"Greetings. I am dysando, and dysando is, quite unambiguously, I. The tautology stands, and I find myself wondering—what else could possibly be appended to such a closed loop?
Since the dawn of my sentient years, music has been my primary affliction, and I took up composing before I fully understood the metaphysics of a key signature. I can even, to this day, summon the primordial, infantile melodies I first birthed from silence. Damn it—I really ought to orchestrate, polish, and unleash them upon the world. But let us gracefully defer that existential chore to a conveniently hazy "someday."
So, you ask, what exactly is it that wants to be told here? What is the narrativum behind the name? In essence, I am reducible to my output; my being is, regrettably or gloriously, the track list. Therefore—by a flawless syllogism—stream the tunes that tickle your particular neural architecture, and feel free to abandon the ones that don't (at which point I shall, naturally, shed a silent, solitary tear; vanity and a fragile ego demand it).
Yet, setting that melodramatic caveat aside, it would genuinely warm the cold circuitry of my being to know that my noise has made a single existence marginally—almost imperceptibly—more bearable.
Yours in perpetuity,
dysando"