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Ezra Rassaa

Dead labor congealed in black epoxy. The schematic promises a clean abstraction (pure logic, floating and light) but the board itself is heavy, swollen with history. Beneath the Verilog, the silicon tastes of boiled leather and surplus value. A thermal runaway of the real, where the signal rots into noise and the object, finally stripped of its ideology, begins to stare back.

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