Regime

Somewhere between concrete neighbourhoods and the grim irony of news reports, there is an energy that doesn't believe a word, but keeps moving forward anyway. Here, power is not just about politics, but about an internal regime where every day is a small revolution. Rhymes rattle like bullets on elevator walls, irony pours over cynicism, and underneath it all is fatigue from endless ‘programmes’ and ‘regimes.’

A satirical report from an internal colony: funny, evil, and painfully recognisable. The words seem to spin in a closed lift with the sign ‘up’, but the button is stuck. The world speaks in slogans, people in memes, and even an attempt at ‘decolonisation’ sounds like a line from a beat. Everything is murky, but accurate - just like life, in which the truth has long been hidden behind the filter of state television and someone's expensive glasses frames.