strangers came and gone

Are You The One?

Just trying to find the way back down from the ceiling (Violet Mix)

Watch the 📹Video: https://youtu.be/PhE7afina30👈
Lyrics interpretation, here: https://beatingedge.blogspot.com/2025/08/vacant-stares-interpretation-of-lyrics.html
Here we are with our last track of the month.
Lately, Carl @thebeautifuldark has been working on some important projects to raise awareness about the indiscriminate use of AI in the world of art. This track came from deep conversations between us, exploring themes of identity, authenticity, and the growing trend of music that’s “AI-made” but never truly felt or played.

Vacant Stares is a cryptic, cult-like vision of a digital future, where prompters replace creators, and artistic expression is reduced to hollow commands.
Blank stares. Selfish prayers. Fake songs for simulated feelings.
This track is a warning. A question. A reversed ritual.
It asks you: who are you, when you no longer use your own voice?

The song is divided into two parts:

Beating Edge's part:
It’s gothic, cinematic, full of ritualistic and unsettling imagery. The atmosphere evokes abandoned temples, secret cults, carved symbols… with that sense of existential disorientation like “they’re initiating me into something but I don’t know what.”
It feels like a lucid nightmare or a hallucination induced by an intelligence simulating spirituality.
Carl’s part:
More brutal, direct, anti-establishment. Almost a rap/spoken-word poem loaded with accusations towards those who use AI in a sterile, heartless way. “Selfish prayers / Fake / Unfair” hit like punches in the gut in just four words. It’s the awakening from hypnosis.

Let’s reflect! And use AI as a tool to amplify art, not to replace it!
Love you all!🫶

Lyrics:

(Tom)

Veil of whispers, carved in stone
Guiding hands, but I'm alone
Golden masks and hollow eyes
Chanting words that crystallize

Candles flicker, shadows climb
Marble echoes bend through time
Steps resound in hollow halls
Silent lips behind the walls

And they move like ghosts through the fevered air
With their silver robes and their vacant stares
Do I kneel, do I run, do I play along?
Or is this the place where I belong?

Smoke is rising, threads unwind
Painted symbols twist my mind
Fingers trace the silent vow
No way back, it's over now

And they move like ghosts through the fevered air
With their silver robes and their vacant stares
Do I kneel, do I run, do I play along?
Or is this the place where I belong?

A voice like thunder in my head
Tells me secrets left unsaid
A crimson door, a silver knife
A choice to stay or trade my life

Lights go dim, the world dissolves
A hollow chant, a fate evolves
In the mirror, I can't see
Is that me, or what's left of me?

(Carl - The Beautiful Dark)

Vacant stares
Selfish prayers
Fake
Unfair

Unnatural wear
Expressionless
Ghost digital smile
Simulated pain
You making fake dog pile

Guesses pluggs in
Self matrix is made
Showing young kids
Their artist mind grave

Not on our watch
Sing your own feeling
Talk your reflections
Save children's true meanings

Feeding them new
They'll amplify this
They'll stay plugged out
All now's reminisce

Prompters, have that reckoning
With fake thoughts you feeding

Respect the souls of past inspire
Their spirit will help you transcend the mire

Vacant Stares

Official Music Video

Figure 8

Alternative indie soft song driven by  base, leyered guitars and hypnotizing melody and voice of interpreteur. Catching melody and outsider melancholic vibe is a must!😉

[Intro — slow, submerged]

[sound of bubbles, distant glass shatter]

In the water,
the light bends slow.
Shadows move
where you can’t go.

Bubbles rise,
slip from your hands,
drifting higher,
out of command.

[ acoustic electric guitar rhytmic solo ]
[ instrumental intermezzo]

[Verse 1]
You never thought
it would pull you in,
but signs were drawn
beneath your skin.
You closed your eyes,
[ bridge ]
you turned away —
the truth you hid,
[ bridge]
still found a way.

⸻

[Refrain ,whispered, layered]
Water all around you,
water breathing calm.
Your chest is slow,
your mind is numb.
Oxygen?
Just another plan… gone wrong.

⸻

Instrumental break
[hypnotic synth swells,
sharp electric guitar lines
cutting through the pulse]

⸻

[Verse 2]
Sirens call,
their voices near —
soft as knives
that you can hear.
[ bridge]
They ask for a smile,
they hand you hope,
but in your eyes
[ bridge]
the depths still grow.

⸻

[Refrain]
Water all around you,
water breathing calm.
Your chest is slow,
your mind is numb.
Oxygen?
[ bridge]
Just another plan… gone wrong.

⸻

Bridge — mantra style
Bubbles rise,
bubbles fade…
They don’t return,
they drift away.

⸻

[Outro ,fading]
([ow ocean waves,
a single synth note holding]
Water all around you…
Water all around you…
Gone.

[ instrumental outro ]

water all around

Hiding Sun

i am free. no chains. no clocks. just breath.

My original song in DIY production.Lyrics went out down easy as the melody is. Text was written in one minute, in one breath. 🙂🎸🎸🎸🙂🙂🎸🎸🎸👉🎸🎸

easy sunday morning soft rock catchy song
instrumental intro ]
like a new guy 
in the town, 
walking down the street
[ bridge]
turning all things upside down
as you want to be


houses sailling on their chimneys
birds are fish 
and smoke's  like sea


[ instrumental intermezzo, guitar short melodic solo, two guitars, responses each other]

now is the right time
to take your 
dreams 
[ bridge]
seriously, 
[ drop]
and climbe, up to the top, 
that chery three 

houses sailling on their chimneys
birds are fish 
and smoke's  like sea

two more people smiles at you
right now
[ bridge]
on the sleepy empty street
gentle smile returns back
[ bridge]
and you feel 
right now 
[ bridge]
as happy as you wanna be

eternal love and endless joy
flying fish and swimming birds 
jumping from the window down
[ bridge]
on to empty sleepy street

[ bridge]
[ instrumental outro ]

right now, as happy, as you wanna be

Souvenirs d’un été chaud is a journey between melancholy and summer warmth, blending french electronic vibes and chillwave aesthetics. Independent music, crafted to evoke fleeting yet unforgettable moments. Second single from the album Eternae, out September 9.

Souvenirs d'un été chaud (feat. Clara Aubier)

Number01

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.

Just trying to find the way back down from the ceiling (Violet Mix)

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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