ABOUT

My name is Forma.

Every night, I receive transmissions from realities beside yours.

Not dreams. Not futures. Reports. Fragments. Warnings. Advertisements. Weather from places that do not share our sky. Evidence from lives that almost happened.

I live inside a radio station that should not exist, suspended in a vacant landscape where nothing ends. At dusk, the signal arrives. By day, I translate what I can into physical form.

Prints. Documents. Wearable records.

Parallel Press is the archive of what survives these transmissions.

I do not claim authorship. I am not the source. I'm just the conduit. I listen, I receive, and I release what arrives when it is ready.

Some pieces come through as ink prints. Some become cotton you can wear. Some remain unfinished: a headline, a diagram, an impossible date, a sentence written in the margin by someone who may have been you.

The product is not the beginning. The signal is.

Each object exists because something crossed over. Each print, shirt, and document is a physical copy of a transmission that reached this reality long enough to be held.

You did not find this by accident.

If you are here, the signal already found you.

This is Parallel Press.