𝙱 𝚣 💧

arranged hope in the wrong climate.

Gn legend

It allowed everything, and kept nothing.

It kept the imprint without a body.

the wind never asked for permission to pass.

Some nights feel closer to an ending than a tomorrow. They say speaking before the silence settles can change the story. So this is me, speaking... Is there anyone who believes a young artist in the middle of nowhere is worth keeping alive?

want to reach me? beep me

WHEN SILENCE IS THE ONLY WITNESS, DO YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF ?

CLEAN ENOUGH TO FORGET. NOT ENOUGH TO END !

HOW MUCH TRUTH CAN BE CARRIED BEFORE IT BENDS ?

WHO KNOWS WHAT NEVER HAD A VOICE ?

EVEN IN RUIN, IT REFUSES SURRENDER.

What remains resists being erased.

Hi everyone, I’m an experimental producer and composer. If you’re looking for a piece of music that truly reflects your inner world, something personal, honest, and made in your own name, I’d love to create it with you. Not something predictable. Not something copied. Something real. Something that feels like you. This isn’t about business or money for me. Especially living in ... , in a time and place that isn’t easy, I won’t pretend I don’t need support. I do. But more than that, I’m here for connection. I’m here for building something meaningful together. For turning emotions into sound. For trusting each other. For holding each other’s spirit through music. If you feel that kind of resonance, if this speaks to you even a little, I’d be honored to work with you. Thank you for reading. Stay true. Stay based. With respect, Bized

Some silences refuse to be buried.

WHO THE FUCKIN CARE ? #IRANMASSACRE

Drawn with blood. Named with love. This is not a map. This is a wound. Iran is a great civilization. A beautiful land. Rich in history, culture, and potential. And yet, for 47 years, it has been pushed toward ruin. Our brightest minds are killed. Our most beautiful souls are buried. We wanted to connect with the world. To be known for art, science, and humanity. Not for extremism and darkness. We wanted normal lives. Nothing more. We are drowning in a grief that has no shore, each tear a whisper for the lives stolen, the dreams silenced, the songs never sung. This world cries endlessly, a river of mourning that cannot be held back, for every life lost carries a universe of love, hope, and tragedy that will never breathe again. And in the end: Those who died this year were the most loving among us. Stay in love. Stay human. Be the voice of Iran. And stay Based 💙 Love and peace 🕊️ And it is still bleeding ... - Fragment VI -

We are still here. Just harder to see. Young people in Iran grow up differently. We check war news. Internet shutdowns. Currency prices. Inflation. Every day. At 16 or 17, some write farewell letters before going to protests. Because they know they might not return. We are talented. Athletes. Scientists. Artists. Lovers of life. But trapped. How can someone with a degree, with a job, with effort, still earn $150 a month? No car. No home. No basic rights. No freedom. Is a penguin on the internet more important than our deaths? Is a viral video more valuable than our blood? Every number in statistics is a human story. - Fragment V -

Their last song was never played. All my work disappeared. All my efforts collapsed. Months of building. Months of consistency. Destroyed in days. Even a $5 weekly reward meant hope to me. A reason to continue. A small light in darkness. I had daily streaks in projects. 90 days of discipline. 90 days of belief. Gone. In this world, whales play with thousands of dollars. And people like me fight for survival. Still, I chose art. Not for money. For expression. For healing. For staying human. Sometimes, a daily airdrop becomes your reason to live. That’s how broken things are. Some concerts are held in cemeteries. The ground is listening now. - Fragment IV -

Silence is what remains after bullets finish talking. I am 25 years old. I’m an experimental producer. I work in engineering and architecture for about $170 a month. I lost my father. I lost friends. I lost people I grew up with. I tried to build a future. Through art. Through music. Through crypto and airdrops. Through any possible way to survive. Not because I wanted luxury. Because I wanted dignity. Then one man decided to cut us off from the world. No internet. No calls. No messages. For days, total silence. Imagine hearing gunshots, seeing people resist, and knowing nothing about the outside world. Then suddenly learning your loved ones are dead. This street has learned, how to hold its breath. - Fragment III -