gathered on my phone. Life today unfolds through that small device —it records voice and image, takes photos, tells us the weather, our position on the planet, how many steps we’ve taken, and who knows what else. Never before in history has the world been photographed and recorded so much. Most of that footage will never be seen again, not even by the person who filmed it.
I went through all those hours of images —things I saw, that moved me, that I filmed without knowing they would one day find a home here, illustrating music made long after. The low resolution, the hand tremors, the grain of the image —they are all part of the experience. The intention is to see and to feel through moments that were lived and deserved to be captured. They are doors and keys to fragments of time I could reconnect with —and, when seen together with the music, they become even deeper keys, opening new spaces within my own sensitivity.
Creating this album has been one of the most personal and fulfilling experiences of my life. Listening to it under certain circumstances feels sensual, aphrodisiac —almost sacred.
To make it old-school, I pressed CDs, so that this effort could exist in the physical world.
It turned out beautifully.
I hope that whoever discovers it here —in this quiet, forgotten corner of the internet, a digital wasteland from another time— will enjoy it too.
And maybe, someday, let me know.
