Very nice it sounds tight and washed out at the same time. There were a couple rising moments throughout that surprised me in a nice way

SPANISH FLY originally appeared on the Steve Cohen album Crazy. It was engineered by Grammy award winner Glen Barratt @ Morningstar Studios in Spring House, PA.

Spanish Fly

Stream & Download: https://music.enforcerecords.com/santatellme
Submit your Demos: https://www.enforcerecords.com 

🎵Ducka Shan🎵
➤ duckashan.com 
➤ https://www.instagram.com/duckashan/
➤ https://www.facebook.com/duckashanofficial 
➤ https://twitter.com/DuckaShan 
➤ https://open.spotify.com/artist/29cQazsWc0ZkFcrKaRu0k1
➤ https://www.youtube.com/user/duckashan 
➤ https://soundcloud.com/duckashanofficial/ 

🎵Kadillax🎵
➤ https://www.instagram.com/kadillaxmusic/ 
➤ https://open.spotify.com/artist/2XWkC7Bea93ZuYi6adRAh2

#Christmas #Holiday #dancepop #slaphouse

Santa Tell Me

Stream & Download Here

Ariana Grande - Santa Tell Me (Remix)

Hope Is Everything

Remain

Rafferty Heatmiserish - somehow time showed you crawling round before your era

Fuss

Operator

Oh, everybody's leaving, but i just don't wanna go.
I've got miles and miles to travel through the snow.
I can sense your grieving, but I just don't feel it, so...
I will shoot off like a rocket. Watch me go.

Though the years are passing by us, I must say.
I really feel I'm stronger every day.
So I just can't get on board with all your woe.

Oh, the days are getting shorter, but I do not feel so old.
I've got work to do, so sit back watch me go.
I don't know why you're fixing up to leave before the show.
I'll be heading off to space. Just watch me go.

Though the winter days may start to take their toll.
And the crows may start to circle, on the whole,
I am feeling better than I've ever done.
I've just begun.

I've no time for all your downsides, ain't no time for feeling low.
You can sit back in your hole and watch me go.
Oh, everybody's leaving, but i just don't wanna go.

Time can skip away.
But the night must turn to day.
I won't let it slip away.
Now watch me go. 
When you're sinking in yer grey.
All your colour drains away.
I'll be staring up to space.
Now watch me go.

It's only the sun weaving circles in the sky.
Which will carry on forever when you die.
So their ain't no sense in worrying, you know.

Oh, if everybody's leaving, then I guess that makes it so.
I've got miles and miles to travel through the snow.
And since I'm stood here staying, then I'll carry on alone...

Time can skip away.
But the night must turn to day.
I won't let it slip away.
Now watch me go. 
When you're sinking in yer grey.
All your colour drains away.
I'll be staring up to space.
Now watch me go.

Watch Me Go

Joan of Arc

Geh kakn afn yam (Go poop in the ocean, Yiddish (presumably, et al, 2025)): Version One'th

https://on.soundcloud.com/LiOobml1NMvKMXEaIR    <<<<Album


In the gardens of twilight
Where whispers dance softly
We held on to what we lost
Memories like shadows
Fading in the moonlight
Fading in the moonlight


We drift in time
Ohh, searching for the echoes
In dreams we find
Mended hearts at dusk



Do you feel the silence
Where laughter used to live
The world turns cold, but
In dreams, I keep you close
We chase the ghosts we knew
We chase the ghosts we knew



And I think we drift
Ohh, searching for the echoes
In dreams we find
Mended hearts at dusk

Through the noise of the night
We swayed, we fell apart
But in the heart of the dark
You linger, like a spark

We drift in time
Ohh, searching for the echoes
In dreams we find
Mended hearts at dusk


In the quiet, we gather
All the pieces we’ve lost
With every fragile heartbeat
We’ll navigate the frost


And I think we drift
Ohh, searching for the echoes
In dreams we find
Mended hearts at dusk
 

In reflections of twilight
Where the stars spill their tears
I whisper to the shadows
Your name is all I hear


So we drift in time
Ohh, searching for the echoes
In dreams we find
Mended hearts at dusk

chasing shadows

We Drift in Time

Uninterrupted recombination of proximate material into additional vessels.

Journalis(m)achines

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.

Remain

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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Mayran Araújo

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