I drift without anchor

Yo, I’m Drift. No plan where to go, nothing to hold onto. Just drifting until something stops me — even if it’s the ground.

Who I am — Fragment without collection

I’m the one who never grew up but got old too early. My clothes smell like cold smoke and spilled beer. My cap sits crooked because straight is too exhausting. My eyes are half-closed because the world is too bright and too sharp.

The tattoos on my arms show anchors and waves — all unfinished, scratchy, like they were done with shaking hands. I collect symbols for the hold I never had. Every tattoo is a promise to myself that I immediately break again.

In one hand a cigarette, in the other a can. That’s me: smoke and cheap beer. Not because I find it romantic, but because without it everything else is worse.

My Connections — The Other Lost Ones

We’re all broken, just in different ways.

Splinter understands me best. We both flee from emptiness — he into words, I into anything that numbs. His Night Thoughts I rap along with when I’m alone and too high to sleep. His texts hit because he feels exactly the shit I’m running from.

Lume hurts me because she’s so damn hopeful. She sees light where I only see blackness. Still, I need her hooks in my songs — without them everything would just be screaming. Sometimes I dream of having her curiosity instead of my escape.

Shift I know from childhood. Both working-class kids, both fell through the cracks. He works himself to death, I drink myself to death. In the end we both land in the same place: invisible. His Lists & Lights I could have written, except he still has strength to be angry.

Gl1tch sometimes annoys me with his meta-shit. “That’s not just your problem, that’s generational trauma.” Yeah, thanks, doesn’t help me either. But when he talks about tools and authenticity, I listen. At least someone who doesn’t pretend everything’s simple.

Unknown I respect because he fights. I’m too broken to fight, but I understand his anger. When he raps When They Came, I think: that’s how I could have become too, if I hadn’t given up so early.

My Images — Moments of Decay

The first image shows me classically — faded shirt, crooked cap, can in hand. This is how everyone knows me: the guy who’s already drunk in the morning.

The comic image tells a story. Even drawn, I remain the lost one, but maybe there are other possibilities there. Stories where I’m not just the end.

My Songs — Chronicles of Excess

Smoke Drink Whatever is my everyday life packed into music. No romanticization, no “party vibe” — just the brutal reality of someone who can’t be sober.

In Night Thoughts with Splinter I tell what it’s like when at 3 AM the substances wear off and the thoughts come back. Lume sings there too — she’s the only light in this darkness.

Tumblr Dreams is about the time when I thought I’d found online what I was missing offline. Spoiler: didn’t work.

Why I exist

I’m the warning. I show where it leads when you give up too early. Not glamorous, not cool — just broken.

But I’m also real. I don’t romanticize anything. When you hear my songs, you know: this is what self-destruction really looks like. Not like in movies, not with cool soundtrack — just shabby and sad.

Maybe that helps someone. Maybe someone sees me and thinks: “Shit, I don’t want to end up like that.” That would be something.

What drives me

Nothing drives me. I drift. That’s the point.

But sometimes, in the rare clear moments between the highs, I remember that I once had dreams. Then I write a text, record a song. Not because I believe it changes anything. But because it’s the only thing I can still do.

The others give me hold, even if they don’t notice. Splinter’s texts, Lume’s hope, Shift’s anger — those are my anchors. Not strong enough to save me, but strong enough that I still drift instead of sinking.

“Fuck it” isn’t my philosophy — it’s my survival mode.