Doom's Bride

Untitled Playlist

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Инферно | Inferno | infernus | hell

Hello new track,
On part sur une grosse mentalcore préhistorique,  j'espère que le son vous plaira.
Bonne écoute !

SPOTIFY ► https://open.spotify.com/artist/6Ztv937rk7iQxBObBW9ye0
SOUNDCLOUD ► https://soundcloud.com/vortek-s
DOWNLOAD  ► https://download.undergroundtekno.com...
Abonne toi : https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCmuH...

BOOKING : prod@pandemic-events.com

Artwork by Protokseed

Tyranno

Vortek's - Tyranno [OMN-085]

"Don’t mourn, organise" were the final words of American labour activist Joe Hill before his execution in 1915. But sometimes our feelings of grief don't lend themselves to good organising – sometimes we might just want revenge.

In her forthcoming book, critic and journalist Sarah Jaffe looks at the many kinds of grief that shape our social and political lives, from family bereavement and mass death during a pandemic, to factory closures and the spectre of climate breakdown. 

She joins Eleanor Penny to talks about the ghosts of the industrial worker, the fate of capital's "sacrifice zones", how Israel tries to weaponise Jewish grief, and what to do when we are denied the means of mourning our lost futures. 

<em>From the Ashes: Grief and Revolution in a World on Fire</em> is out in the UK on 10 October.

Help us build people-powered media: https://novara.media/support

Novara Media

Novara FM: Mourn the Dead, Fight Like Hell for the Living w/ Sarah Jaffe

Just Because

JackTheGen- GOG OST-  HOTEL HELL REMIX

I Opened My Mouth to Sing 两只老虎 But Instead Ten Thousand Beetles Poured Out Each One Carrying a Tiny Photo of Your Face From Different Timelines 真奇怪真奇怪 (Positron Mix)

From the debut album "Burst", available May 12th digitally / June 30th physically via Sargent House.

CD / LP Pre-order: https://www.hellomerch.com/collections/brutus 
iTunes Pre-Order: http://smarturl.it/BrutusiTunes 

BRUTUS:
Website: http://smarturl.it/Brutus
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For more from Brutus subscribe here: http://smarturl.it/Brutus_Subscribe

Burst

Brutus - All Along

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.

I Opened My Mouth to Sing 两只老虎 But Instead Ten Thousand Beetles Poured Out Each One Carrying a Tiny Photo of Your Face From Different Timelines 真奇怪真奇怪 (Positron Mix)

blorgpulkfplorksickle