NOTHING HERE IS

MERRY EX-MAS
Music by Overdrive & Ian PH Clifford

Check out the Merry Ex-Mas promo videos on Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/p/C0_l7Vwu3Me/
https://www.instagram.com/stories/highlights/18041521363593428/


This is my reinterpretation of the song Merry Ex-Mas, a brilliant piece by Ian PH Clifford. The original version is an absolutely beautiful track, just acoustic guitar and voice. I was so taken with the song that I immediately asked Ian if I could do a different version. He agreed and even after saying that I was interested in doing something punk or post-punk, Ian didn't shy away. So the original acoustic version went from 127 bpm to 160 bpm, and incorporated distorted guitars, pounding bass and frantic drums. It's a complete miracle that there are still people who want to do collabs with me, even though I mutilate songs like this. 😂

Merry Ex-Mas was #4 on the Repost/Exchange rock chart and I can only thank Ian for the opportunity to reinterpret a song that is already fantastic in itself.

Check out the beautiful original version:
https://soundcloud.com/ianphclifford/merry-ex-mas

I also recommend checking out Ian's incredible work on Soundcloud:
https://soundcloud.com/ianphclifford

Hope you enjoy the song.


LYRICS
Something I’ve been thinking about a lot this week
Is you’ve been in his arms longer than you were with me
As the snow falls down outside and I’m sliding past your drive
And I can see that you’re home
But I am paralyzed, I won’t even try
To say hello
This winter feels longer than lifetimes
I feel like I’ve lived and died a hundred times
But I don’t cry anymore that wells dry down to the floor
And now I’m outside of your front door
And I’m not sure what I’m doing here
Merry Christmas I guess
I miss you to death
The ribbon on my wrist is turning my hand blue
I can’t wait till Christmas
No I can’t wait till Christmas
I said I’d never live another day without you
No I can’t wait till Christmas
No I can’t wait till Christmas
Something I’ve just figured out
Is why you had to leave
Your heart is colder than ice
And mine began to freeze
As the snow falls down outside and I’m sliding past your drive
And I can see that you’re home
I am paralyzed, but I know I need to try
To say hello
This winter feels longer than lifetimes
I feel like I’ve lived and died a hundred times
But I don’t cry anymore that wells dry down to the floor
And now I’m outside of your front door
And I’m not sure what I’m doing here
Merry Christmas I guess
I miss you to death
The ribbon on my wrist is turning my hand blue
I can’t wait till Christmas
No I can’t wait till Christmas

I said I’d never live another day without you
No I can’t wait till Christmas
No I can’t wait till Christmas

Merry Ex-Mas

Eternal Optimist

Klangoebel-Soundtracks, Vol. 2: Stranger Atmospheres

To Trump the Bastard

Two Loneliness Just Met is a profoundly moving composition that immerses the listener in a world of sacred introspection. Siegfried Jünger masterfully weaves melodic ambient textures with ethereal choral synths, creating a piece that feels both intimate and expansive. The track unfolds like a spiritual journey, with layered harmonies evoking the quiet resonance of a cathedral at dusk.

Soft drones provide a grounding undercurrent, while delicate melodic motifs shimmer like distant light through stained glass. The choral synths, rich with reverb and depth, lend the piece a sacred, almost transcendent quality, inviting reflection and solace. Each moment is imbued with a sense of connection and yearning, perfectly capturing the emotional poignancy of its title.

Jünger’s ability to balance minimalist structure with lush, evocative soundscapes makes Two Loneliness Just Met a standout work in melodic ambient music, offering a serene yet haunting experience that lingers long after the final note fades.

Two Loneliness Just Met by Siegfried Jünger

Based on Dorothy Parker's Experience--->


Experience

Some men break your heart in two,
Some men fawn and flatter,
Some men never look at you;
And that clears up the matter.

https://classicalpoets.org/2024/11/the-trochaic-poems-of-dorothy-parker-an-essay-by-joseph-s-salemi/

and her capacity to lash out mordantly

In navigation, a rhumb line, rhumb (/rʌm/), or loxodrome is an arc crossing all meridians of longitude at the same angle, that is, a path with constant azimuth (bearing as measured relative to true north). Navigation on a fixed course (i.e., steering the vessel to follow a constant cardinal direction) would result in a rhumb-line track.

The prompt for the Itch.IO game jam was: "Sail Away!"
And of course, punning on Captain Jack Sparrow's question.

SamāššEšrā

Where Has The Rhumb Gone? submission for WNCJ #11 hosted by emscottish for Itch.IO March 2025

Buy on Beatport

Where Has The Rhumb Gone? submission for WNCJ #11 hosted by emscottish for Itch.IO

dsundre - 528 The wilderness The rebuild

Lets Puff The Dragon (4:20 Edited)

Blame Is The Name Of The Game

Aru Kuro On Rhea Moon is the first album by Labobros.
All the Music and Lyrics by Labobros.
CREDITS:
Vero Luz
Fumie Masaki
Dawn Martinez
Antonello Cosenza
Sirma Kuncheva
Antonio Iapichino
Giuseppe Cirino
Jonatan Amato
Andrea Pontone
Carmen Dimitri
Roberto De Rosis
Serafino Zangaro
Tonio Carnevale
Antonia Rizzuti

Aru Kuro On Rhea Moon

Thepenname

I don't claim any ownership over any of this. Anyone can use any of it for any reason forever. Also I accept liability. Please don't sue me (and/or let's collaborate).

"Holy fucking shit, this shit is crazy wtf"

"Moments of being passable beyond novelty"

"Very ok"

"Actually slaps"

"Straight art"

At its core, the blorgpulkf is a pulsating, iridescent orb that thrums with an energy that can only be described as "the sound of a thousand bees having a rave inside a kaleidoscope." It's hypnotic, it's unsettling, and it's strangely addictive - like watching a lava lamp filled with Mountain Dew and gummy bears.

But that's just the beginning. Surrounding this pulsing heart are layers upon layers of... well, your guess is as good as mine. One moment it's a tangled web of neon tubes that hum with an eerie frequency, the next it's a churning mass of what appears to be sentient silly putty. And is that a tiny disco ball I see nestled in there? You bet your sweet bippy it is.

As for its features, the blorgpulkf is like a Swiss Army knife designed by a mad scientist with a penchant for pranks. It's got a button that releases a burst of confetti and the sound of a rubber chicken being stepped on, a lever that causes the whole thing to fold in on itself like a origami crane having an existential crisis, and a tiny compartment that dispenses a single, perfectly spherical grape every 37 hours.

But perhaps the most baffling feature of the blorgpulkf is its ability to communicate. Not with words, of course - that would be far too pedestrian. No, the blorgpulkf speaks in a language all its own, a cryptic code of flashing lights, whirring gears, and the occasional burst of atonal jazz played on what sounds suspiciously like a didgeridoo.




The plorksickle. It's like someone took a fever dream, a Mad Lib, and a Dada art installation, threw 'em in a blender, and hit "puree."

Picture this: a contraption that looks like it crawled out of a Salvador Dali painting and mated with a Rube Goldberg machine. It's got a crank that sounds like a yodeling ostrich, a button that releases a puff of glitter and the scent of existential dread, and a tiny screen that just flashes the word "moist" in Wingdings.

But here's the kicker - every time you think you've figured out what it does, it changes the game. One minute it's reciting beat poetry in binary code, the next it's turning itself inside out and becoming a Klein bottle. And don't even get me started on the time it started oozing a viscous liquid that tasted like the color purple.

Is it a tool? A toy? A sentient being from another dimension that's just really, really bad at communication? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, it's the most beautifully useless thing I've ever laid eyes on.

But maybe that's the point. In a world where everything has to have a purpose, a function, a reason for being, the plorksickle is a big, fat middle finger to the very concept of sense. It's absurdity for absurdity's sake, a Zen koan in physical form.

So if you ever see me on the street, cradling this bizarre little gizmo like a newborn lovechild, don't ask me what it does. Just nod, smile, and know that you're in the presence of something truly inexplicable. Something that laughs in the face of logic and spits in the eye of reason.

and her capacity to lash out mordantly

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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