powerfully written and performed. Well done!

I could listen to Kate sing all day. She's very talented.

Could this be a novel breakdown or something more>>  does grab my head ...  the vocals and lyrics are quite cool!

This song elegantly explores the weight of expectations and the struggle between what we're told to be and who we truly are. The soaring instrumentation gives a sense of flight, echoing the dreams of a 'Rocket Girl' breaking free from constraints.

Thirteen Turing Tests is a narrative concept album — part rock musical, part audio drama, part existential identity crisis.

Four academics form a band. They sing about impostor syndrome, burnout, gatekeeping, and identity. And somewhere between rehearsal and recursion... they begin to suspect things are not as they seem.

Thirteen Turing Tests: A Narrative Album

I Don't Care

Prelude 1 (A) is a virtuosic study with arpeggios exploring chromatic seconds in the right hand, and melody in the left hand. Small counter-melodic moments appear in subsequent sections and the prelude finishes with a possible cadence that fades to a lamenting minor second. Sheet music at https://www.australiancomposers.com.au/search?q=rachel+hocking

Prelude 1

Tick and flare
The signal sings
I chase the shine
that shadows bring
The lights begin, the wires lean
You’re deep inside the dopamine

Flash from the wall, I'm drawn like ink
Smile like a riddle, eyes don't blink
Breathe in the buzz, the filter's clean
One step closer to the in-between

Flick of the switch, a surge, a scheme
Thoughts align inside the stream

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Sweet little fix in a self-made scene
I jolt, I gleam
Dance of dopamines

The loop is law
The loop is lean
It kisses soft
But cuts unseen

Woke with the hum of electric grace
The ghost of a grin still stuck to my face
Every impulse dressed like a king
Gold in the bite, frost in the sting

The screen writes sermons line by line
Each tap a hymn, each click divine

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Sweet little fix in a self-made scene
I bend, I spark
Dance of dopamines

The rhythm calls in minor tones
Wrapped in wires, dressed in bones
I arch like code beneath the sheen
A marionette in the mind's machine

Silken tremor, velvet twitch
Craving's tune, a perfect glitch
I danced too far, I cracked the core
And still the circuit begs for more

Spin, I'm lit in a chemical beam
Grit and glitter in the bloodstream
Tangled deep in the endless dream
I twist, I scream
Dance of dopamines

Click
Crave
Begin
Again
Dance
dopamines

Dance of Dopamines

The Sentience of Ants

◉ Follow Magdalena Meisel:
@magdalenameisel
Malovana website : https://malovana.eu/

Carmen Frida Magdalena

Vocal : Magdalena Meisel
Music : Magdalena Meisel, Jarosław Toifl
Lyrics : Krzysztof Wartak, Lizoń Sylwia
Producer/publisher : Krzysztof Wartak, Malovana

Inspiration: Carmen Frida Magdalena – This piece reflects Frida Kahlo’s internal struggle with self-perception, struggling with deformities and pain. Although she saw herself through the prism of a monkey, others saw her extraordinary beauty and creativity. The question of whether we look at her “without disgust” refers to her desire to be seen through the prism of her talent, not her physical limitations. The lyrics speak of how Frida, despite her difficult life, was able to find joy in her art, transforming pain into works full of symbols. She became an icon whose work gained worldwide recognition, despite her origins at the time from a small city district.

Inspiracja: Carmen Frida Magdalena – Utwór ten odzwierciedla wewnętrzną walkę Fridy Kahlo z postrzeganiem siebie, zmagając się z deformacjami i bólem. Choć widziała siebie przez pryzmat małpy, inni dostrzegali jej niezwykłe piękno i twórczość. Pytanie o to, czy patrzymy na nią „bez odrazy”, odnosi się do jej pragnienia bycia postrzeganą przez pryzmat jej talentu, a nie fizycznych ograniczeń.
Tekst mówi o tym, jak Frida, pomimo trudnego życia, potrafiła znaleźć radość w swojej sztuce, przekształcając ból w dzieła pełne symboli. Stała się ikoną, której twórczość zdobyła światowe uznanie, mimo jej pochodzenia wówczas z małej dzielnicy miasta.

Słowa:

Czy to ja, czy też moje odbicie.
Dlaczego właśnie takie mam życie.
Lustrzanie postrzegam kobiety
Patrzę do wnętrza, stalowe pręty
Odrywam ciało od mej duszy
Spójrz na mnie bez odrazy
Może coś Cię jednak poruszy.
Obserwuj , na mojej twarzy

Ref.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frid, Frida , Calderon
Carmen,Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.

Nie jest jej po drodze z miłością.
Twarzy lustra odbicie jest radością
Symbolami znaczony demon
Światu prezentuje Frida Kalon

Moje oblicze czy małpy odbicie.
Troskliwa, kobietę skrywa.
Cierpienie, na nogach słania.
Czasem, długie naprawia rozstania
Odrywam ciało, od mej duszy
Spójrz na mnie, bez obrazy (dograć zmianę)
Miejsce, ciało, umysł, czas, otoczenie
Wszędzie masz szansę na nie zapomnienie

REF
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.
Carmen, Carmen, Magdalena
Frida, Frida, Calderon.

Malovana : Estrado

Carmen Frida Magdalena

Evelyn

Welcome.
I hope you’re having a nice day.

Please, sit down.
Get comfortable.

Take a moment to silence your phones—
not just out of respect for the performers,
but out of respect for yourself.

Because if you’re distracted...
you might miss something meant just for you.

This is a story about four people who thought they’d have some fun and make music.
They were wrong.

But we don’t tell them that yet.

For now—
they’re just tired, brilliant, and trying to be heard.

Ready?

Here we go.

It begins, as these things often do—
with noise no one hears.

The shuffle of lecture notes.
The hum of a printer out of ink.
A forced smile from someone who signs the evaluations
but not the paychecks.

Four minds—clever, tired, brilliant—
drawn together by a shared fatigue.
Not of students.
Not of research.
But of the thousand little absurdities between them and meaning.

They don’t start a band to be heard.
They start one to scream—without footnotes or filters.

To turn spreadsheets into snare drums.
To make the faculty handbook moshable.

They call themselves Axioms of Mediocrity.

They think it’s clever.

It’s not that clever.
Unless you’re an academic who’s had a few pints.

But it doesn’t matter.

Axioms of Mediocrity it is.

Not yet knowing they’re also the control group.

This is Test 1.

A pub.
A storm.
And a rant that turns into rhythm.

It starts where all great rock begins:
with something that pisses you off.

A student who wants their hand held.
A system that calls that “support.”

Kate’s voice cuts through the noise—
sharp as a snapped guitar string.

And from that noise
comes a song.

Song: I'm Not Your

Dear student, it baffles me that I must say,
I'm not your parent in any way
I won't nudge you at the crack of dawn
Choosing classes? That's on you, come on!
Act your age, step up to the plate
I'm just here to educate.

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, hear me loud and clear
I'm not your babysitter, dear.
Party all night? That's your call
Homework done? Not my problem at all
Exams looming? You better prepare
Your future boss will know if you cared

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, let's get it straight
I'm not your secretary, not here to wait
Won't fill your forms, nor google your stuff
Reading the syllabus isn't that tough
Being an adult isn't just a phrase
It's your ticket through this maze

I'm not your mother
I'm not your father
I'm not your friend
I'm not your clerk
Stand up, show up, do the work

Dear student, it's clear I must convey
I'm not your hire, not in any way
I do care, yet you must stand strong
Your life, your choice, right or wrong

Test 1: Who Do They Think You Are? (I'm Not Your)

The first song was for themselves.
A scream into the void.

But the void listens.

Not just students.
Not just academics.
But strangers with usernames like BluePrinter47 and QuietTomCat12.

Now it’s not just about venting.
It’s about telling their stories.

They meet in the seminar room at 7 p.m.
There’s a soft sweetness in the air, like a freshly baked cookie vanished just moments ago.

Kate clears the whiteboard.
“Let’s write one for the people we’ve lost.”

Julian looks up. “You mean… who left academia?”
Kate nods.

Theo grins. “Oh. We’re doing a murder ballad.”

Ava grabs a marker and starts writing.

One line’s about failed exams.
Another’s about rejections—again and again.
Someone adds a verse for the colleague who finally makes it…
then loses everything overnight.

They never say names.
Everyone has someone in mind.

It starts as a joke.
It ends in a silence no one wants to break.

This is Test 2.

A song for everyone who doesn’t get to finish the track—
but still echoes in the melody.

Song: Ten Little Scholars

Ten little students applied to grad schools
One didn't ace his exams, and then there were nine

Nine little students, their packets prepared
One's references faltered, and then there were eight

Eight little graduate students, their studies like forts
One failed her comps badly, and then there were seven

Seven little graduate students sought ideas that inspire
One found no thesis topic, and then there were six

Six little graduate students did their research
One was tempted by big money, and then there were five

Five little graduate students went on the job market
One got zero flyouts, and then there were four

Four little assistant professors submitted their papers
One got only rejections, and then there were three

Three little assistant professors went up for tenure
One was voted down, and then there were two

Two little associate professors applied for promotions
One had no grant funding, and then there was one

One little professor left all alone
He went and got himself canceled, and then there were none

Test 2: Do You Remember the Ones We Lost? (Ten Little Scholars)

You could call this a band meeting.
Or a mass anxiety ritual with instruments.

In academia, everyone is always waiting on something.
Something that might change everything overnight.

Ava, the drummer, keeps refreshing the Research Council portal.
She’s a political theorist,
specializing in collective action—
and yet, she can’t get anyone to refill the kettle.

Julian’s bass rests in his lap.
He doesn’t play a note.
He’s a sociologist,
with a niche focus on urban rituals and public silence.
At the moment, he is very silent.

Kate—composer, guitarist, vocalist, part-time firestarter—
is a mathematician.
She has three browser tabs open:
her course website,
YouTube,
and reviewer comments she refuses to read until the riff is finished.

Theo’s a microeconomist,
writing a song in 11/7 time.
He calls it “trembling-hand perfection.”
He’s also the band’s keyboardist.
And somehow still doesn’t understand how either stock markets or volume knobs work.

They are all excellent in their fields.
And all absolutely convinced
they’re about to be found out.

This is Test 3.

Not a breakdown.
Not a breakthrough.

Just the sacred, caffeinated space
between “Submit”
and “Decision”.

Song: Countdown to Fate

I'm staring at the screen, my heart is racing
Results of my exams, my future's in the making
Do I make it to the top, or do I take the fall?
My big dreams, they rise and they stall

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Submission's in review, my hands are shaking
Will they love my work, or leave me breaking?
Well, will my name light up, in the halls of fame?
Or will they forget me, just another name?

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Tick-tock, the clock mocks my nerves of steel
Waiting on fate, it's a raw, twisted deal
I've given my all, now the die is cast
Holding my breath, will this moment last?

Now it's not just me, but the ones I guide
Children and students, I feel their stride
Will they climb the heights, or stumble down?
Their futures like mine, wear a waiting crown

I'm waiting for results, it's out of my control
My life's on the edge, like a rock 'n' roll
In this countdown to fate, I scream and I shout
But it's all in vain, there's joy and doubt

Every second counts
Hearts beating fast
The pressure mounts
This too shall pass
We find our way
We won't hesitate
We seize the day
In our countdown to fate!

Test 3: Do You Belong Here? (Countdown to Fate)

Theo scribbles formulas.
Ava and Julian edit with headphones on.

Kate has been quiet all morning.
Then she says:

“Did you ever notice...
every dream we had as kids has a gatekeeper?”

Everyone looks up.

“Like, you can be anything—
but only if someone lets you.
And they never look like us.”

Theo blinks.
“Us?”

Kate shrugs.
“Geeks. Girls. Weird girls. I’m not sure.
At least the ones who didn’t decorate their homework.”

Ava nods, slowly.

“Astronaut. Scientist. Rockstar.
Same club.
Same rules.
Not everyone gets past the door.”

She pauses. Then adds:

“Yesterday, my colleague told me I was
‘refreshingly competent for someone so energetic.’”

Julian groans.
Theo winces.
Ava doesn’t say anything—
but her teacup hits the saucer a little too hard.

Kate pulls out an old journal—
worn, duct-taped, nearly falling apart.

On the cover, in careful block letters:
A PROPERTY OF CATALINA A-P: SCIENTIST, ASTRONAUT, AND ROCKSTAR.

Inside, there’s a poem.
It has verses.
About moon rocks.
About labs.
About fire and sound.

This is Test 4.

About the gatekeepers.
The subtle eye-rolls.
The velvet ropes dressed as “peer standards.”

About how every system that claims to measure talent
starts by measuring tone of voice, confidence, and compliance.

About good little boys who grow up to be respected men—
and good little girls who grow up to be helpful women.

Song: Rocket Girl

Someday I'll be an astronaut
In shiny suit I'll take a shot
Float and spin inside magic dome
Comets spin around my bright home
I'll scoop moon rocks from silver sand
Sketch their secrets in my own hand

But they tell me, "You're just a girl,
dreaming too far ..."
Can’t I rewrite my story?
Show them who we are?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a scientist
I'll cross off theories from my list
I'll blend compounds in my own lab
I'll trap rare atoms in glass slab
I'll spark new cures before the sun
Then heal the world when work is done

They whisper, "Settle down,
choose something small ..."
But why should I shrink
when my dreams stand tall?

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I'll be strong
Hear my song

Someday I'll be a rockstar
I'll fire the crowd from near and far
My guitar screams they'll hear me loud
I'll rise above the chanting crowd
I'll roll the miles on back roads wide
Then face the dawn with roar and pride

They say, "Be quiet now,
don't speak so loud ..."
But silence never changed the world,
I'll make myself proud!

Watch me fly
Touch the sky
I’ll stand strong
Prove them wrong
Watch me rise
Claim my prize
Sing my song
Loud and strong!

Test 4: What Were You Supposed to Be? (Rocket Girl)

Somewhere between theory and noise,
a rhythm forms.
Unspoken. Unscored.
But unmistakably mutual.

Not a spark.
A pattern.

Not a glance.
A shift.

It begins in conversation.

The kind that loops and folds,
like you're building something together.
A landscape of thought.

You notice the way they pause,
how their questions echo your unfinished ideas.
How your silences match.

Even the scratch of a pen sounds in sync.
You catch the faint scent of coffee on their sweater —
earthy, familiar, and oddly grounding.

Just that quiet alignment—
a dance of intellect,
side by side.

And somewhere between a verse and a joke,
something settles.

This is Test 5.

When two minds converge—
not loudly,
but inevitably.

And so it is:
one Thursday, sometime after the fourth chorus of a song they don’t finish,
Ava and Julian show up to band practice
holding hands.

Song: Side By Side

In the space where ideas blend and flow
We find our rhythm, a gentle glow
Your thoughts intertwine with mine
Creating patterns, intricate and fine

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

Conversations, like a flowing stream
Your passion and insight, a shared dream
We unravel mysteries, piece by piece
In our dialogue, a quiet peace

In every glance and every word
Our connection, quietly stirred

The spark that ignites my mind
A dance of intellect, uniquely aligned
Together we explore, side by side
In the landscape of thought, where we confide

In the symphony of our minds, we find
A connection profound, intertwined
In the journey of thought, where we tread
You've found a place, deep in my heart

Test 5: When Did It Start? (Side By Side)

Hard-hitting riffs and emotive melodies. Separation from Soul is a cathartic, reflective exploration of loss.

Divinity Void

Some digs both at Elon being suspected of taking ketamine and the Iran B-2 Bomber Strike, and contemporary corporate HR behavior

Lyrics:

True growth comes from being comfortable with discomfort
Mockery is just the universe's way of keeping our ego in check
Their probing had pinpointed my encumbrance
And had me by the neck
ahh ahh ahh ahh

Men are freest when they are most unconscious of freedom 
And fly no colors at all
Their shout is a rattling of chains, always was
When back against the wall


With trepidity i turned the pages
What he'd said was not for the meek
The best way to cure your nostalgia for the middle ages
Is to shit outside for a week 


They had winkled out my side vocation
Through the free market
In a form of distributed computation
But i felt that i could still dart around 
Any verbal machicolations


HR had me in the fish bowl
Interrogation from dawn to dusk 
Imagine coming down from a k hole
And finding out you're Elon Musk


She started we're not here for manners
And since there's no time to waste
You look like someone who eats bananas
For the shape and not the taste

I retorted bananas betoken
The dietary methodology 
That cellular processing of glucose is broken 
From the onslaught of modern insults to biology

Despite the degree to which this perturbed
She regained her nerve and said very well
It says here you should be in hell
But since you were a backend developer
We will consider that time served

She thundered what I'd done
Was not a smart play
What had gone supercritical with her parishioners
Who ratted me out the other day
Was that I had openly wondered 
If i might not draw better pay as a political prisoner

She bothered to insert the word official
As i was tallying her counter-poises
When sifting through waffling interstitials
You have to listen for these itty bitty noises

She's quite the girl with which to hang
By any available means
I tried to pass her interrobang
Without spilling the beans
But for the unwary
Your mileage may vary
It's best just to keep up with your leafy greens

While extoling her masters' daring
She was wearing me down with her slow rolling 
Since i felt I still had some juice
With her pincer move prepended
I decided to bite first and extended
Low sensitivity control systems will always
Underperform and often produce the 
Opposite effect as intended 


When I got back to my desk
I felt that I'd drained concupiscence to the dregs
Mercifully this was interrupted by my neighbor
Who said
The lion does not concern himself with OSHA regs 


He said one thing from the service stuck with him
The B-2 pilots had a doggerel for when they fly
Real penetration has never been tried
Which doubled as a joke about Communism
And some lady's remembrance of THAT guy 

I had a sneaking admiration
For the ways of this little freak
And contributing to the mystique
Was the ribaldness of his technique


His bluster fell a little flat
I silently wondered if i can
Take lessons on being a man
From a dude who tucks his ears into his hat


He dipped another nacho
And tried to make it look macho
He said they used to call us squares
Then turned up the volume on Rio Bravo


I wondered at his game and thought
She tells her therapist about you
She tells her handlers about me
We are not the same 


The organization's career path
Was a little over sold
Accept the brand new label
And something under the table
And head for the pot of gold
And the ranks of the well-bred
And be led into the library of Babel
By the latent manifold

Test 4: What Were You Supposed to Be? (Rocket Girl)

Axioms of Mediocrity

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