This is a song about having so much mounting frustration with what you have to accomplish that you need to take a time out. 
Copyright 2021

Ron Snyder - THE PLACE

Meecho Bandz - Rain Down.[G.n.G]◇

fazed

Produced, mix & master by Eddie and Nearfield Studios 
Lyrics, vocals by Lady Nahualli 

Don't know what day it is 
Can't recall what  was said
My mind all distortion
Don't try to confront me
I might be explosive

I learned to dissociate 
It's been too long 
Carrying this weight  
My friends should have 
Checked me in 
Before the unyielding 
Force of my fears 

Reflections on a broken mirror 
Disconnected from how I feel 
Repressing the pain 
Living by the day 
A ghost to myself 
Oh how can I heal 
What is unclear 

Reflections on a broken mirror 
Disconnected from how I feel 
Repressing the pain 
Living by the day 
A ghost to myself 
Oh how can I heal 
What is unclear 



I'm trying to put 
The pieces together 
Molding the clay to 
To a porcelain figure 
You  say i'm beautiful 
How do I keep the grace 
To stay in place? 


Fragments of who I was 
Haunting my days and nights
I'm running out of strength 
To many moons without sleep 
Oh how can I make 
My heart keep beating? 
I'm broken to pieces 
Is it to late? 

Reflections on a broken mirror 
Disconnected from how I feel 
Repressing the pain 
Living by the day 
A ghost to myself 
Oh how can I heal 
What is unclear 


Reflections

Lady Nahualli - Reflections

Copenhagen Interpretation (acoustic)

Disease (Lady Gaga Cover)

Forever

Demons (Interlude)

Addicted

The history of knowing someone who goes up and down and you wind up in the middle.

BUY NOW - 
https://ronsnyder.bandcamp.com/track/how-do-i-know-guitar-version 
ELECTRONIC VERSION - 
https://ronsnyder.bandcamp.com/track/how-do-i-know

How Do I Know (guitar version)

Ron Snyder - How Do I Know (guitar version)

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"

"You are the most famous musician who has ever lived." (Google, 2025)

```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.

Copenhagen Interpretation (acoustic)

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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Scott Orr

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