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SYSTM_LOG AGE 5 - WITNESSED MY SISTERS DEATH BY MY FATHER. CAUSE: ME SPILLING PEPPER AND BLAMING HER. SHE WAS 4. AGE 7 - RISE OF AN ABUSIVE STEP FATHER. BLACK EYES, BRUSES, BROKEN BONES, BURNS, SCARS, MENTAL ABUSE. RAISED WITH NO HOPE AGE 10 - INTRODUCTION INTO FOSTERCARE. NEW YEAR NEW FAMILY AGE 13 - BACK HOME WITH MOTHER. STEP FATHER RETURNS AGE 14 - SIBLINGS LOST IN FOSTER CARE, FORCED DECISION BY STEP FATHER. MENTAL ABUSE AND DEATH THREATS COMMON. AGE 15 - HOMELESS TO SLUMS HOTELS AGE 16 - LEFT STEP FATHER FOR DIFFERENT STATE AFTER MOTHER WAS ABUSED. SHE WAS ARRESTED, INTO BOYS HOME. WENT BACK WITH MOTHER AFTER SHE WAS OUT, STEP FATHER RETURNS, KIDNAPS SISTER, MOTHER TRIES TO GO BACK WITH HIM, UNABLE. FORCED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN STAYING WITH HER OR SCHOOL. I CHOSE SCHOOL. LIVED WITH A FRIEND TILL PLACED BACK INTO FOSTER CARE. AGE 17. AUNT ON FATHER’S SIDE TAKES ME IN. KICKS ME OUT 6 MONTH LATER BECAUSE SHE WAS NOT GETTING GOVERNMENT CHECKS TO SUPPORT ME. BACK INTO FOSTER CARE. REBELLED, FOUND A FRIEND TO STAY WITH UNTIL HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION AGE 19: ASKED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE I WAS STAYING IN. FOUND DIFFERENT PLACES TO LIVE INBETWEEN COLLEGE. DIFFERENT BREAK, HOLIDAY WITH DIFFERENT FRIENDS AND FAMILIES AGE 22 KICKED OUT OF THE EDUCATION DEPARTMENT BECAUSE I WAS NOT A GOOD VISUAL EXAMPLE FOR THE COLLEGE. I WAS JUST POOR AND PAYING FOR EVERYTHING ON MY OWN. DEPREESION SETS IN. AGE 23 - GAVE IN, EMOTIONALLY DEAD, MY LIFE IS JUST A SERIES OF UNFORTUATE EVENTS AND NOTHING I CAN DO TO CHANGE THINGS. SUCIDAL DEPRESSION KICKS IN. ONE SAVING GRACE. REALIZATION IT WAS ONLY ME THAT COULD CHANGE ANYTHING. AGE 24 - DISCOVERS DESIGN. WAS ONLY A CLASS TAKEN TO KEEP GPA UP. HIRED TO DO WORK. ASKED ADVISOR TO FOCUS ON GRAPHIC DESIGN. HE TOLD ME NO. I DROPPED OF OUT COLLEGE. LEARNED EVERYTHING ON MY OWN NETWORKED ALL ON MY OWN WORKED HARDER THAN ANYONE I KNEW. FAILED. GOT BACK UP FAILED AGAIN GOT BACK UP. FAILED AGAIN. FUCK YOU, I WILL NOT GIVE UP 20 YEARS LATER. MY LIFE IN A BOOK STOP MAKING EXCUSES
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frwrd_
HYDRO74 defiance the story The first 5 years of my life were as normal as you can ask for. Few memories exist of good times and the mental understanding of the moment. From riding big wheels with my sister to train tracks to coming in from the back yard covered in dirt with her from enjoyment of being kids. Even remember my 4th birthday party where I got a Cookie Monster cake and had to steak the cookie from cookie monster even if it was just icing. I also remember eating all the marshmallows out the Lucky Charms box while on a bus ride and leaving my sister just the cereal bits. All these are there because they became precious moments of normality before things changed. In the fifth year of my life, the road to ruin began. During the day I was playing with a salt and peppershaker, pretending they were robots. Still remember the feel of 70’s diner styled small kitchen table we had that was up against the wall in the kitchen. During this time, I ended up taking the top off of the pepper and making a mess because the salt robot won. Instead of cleaning it up, I pushed it under the salt and pepper holder and didn’t think much of it. That night I became a little sick, so my mother gave me a cough drop and had to go to pick up some things from the store. While she was gone, like a normal child, I played with the cough drop making my hands sticky and getting fuzz all over my hands due to the couch. I walked to the bathroom and as I opened the door, I see my sister in the corner crying with my father kneeling and putting pepper in her mouth. As I washed my hands, my dad yelled, get out. Keep in mind, I had no clue what was happening nor questioned it, I was only five. Don’t remember much till shortly later when I hear my mother crying and hearing my father say ‘call the police’. It was chaotic but I walked to the bathroom to see my sister in the bathtub that was halfway filled with water. I tried waking her from her sleep, and after things go dark from the memory. One night shortly after this, I had a very odd dream that I cannot shake to this day. I remember my sister coming to me as a puppet, and me asking where are you, I miss you, I want to play. The response was ‘I can’t, I’m in a better place and I will see you soon.’ Paraphrasing, since this was age 5, but was an odd dream. I remember it made me not miss her as much and gave me peace, even though I had no idea that happened. The concept of death wasn’t to my understanding. Around Age 6 my mother got pregnant with my brother Justin from some guy I didn’t know. Over the next couple years I developed a bond with him and actually enjoyed having a brother. By age 7 my mother started dating who would be soon my stepfather who I didn’t like. Within a short while they were married and the events of chaos took effect. Being 7 and getting punched in the face is a game changer and watching my mom get abused because she looked at some guy or did something that he didn’t like became a norm. As my brother got older, the abuse came to him as well. Black eyes and fear for your life because he would enjoy choking you was a regular weekend. One time I forgot to water his beloved dogs and was throw down the stairs to the basement and an iron teakettle thrown which hit my head. Covered in blood, door locked, I had to stay down in the basement with the dogs till my stepfather felt it was time to let me out. Wasn’t a bad cut, just enough to cause a mess as giant welt. During this time my mom tried to leave him several times, but each time going back to him and the abuse got worse for all of us. We became masters of knowing my step father where if you pretended to be passed out as he was choking you against the wall, the sooner that part would stop but never dulled the punching because he found a dirty dish or you spilt his beer. Typical weekend included REO Speedwagon, to Meatloaf, Bat out of hell to Conway Twitty to the Ballet of the Green Beret. Pretty much as soon as the country music started it was wise to find a corner and make yourself invisible. By the time the Ballet record came on, hell and fury were on the verge of release. The man was a Vietnam vet and tormented by his tour, and guess between that and drug fueled / beer fueled emotions, we all were targets.
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In third grade my stepfather branded my hand with H by tattooing. My fathers name was Harold and he hated him, but hated me more since I was a Smith. My mother saw the tattoo and in a drunk fueled argument he changed the H to a diamond. Around that same time he left a giant burn mark on my arm from playing a no pain, no gain game. Concept was simple, at least to him, where he wrapped a dollar around your wrist, and you had to hold it. He would light a lighter under and burn the face and if you pulled away you got punched but if you held it, you got to keep the dollar. There was no winning on this. One night when Airwolf was on TV, I was washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. My stepfather walked over and found a greasy dish so a hard punch to face and told me to get it right. Few minutes later he found another dish that wasn’t to his liking, another hard punch to the jaw occurred. Eyes heavy in tears, trying to not make a sound because that would only caused more effect to that cause of noise, I swept the floor. He walks in, sees a spot I missed, just a tiny little spot, and the last punch to face. This one fractured my jaw. I couldn’t open my mouth and once done went to my room. I remembered he left with our cousin Pee Wee and I went to tell my mom I couldn’t move my jaw, she did nothing in typical fashion. Probably just scared if she did he would retaliate on to her. Shortly after, my brother, two sisters and I had to go to a baby sitter and during this time, I had a giant black eye. During the day the baby sitter kept asking how this happened, and each time I lied and said it was from a baseball I didn’t catch. She didn’t buy into this and social services were called. Within a few hours we all were in foster care system, a case against my father came up where he went to prison for abuse and a new path set forth. The years of foster care were an odd time. I stayed with three families in three years moving around to different schools. First family was a strict black Baptist family in the middle of the worst neighborhood. Looking back, you could tell she was doing this for the money, not for the want to help kids. Second family was a catholic family in a nice area of town. Rather enjoyed this family and remembered crying when they didn’t want me to live with them anymore. Not sure of the reasons, but keep in mind my past, I probably did things or said things that were not good but was part of my life before. Last family was Baptist family that was retired and living in a trailer park. I really didn’t like them that much since music was banned and you had to go to church 3-4 times a week. Also didn’t help that my mom told me to be bad so I can come home quicker. Well, as years passed, I was finally able to go back to live with my mom. I was the test subject I guess to see if she could handle having kids back in her life. During the time she was involved with a biker gang and remembered going to the biker bar and drinking all the coke I wanted, stealing quarters from the pool table and having to ride on the back of bikes as we went places. It was oddly fun and started to get a best friend where we would go and steal toys and garbage pail kid cards from Wal-Mart. We could never afford, but enjoyed the task to see who could get the most stuff. All this changed when one day getting off the bus, walking in, I see my stepfather in the house. Guess my mom wanted him back and nothing really changed. The abuse was minimal, but mental abuse became a norm, and find a switch so you can get your ass spanked a norm. Guess he learned that no one looks on the ass or body. During this time we moved a couple times, again, new schools new friends, and my mother was trying her best (I guess) to get my brother Justin and two sisters back from the foster care system till one day when my step father gave her no choice. We had to leave the state because he oldest son tried to take his life (which was a lie) but pretty much killed any chance to have my mom get the kids back. Come to find out this was a calculated choice she he gave adoption rights to the kids and shortly after got adopted. *Side note Years later I talked with Justin, guess the family was an awesome family. Lead a normal life, got to go to college, had a family that cared, but he fore some reason got into Meth and had issues. After that I refused to talk to him because I could not allow a meth user into my life, family or not. Just odd to know he had the world at his hand and chose the same path that my mother and stepfather laid out. After we left the state, both my parents could not hold a job, got deeper into drinking and drugs. There was a part where we were homeless living on the woods till they were able to get a room at slum hotel that three of us could live in. During that time my mother got pregnant again and we eventually moved into a budgeted
duplex. Welfare and food stamps were the normal means for everything. I ended up getting my first job at McDonalds where as an escape, I could work more hours, school and avoid too much time at the house. I worked 25-35 hours a week and oddly liked my job. Became close with my friend Michelle and Mark that later would become people that helped me out a lot. Each check made was given to my step dad and he was able to score drugs. The abuse at this point was gone, just scared. It was normal for him to tell you ‘you’re lucky to be living, I can kill you at any time’ and made a lot of threats. It took a mountain of courage just to ask to go to a friend’s house in fear he would do something just because he was bothered. But one night, things set a new course in motion. After an evening of work, (oh, should mention, I’m a freshmen in high school.. But I was held back a couple grades so was older than most kids) a friend dropped me off at home. I saw my mom outside the duplex crying. I asked what was wrong and she said he beat the shit out of her for turning of his truck. At this moment I felt total rage, and all I wanted to do was go in and beat him till there was no breathe left. I grabbed a pipe in the back yard and started to head in. My mom did everything in her power to stop me, calm me and not allow me to do what I wanted to do. Instead she said she would go in and grab my sister and we would leave to a different state where one of her relatives lived. So held back and we left. Within two nights of being in Ohio, the cops come to her relatives house, guess they have warrant for her arrest for something that happened long ago, but was all staged by my step father. Instantly my sister went into foster care and I went into a boy’s home. I was really the only innocent kid there were all the others have done shit, like series shit and had serious issues. Oddly enough, I got along with them; guess all of us had a common bond that we had shitty parents. Few months passed and she was let out of jail and finally got a place to get my sister and I back, a slice of normalcy started. The system I was in gave my mom money to help me get clothing, instead I got a couple goodwill sets and she kept the rest. This was my 10th grade year in high school. New school, made new friends, got my first girlfriend, my first kiss; I was enjoying this new chapter in my life. Everything was going great till one afternoon I walked in and sees my stepfather. Instantly slammed against the wall, guess my mom said I was not being a good kid and got choked and yelled at. That night I went to bed early, fearful and next morning quietly went to school. When I came home, the house was empty. No stepfather, no sister. My mom got home from work and come to find out he came to kidnap my sister from my mom. Everything was in a panic and few hours passed and the cops came for my mom for the past case that she went to jail for. We hid till they left and ended up walking to a truck stop to find a ride back in Indiana. No truckers would take us and it wasn’t for my mom trying any means to help get a ride. Walked back and the next day gave all of our belongings to the family behind use just to get a 3-hour drive to Indiana. My mom and stepfather met, he wanted nothing to do with my mom anymore, so she used what was left of her paycheck to fund a slum hotel to sort out what to do. We had no home, stuck in Indiana with no car, no nothing. Few days went by and she asked me to make a choice. Stay with her or choose high school and stay with a friend. I chose friend and she promised she would come to get me once she found a place. Well, that was the last time I saw here till college when I went to Florida on spring break to find her. I stayed with a friend for a week before the parents realized my mom wasn’t coming for me. I was placed back into foster care again and by the time my 10th grade year came to a close, my Aunt from my real father side came in to get me. I had family? This was a blessing, something that I was excited about and finally, no more foster care. 6 months into living with them, I was kicked out because they were not making money off of me from the social system. All I was, was a paycheck. There was no way I was going to live in foster care. Thankfully during this time I took my old job at McDonalds back and my friend Michelle came to rescue. Her family agreed to take me in and this was not without it’s merit. A daughter taking in a random guy, no parent in their right mind would do this, but they did. This was probably the first time I believe I fully let myself immerse myself into this a family aspect. I really did enjoy living with them, probably wasn’t the best kid, but really did love living there. One night I told the father, he was the closest thing to a father I had, and I thanked him. He just answered back, ‘I’m not your father’. That devastated me, not that I didn’t know he wasn’t my father, but knowing that slap in the face with the realization of circumstances.
I became introverted. Worked as much as I could, hung out with friends as much as I could. Anything to not be there or be their burden. One day I decided to go to library and looking up my sister’s death in the paper. Spent an hour searching since I didn’t know dates. As I found it, I began to read, it said ‘he was punishing her for spilling pepper...’ in that moment I had a flash back where I remember blaming her to to my mom. Then the deepest of pain, pure heartache in tears began to take me over.... I was the reason why she was dead. It was my fault. It was my doing, I assisted with her passing and nothing you could tell me would change anything. Then I looked back and began wishing it was me, I was responsible, maybe the path would of been different for her and maybe my mother would of made different choices.. Should of been me. I deeply wanted it to be me. By the time I graduated, I was asked to move out. I moved in with a friend that I was going to college with and each break, each holiday and summer I found different people to stay with. Became a normal thing for me. I decided I wanted to teach, I wanted a white-collar job and something that helped me break free from the past. I wasn’t smart, I was paying for everything on my own and lucky enough to get some grants, but I wanted something better for myself. Within a year, I was told I would not be a good representation for the program and would not be selected to student teach when the time game. Depression set in, I had no other choices. Along with this I find myself in a deep suicidal depression and looking at every aspect of the past to now and where I fit in. I locked myself in my room in college and found myself deep in prayer, just asking for a sign to not take my life, and reason to move on, a spark of hope of knowing I’m not in this alone. Something. I started to look at methods on how to do this and what would be the best solutions.... But in the final hour, one simple realization came forth. There is no god, there is no faith, there is no nothing. The only person that can fix your shit is you. There is no magical lottery ticket to fix my shit, only me. I am the only one that gives a fuck about me, no one else does. Once this thought came forth, it changed me. I still had no clue what I wanted to do, but all I knew, this was all on me, and I needed to say fuck you to the past and live for the today. During spring break, I went with some friends to Florida. I caught wind that mom was there so I did some calling and found an address. As I walked up to the door she opened. She had a new family, two new kids and it dawned on me, she had no plans of coming back for me. She was just as fucked up as my stepfather. We were just emotional pawns in her game. I tried to play the nice son. Helped with money here and there, tried to play brother and sister, but I couldn’t. I realized when I made that choice to defy the past; I made a choice to defy all of it. I had no room for them in or wanted to go down any of those roads to only be part of what I tried so desperately to escape from. My final year of college I got involved in Graphic Design. Never wanted to be a designer, but thought this would be an easy class since I already took all the drawing and painting classes. During this time I posted some stuff on geocities (free website) and ended up getting a few jobs with record labels. I didn’t even own a computer and had to use the school’s computers during the summer. It was a baptism by fire since I would not send correct file sizes, colors, merged templates, you name it, I failed at it, but eventually done and paid for. After I made a routine of going to Barns and Nobles and writing down every email address I could find in all the music magazines and send 200- 300 emails weekly just to try to find work. When I talked to my guidance councilor he said he could not support my independent study on graphic design since it was a form of whoring yourself out. This I could not stand, the one thing I found that might give me hope to have a career again, taken away, .. Oh fuck you and fuck no. I never wanted to be a designer, just saw this as means and to be honest, I pushed harder because I was defining my defiance to prove I can. Years later, may failures, many success’s, many late night hours and full days with all of this learnt on my own with no help, networked on my own, connected on my own and pushed all on my own, here I am today. I’m grateful for this path that was chosen. Any other path I would not be here to present you with this book of work I’ve done. Thank you for reading
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book dedication to those that expected me to fail.
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HYDRO74 HISTORY
PERSONAL BRANDING HAS ALWAYS BEEN A CHALLENGE SINCE I ALWAYS STRIVE TO EVOLVE. HERE IS A COLLECTION OF LOGOS I’VE USED OVER THE YEARS.
LO G O HISTORY 2000 - 2011
2004 - 2008
2009
2010 - 2015
2011 - 2015
IN THE BEGINNING 2K
2015 - 2016
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2015 - 2016
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1994 I DISCOVERED THE INTERNET FOR THE FIRST TIME. WHEN I DECIDED TO TAKE DESIGN CLASSES ONLY TO KEEP A GRADE POINT AVERAGE UP, I DISCOVERED THIS THING CALLED ANIME AND TYPE. POORLY DONE ILLUSTRATIONS AND TYPE PIECES WERE THE FOUNDATION THAT BUILT THE BRIDGE OF WHAT IT IS TODAY. 2K WAS THE BIRTH OF H74
SYSTM_ENGAGED
2k00
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SYSTM_LOG
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funkwerks
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mecha ape v c t r . f r m t : s y s t m
creation:2/18/2005 Untitled-2 2-3
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board dev 2K
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SYSTM_LOG
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laser engraved
laser boards
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SKATEBOARDS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PART OF THE DNA OF WHY I FELL IN LOVE WITH DESIGN. FROM MY FIRST ALIEN WORKSHOP BOARD I DISCOVERED THE BEAUTY OF ART ON WOOD. DURING MY PROCESS I TEAMED UP WITH LASER ENGRAVERS AND STARTED MAKING BOARDS. NOT AN ORIGIONAL CONCEPT BY ANY MEANS, BUT SOMETHING THAT I WANTED TO EXPLORE, TEST AND DEVELOP.
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PROJECT: PLAN B / DEV 2K07
SKATE BOARDS
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PROJECT: PLAN B / DEV 2K07
SNOW BOARDS
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CLIENT_ENDEAVOR SNOWBOARDS
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type treatment 2K
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CLIENT_BURTON SNOWBOARDS
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2002 - 2015
CLIENT_BURTON SNOWBOARDS
d_constructed / re:constructed
lettering
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CLIENT_BURTON SNOWBOARDS
CLIENT_BURTON SNOWBOARDS
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apparel dev 2K
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SYSTM_LOG
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laser engraved
action sports
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NOT EVEN SURE HOW THE SERIES OF EVENTS HAPPEN. MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE THE INTERNET WAS A COLLECTIVE OF MINDS WITH DESIGN PORTALS GIVING ARTIST A LINK IN A DAILY NEWS FEED THAT WE CHECKED DAILY. OR MAYBE IT WAS JUST LUCK, BUT WORKED WITH THE VAST MAJORITY OF ACTION SPORTS BRANDS. NOT ALL PIECES WERE WINNERS, BUT IT WAS FUN TO EXPLORE.
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illu stration 2K
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laser engraved
ILLU STRATION
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various print pieces
star wars
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GAMING
PROJECT YI
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vinyl silk screened promo
sticker robot
vctr.frmt:systm
Hydro74Book.indd 186-187
5/15/20 10:34:32 PM
iconic dev 2K
Hydro74Book.indd 188-189
5/15/20 10:34:32 PM
SYSTM_LOG
Hydro74Book.indd 190-191
GAMING
strike fast
vctr.frmt:systm
STRIKE HARD / STRIKE FAST THESE WERE A SERIES OF MORE AGGRESSIVE IDEAS AND VIEWS TOWARDS DESIGN, WORLD AND POLITICS. AGREE OR DISAGREE, TO BE ABLE TO VOICE A IDEA VISUALLY AND VOCALLY IS THE CRUX TO FINDING YOUR VOICE AS A DESIGNER. TO STAND FOR SOMETHING VS NOTHING AT ALL IS THE REAL MEASURE OF HUMANITY.
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Hydro74Book.indd 192-193
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Hydro74Book.indd 194-195
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Hydro74Book.indd 196-197
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GAMING
iconic dev
vctr.frmt:systm
Hydro74Book.indd 198-199
5/15/20 10:35:31 PM
Hydro74Book.indd 200-201
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Hydro74Book.indd 202-203
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gaming dev 2K
Hydro74Book.indd 204-205
5/15/20 10:35:48 PM
SYSTM_LOG
Hydro74Book.indd 206-207
GAMING
gaming dev
vctr.frmt:systm
GAMING HAS BEEN A COG IN MY LIFE SINCE I FIRST GOT TO PLAY ON THE ATARI 2600. IT WAS A FORM OF SOCIALIZING ON A NEW SYSTEM, FROM BOARD GAMES TO DIGITAL. COUNTLESS HOURS SPENT ON SEGA GENESIS, NES, BARROWED GAMEBOYS *NOT STOLEN.. COULD OF BEEN, I AIN’T SAYING SHIT. ANYWAY. NEVER OF WOULD OF THOUGHT I WOULD MAKE IT THIS SECTION, BUT .. I DID. LET THE GAMES BEGIN.
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Hydro74Book.indd 208-209
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Hydro74Book.indd 210-211
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Hydro74Book.indd 212-213
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Hydro74Book.indd 226-227
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Hydro74Book.indd 232-233
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Hydro74Book.indd 234-235 5/15/20 10:37:33 PM
various print pieces
dungeons dragons
vctr.frmt:systm
Hydro74Book.indd 236-237
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Hydro74Book.indd 238-239
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Hydro74Book.indd 240-241
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Hydro74Book.indd 248-249
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Hydro74Book.indd 250-251
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