Uploaded October 2025 | Updated September 2026, 8 hours ago
I grabbed a “microdose” from a random shady bodega and it wasn’t micro. I hopped on my bike and a few minutes later it slammed me. Colors popped, depth went weird, and sounds stacked on top of each other. I realized fast it was a macro-dose! I locked in on steady breathing, kept my line, and made the only goal getting home safe without doing anything stupid...
Spoken word by Renirō ● ● ● :
"Sun polite. Sky surgical. Brooklyn. Bootleg foil says microdose. Lie. Swallowed anyway. Planned a clean walk. City shows its teeth. Pavement breathing. Colors cutting sharper. Micro is macro. Mobility becomes survival. Borrowed bicycle. Pointed it toward sanctuary. Reached the door before it could turn pulpit. Muzzled the pigeons before they testified. Crossed before the crosswalk indicted me by name. Blocks lengthening. Air thickening. Keys in pocket feel like evidence. Front steps. Lights wrong. Hallway narrowing. Must write something rational. Stares. Stairs again. The building grows ribs and counts me. Walls clotting with slow jelly. Maintaining logic. Lighthouse without a sea. Keys unraveling like tin tapeworms. Hush. Fed the red lock its little prayer. Home now. Must be home...
Took them at dusk. Dealer's handshake left residue. Rorschach test on every surface now. Subway home. Fluorescents breeding. Woman has too many knuckles. Counted twice. Still wrong. Newspaper headline rearranging. Letters know what I did in 1987. Street level. Gravity negotiable. Sidewalk cracks filling with black honey. Mannequins blink in shifts. Coordinated. Building digesting me floor by floor. Stairwell smells like wet copper. Wallpaper breathing. Victorian roses opening mouths. They sing my social security number. Door remembers. Lock accepts key like communion. Inside now. Bathroom mirror dividing into cells. Reflection holding committee about my face. Faucet dripping morse code. Same message. Walls are only walls because I insist. Going to insist harder...
Tuesday. Took the dose behind bodega. Rats watched. Judging. Pavement developing pulse. City breathing through drains. Exhaling pigeons. Bus bench growing teeth. Advertisement faces know my sins. Billboard eyes tracking. Church steeple bending like accusing finger. Stained glass opening like eyelids. Verdict unfavorable. Corner store owner has three faces today. Rotating shifts. Sold me water. Tasted like pennies and apologies. Made it home. Lock breathing prayers. Building knows. Always knew. Walls exhaling patterns. Geometry testifying. Right angles confessing. Floor tiles rearranging into accusations. Writing this. Proof of coherence. Proof I'm still. Still what? Still people watching in shifts. Tomorrow explains itself. Or I explain to tomorrow. One of us is lying...
Wednesday. Swallowed them in the park. Mistake. Trees growing lungs. Breathing synchronized. Counting me. Subway tiles spelling accusations. Read backwards. Worse. Old woman has grandmother's hands. Wrong number of fingers. She knows. Made it home. Doorknob weeping. Lock accepts key like confession. Ceiling fan rotating through dimensions. Each rotation a verdict. Walls listening. Deciding... One of us is lying..."
iamYork is a boutique Animation and Visual Effects studio in Hell's kitchen, New York city created by Nicolas Fenrir Tengri, a mixed media artist, animator and anti-designer...
iwato Hyena AKA Drown the Riot is a neo-classical composer and sound architect... @DrownTheRiot
iamYork X Iwato Hyena Website iamyork.com
Lossless ALBUMS: iamyork.bandcamp.com
Synth Patches: iamyork.gumroad.com
Insta: instagram.com/i.am.york
My "traditional" Digital Animation and Independent Experimental Film Work can be found here: youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVWl_nVCEeEzujp534UtDOzOEcbFrA2k2
We reject the grip of algorithms, refusing to be defined by sterile metrics and empty validations. Life passes swiftly, but the things we create linger quietly beyond us. We don't aim for fleeting clicks or passing trends, but rather hope to offer something genuine. In our brief moment, we simply choose to craft, to shape, and perhaps gently speak some beauty into the silence. In the end, maybe our voices matter, not because they drown out silence, but because they dared to speak at all.
If comments have been disabled, it's because we've noticed that often those who contribute the least creatively have the loudest opinions, and anonymity can sometimes encourage negativity rather than thoughtful discussion. We genuinely apologize to anyone seeking meaningful exchanges. While turning comments off might affect how widely the video is seen, it's just become necessary for maintaining our own peace of mind...
#iamYork #dystopian #mushrooms
I grabbed a “microdose” from a random shady bodega and it wasn’t micro. I hopped on my bike and a few minutes later it slammed me. Colors popped, depth went weird, and sounds stacked on top of each other. I realized fast it was a macro-dose! I locked in on steady breathing, kept my line, and made the only goal getting home safe without doing anything stupid...
Spoken word by Renirō ● ● ● :
"Sun polite. Sky surgical. Brooklyn. Bootleg foil says microdose. Lie. Swallowed anyway. Planned a clean walk. City shows its teeth. Pavement breathing. Colors cutting sharper. Micro is macro. Mobility becomes survival. Borrowed bicycle. Pointed it toward sanctuary. Reached the door before it could turn pulpit. Muzzled the pigeons before they testified. Crossed before the crosswalk indicted me by name. Blocks lengthening. Air thickening. Keys in pocket feel like evidence. Front steps. Lights wrong. Hallway narrowing. Must write something rational. Stares. Stairs again. The building grows ribs and counts me. Walls clotting with slow jelly. Maintaining logic. Lighthouse without a sea. Keys unraveling like tin tapeworms. Hush. Fed the red lock its little prayer. Home now. Must be home...
Took them at dusk. Dealer's handshake left residue. Rorschach test on every surface now. Subway home. Fluorescents breeding. Woman has too many knuckles. Counted twice. Still wrong. Newspaper headline rearranging. Letters know what I did in 1987. Street level. Gravity negotiable. Sidewalk cracks filling with black honey. Mannequins blink in shifts. Coordinated. Building digesting me floor by floor. Stairwell smells like wet copper. Wallpaper breathing. Victorian roses opening mouths. They sing my social security number. Door remembers. Lock accepts key like communion. Inside now. Bathroom mirror dividing into cells. Reflection holding committee about my face. Faucet dripping morse code. Same message. Walls are only walls because I insist. Going to insist harder...
Tuesday. Took the dose behind bodega. Rats watched. Judging. Pavement developing pulse. City breathing through drains. Exhaling pigeons. Bus bench growing teeth. Advertisement faces know my sins. Billboard eyes tracking. Church steeple bending like accusing finger. Stained glass opening like eyelids. Verdict unfavorable. Corner store owner has three faces today. Rotating shifts. Sold me water. Tasted like pennies and apologies. Made it home. Lock breathing prayers. Building knows. Always knew. Walls exhaling patterns. Geometry testifying. Right angles confessing. Floor tiles rearranging into accusations. Writing this. Proof of coherence. Proof I'm still. Still what? Still people watching in shifts. Tomorrow explains itself. Or I explain to tomorrow. One of us is lying...
Wednesday. Swallowed them in the park. Mistake. Trees growing lungs. Breathing synchronized. Counting me. Subway tiles spelling accusations. Read backwards. Worse. Old woman has grandmother's hands. Wrong number of fingers. She knows. Made it home. Doorknob weeping. Lock accepts key like confession. Ceiling fan rotating through dimensions. Each rotation a verdict. Walls listening. Deciding... One of us is lying..."
iamYork is a boutique Animation and Visual Effects studio in Hell's kitchen, New York city created by Nicolas Fenrir Tengri, a mixed media artist, animator and anti-designer...
iwato Hyena AKA Drown the Riot is a neo-classical composer and sound architect... @DrownTheRiot
iamYork X Iwato Hyena Website iamyork.com
Lossless ALBUMS: iamyork.bandcamp.com
Synth Patches: iamyork.gumroad.com
Insta: instagram.com/i.am.york
My "traditional" Digital Animation and Independent Experimental Film Work can be found here: youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVWl_nVCEeEzujp534UtDOzOEcbFrA2k2
We reject the grip of algorithms, refusing to be defined by sterile metrics and empty validations. Life passes swiftly, but the things we create linger quietly beyond us. We don't aim for fleeting clicks or passing trends, but rather hope to offer something genuine. In our brief moment, we simply choose to craft, to shape, and perhaps gently speak some beauty into the silence. In the end, maybe our voices matter, not because they drown out silence, but because they dared to speak at all.
If comments have been disabled, it's because we've noticed that often those who contribute the least creatively have the loudest opinions, and anonymity can sometimes encourage negativity rather than thoughtful discussion. We genuinely apologize to anyone seeking meaningful exchanges. While turning comments off might affect how widely the video is seen, it's just become necessary for maintaining our own peace of mind...
#iamYork #dystopian #mushrooms
