Ahhhhh! Been listening to things that make my ears bleed when I listened to this healing and kind song. Delicious atmosphere and lovely singing and range in the voice. That soft unassuming guitar ( is it?) is lovely!

A very welcome discovery this morning. I’m adding this to playlist Chill

This song is genuinely incredible,what a song man.

Buff

On the roof late tonight
Count the stars  oh so  bright
you back in my arms, its been so long
so my love it's time to go
in your heart you must know
This is where I think that you belong
In my song
 
On the phone countin'  time
2 hearts beat down the line
Miles and miles of ocean its so far
Northern star in the sky
Burns so bright in our eyes
Guide you back to me and mend my heart 

I think that we both know
That it must be so

Loving every moment of the day
Wishing  every minute you could stay
I don't wanna be alone here
I Want you in my song Dear

Now its time t' say good night
move up close  dim the light
wishing every moment here with you 
so hurry home don't be late
Pay the cab close the gate
Dreaming all the time it must be true

I think that we both know
That it must be so

Loving every moment of the day
Wishing every minute you you could stay
I don't wanna be alone here
I want you in my song Dear

Where You Belong

I Know you Well

My Life

Dr. Tiamat

You've Got A Life To Live

Dit Is My Reg

She smiled a smile that can break you.
She breathed in, and I lost my breath.
Her eyes saw everything. 

She heard, she heard what I’m saying. 
She spoke out, and my ears were listening. 
Her voice gave way to wind, at one, the two of them 

She dreamed, but I was not sleeping.
She felt, but I was just numb.
Was she even real, the way she made me feel? 	

Her skin looked to me to be as a pearl. She seldom looked my way
And I can still remember - 

She hoped, but I lacked ambition.
She spoke, I covered my mouth. 
So much I want to say, but words got in the way, but I said them anyway.  



She Smiled

stars align (w/ altwys.)

wizards of waverly place

Stone Walls

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.

Dr. Tiamat

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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