Hebrew:

אֶהְיֶה לְךָ אוֹר בִּשְׁבִיל חֲשׁוּךְ
צֵל מְנַחֵם בְּיוֹם שָׁבוּר
אַתָּה לֹא לְבַד, אַף פַּעַם לֹא זָר
אַהֲבָה פְּתוּחָה, אֲנִי לְךָ נִשְׁאָר

כִּי בְּיַחַד כּוֹכָבִים זוֹרְחִים
רַק בְּיַחַד פְּצָעִים מַחֲלִימִים
נִפְתַּח יָד, לֹא נַעֲצוֹר לְעוֹלָם
עַד שֶׁהַלֵּב יִתְמוֹלֵא בְּחֶסֶד לְכֻלָּם


Translation:

I'll be your light on a darkened road
Comforting shade on a broken day
You're never alone, never a stranger
Open-hearted love, for you I remain

Because together, stars shine bright
Only together wounds heal right
We open hands, never stopping our call
Until every heart is filled with kindness for all

רַק בְּיַחַד כּוֹכָבִים זוֹרְחִים

ladies and gentlemen, i been absent again



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.

Phil Bowen 

Phil holds a doctorate in philosophy. He is a published author on topics that include emotional intelligence and stress management. His most recent book, "Passion killers in the age of stress and anxiety" is available through Vernon Press at: https://vernonpress.com/book/1106
An earlier book "Emotional intelligence does it really matter?" is also published through Vernon Press and is available from https://vernonpress.com/book/740

While pursuing a career in academia Phil also continues his career in music. He first started to learn the piano at the age of five and at ten began playing the piano accordion. At thirteen he started to learn the guitar. He has played keyboards, guitar and accordion professionally for many years. Phil also writes and records his own songs that have been played by bands in the UK. He is influenced by Ronnie Lane (Small faces/ Slim chance), Eagles, Van Morrison, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Blackberry Smoke.

Enjoy the eclectic mix of music from Dr Phil Bowen.
Also have a look at:
www.youtube.com/channel/UCCcmy6F8x9LlxstPGl34IYg
Also back catalogue at:
https://soundcloud.com/phil-bowen-114199826/tracks
music.apple.com/us/artist/phil-bowen/433806295 and
music.apple.com/us/search?term=Th…soners%20reformed

Creative Director. Musical Producer, Audio eng. Sound Branding, Games, Sound Design. A&R, Music Curator.

More music on my Bandcamp site.   https://patrickedgington.bandcamp.com/

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רַק בְּיַחַד כּוֹכָבִים זוֹרְחִים

blorgpulkfplorksickle