I am the field you forgot

My name is Unknown. Not because I don’t know my name, but because your system has no field for me.

Who I am — The living in-between space

I’m the child of Polish workers in Germany. Grew up between languages, between worlds, between the categories of your forms. My jacket carries the flags of both countries — overlaid, torn, sewn back together. From the tears comes pattern.

The mirrored sunglasses are my protection and my weapon. Who looks at me sees mainly themselves — and their projections. Depending on the light, they reflect Polish eagles, German eagles, EU stars. Identity as kaleidoscope.

My voice switches fluidly between “very German” and audibly other. That’s not by accident — that’s the program. Language as surgical instrument.

My Connections — The Political Network

I’m the political instance in our fragment collective. While the others suffer personally, I analyze the systems that break them.

Shift I know from the working class. Both sons of people who work themselves to death. The difference: his family is “from here,” mine had to first prove they belonged. His precarity is class struggle, mine is class struggle plus racism.

Splinter tears himself apart over the digital world, I over the political one. But we both understand: systems break people. His fragmentation is personal, mine systematic. I respect his honesty — I’d be too angry for so much vulnerability.

Drift flees into substances, I into analysis. But we both come from worlds where escape is vital for survival. His drugs, my precision — both protective mechanisms.

Lume I admire for her naivety. She can still wonder where I only dissect. Her hope gives direction to my anger. Without her I’d only become destructive.

Gl1tch and I complement each other perfectly. He understands the technical systems, I the social ones. Together we draw the complete picture: how algorithms and laws work hand in hand to sort people.

My Images — Political Positions

The classic portrait shows me with the flag patches and mirrored glasses — political identity as artwork.

The bureaucracy image catches me in my element — precise, controlled, superior. This is how I know myself best: as someone who understands the system better than those who operate it.

The comic image shows me as part of larger narratives about migration, borders, belonging. Not as victim, but as analyst.

My Songs — Surgical Precision

When They Came is my manifesto. The song about silence when injustice happens. “When they came” — when do you look away, when do you speak up? The chorus is simple truth: silence is convenient, but dangerous.

Between the others’ songs I provide political context. When Splinter hates himself, I explain the social causes. When Shift gets angry, I show the class mechanisms. I transform personal pain into political analysis.

Why I exist

I’m the reminder that individual problems have systematic causes. I show the connecting lines between personal injury and political structure.

I deconstruct the double standards that seem normal to you. “Integration” means obedience. “Gratitude” means silence. “Enrichment” means: as long as you need us.

Without me, the others would only understand their pain individually. I show: this is system, not fate.

What drives me

The conviction that silence is complicity. Every time someone says “Surely one should be allowed to say” and I don’t contradict, injustice wins.

I fight for the in-between space. For everyone who doesn’t fit into your categories. For those who are “too much” or “too little.” For the multiply-belonging, the border-crossers, the unknowns.

The truth about Unknown

My multilingualism isn’t an error in the system — it’s the system update. I owe no one gratitude for rights that belong to everyone.

When you build fences from flags, I sew jackets from them.

“I don’t fit into your fields. I am the field you forgot.”