What is NETX1
NETX imagines a world envisioned, year 2075 where the hollow years of 2008–2025 never happened and are corrected. The years 2025-2075 are a correction period. Where the timeline jumped directly from the tangible passions of the late 90’s and early 2000s into the raw future of 2075. A future built not on conformity, but on vision. Not on apology or victimhood, but on desire. A reconnection to what matters. Love, desire, God, personal connection, tangibility.
The Vault exists as a dream to preserve what mattered, and burn away what didn’t. It is a chamber of memory and prophecy, where the icons who shaped us are never forgotten, and where the fantasies that once fueled are given new fire.
The Vault is not always polite. It is not safe. It is power, beauty, rebellion, and the ache of longing. Every page, every image, is an act of defiance — proof that desire cannot be erased, only hidden, only waiting to be unlocked.
Where the Vault Began
The original Vault wasn’t digital. It didn’t glow with neon or hum with circuitry. It was wood—rough, pine, and new when I bought it. A military-style crate with a simple latch that only I knew how to open. It wasn’t technically locked, but you had to know the trick. That made it mine.
I kept it hidden—slid under my bed, tucked out of sight but never out of mind. Inside lived a secret, sacred chaos: adult magazines, Zippo lighters, photos of friends, a red bandana I would one day place in a friend’s casket. There were sketches—female forms scratched in pencil. Torn clippings from magazines. Journals. Scribbled fragments of thought. Memory. Identity.
It wasn’t just a porn stash. It was a container for my curiosity, creativity, and defiance. A place where I could preserve the pieces of myself the world wasn’t ready to see. It was messy—but I knew where everything was. It had its own logic. Its own truth.
Sometimes my mother would raid it when I was away. She’d remove what she didn’t think I should own. Those moments felt like deep violations—not just of privacy, but of something more sacred. Even that, though, added to the mythos of the Vault. The knowledge that this space, however vulnerable, was worth protecting. That my hidden world mattered.
Then came the drift.
When I left for college, the crate stayed behind. The collecting didn’t stop—but the rhythm changed. A magazine here. A movie there. But the Vault was disjointed, unfocused. I wasn’t tending it the same way.
Then marriage. And with it, an unexpected retreat. I had to hide my desires even more than I did as a teenager. My curiosities, my creative hunger—boxed up again. Labeled in my mind as “safe.” But buried. Compartmentalized. The Vault dimmed.
But it never died.
With the digital era, I found a new container. A new space. A new identity: NETX. Anonymous. Untraceable. A name that let me build again—quietly. The Vault was reborn online. A digital archive. A private gallery. A new kind of community. It felt alive again.
Until it was shut down.
The platform that hosted us—one that once prided itself on protecting creativity, freedom, and voice—caved. Apple threatened to remove the platform if it didn’t conform to new App Store content rules. In the end, they folded. Censorship won. The content was banned. The collection vanished. The community scattered.
For years, I searched for a way to rebuild.
And for the last three, I’ve been doing just that—online, offline, and somewhere in between. A hybrid space. Tangible. Private. Quietly growing.
Now, finally, it’s being shared.
NETX1 