Time Bells

Originally, another instrumental but, thanks to Ramone, this has been transformed into a haunting song with wonderful lyrics.
Credit to Lord Byron for the recited passage, from his poem "The Giaour"...

"Thy corpse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
To suck the blood of all thy race"

Vampire Lullaby (with Ramone)

I can’t say I’m a simple guy
And sometimes I’m a mess inside
The world is gone, I’m in my head
Then you kiss me   
And ask me what you just said

But one thing I won’t complicate 
I knew it from that nervous first date  
Right out of the starting gate
It’s the easiest call
I’ve ever had to make 

And it’s that simple 
I love your fingers
And I love your ears
I love your messy hair
And the sound of your voice
How you make me 
Want to face my fears
I love the kindest eyes  
That I have ever seen
How our bodies feel
With nothing in between 
I love your smooth skin 
Flowing beneath my hand
And your rough chin 
As your kisses land
I love your laugh
It wasn’t the plan
But I’d love to love you forever
It’s that simple, man

I know you’ve been through 
So much pain
You made a rainbow from the rain 
Lie beside me 
And the world feels right 
On a mountaintop
Watching stars at night

It's That Simple

Shotta Mani Ft. Rekords - Gynaecologist[prod. by Sly-Ish].wav

WEEKENDS W//R!£K

Know

Miraging Hearts (2018)

Every Road

Meant to Be (prodkidkarma)

Estaire - Delulu For You

Better and better: Ruff Writher (Mardi Gras mix)

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"

"Noise"

```Madlibs with a metronome```

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.

Better and better: Ruff Writher (Mardi Gras mix)

blorgpulkfplorksickle