The Jabs

The Jabs [2021 - 05 - 06 124228]

Umrandungen, Vol. 1

Umrandungen-01-11 (Remastered 2025)

‘ONE MoRE TRiP (ft. IAMDevante’)’ is a HUGE, genre-defying, track, combining atmospheric hip-hop, with alternative dance. 

Driven by an incredible, passionate vocal, from the ever-profound; IAMDevante', this unique and multidimensional production, takes us on ONE MoRE TRiP down memory lane… and conveys a commanding message of introspective self-discovery… acceptance… and empowerment…


Check out and follow the mythical, multi-talented, IAMDevante' :

https://on.soundcloud.com/VM5JYlbEyKuHDwH8mI

https://www.instagram.com/iam.devante_?igsh=MThycTYwb3p2dDY4dg==

@iam.devante_

ONE MoRE TRiP (ft. IAMDevante’)

Live Performance by PANdemonium4 Flute Quartet on Aug 3rd, 2025. Sylvia Vance Concert Series - Church of the Master united Methodist - Westerville, Ohio, USA

Inspired by a night in Morocco's desert, 'Dust in the Wind' evokes a desert storm through a rich palette of flute techniques. Fluttering textures, breathy tones, and sharp bursts of air recreate the escalating intensity of the wind. As the storm fades, the piece gently returns to serene tranquility.

Dust in the Wind for Flute Quartet - Live Performance World Premiere

And™ my™ heart™ will™ go™ on™ and™ on™ (post-cover)

Red skies

PEPE ULABEJA

Deadaz Dat Ah

Quick acoustic cover of rock and roll star by oasis

Rock and Roll Star (oasis acoustic cover)

COVER SONG

This is part of a live jam session held at my house on February 7, 2016. Super Bowl Sunday!

Larry Ponczek - Vocal & Lead Guitar -
Joe Storino - Bass -
Joe DeBrizzio - Rhythm Guitar -
Ron Snyder - Guitar -

Billy Roberts copyrighted this song in 1962.

HEY JOE - (Jimi Hendrix) COVER - Ponczek/Storino/DeBrizzio/Snyder - LIVE

Aru Kuro On Rhea Moon

Just Believe to See

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™ my™ heart™ will™ go™ on™ and™ on™ (post-cover)

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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