Section 0 / It Ain't Right

Here is the >>>FREE SHEET MUSIC<<<: https://musescore.com/user/93785209/scores/22956730

Watch a video of the sheet music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xn1DtLIISJU

Watch a practice improvisation session of this song from early on: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKq913BXT8g

Resilient

In the shadows we find
A secret no one knows
Whispers quiet like the wind
Where the starry river flows

Underneath the eclipsing moon
We dance in silent reverie
Our dreams they weave a song
In this world of mystery

Floating on a silver beam
Our hearts whisper so slow
Lost in this tranquil dream
We let our true selves show

Veiled in the night’s embrace
A thousand tales untold
The stars they weave their lace
In a universe of gold

Time slips through our fingers
Like sand in the gentle tide
Eternity in moments linger
With nowe left to hide

Floating on a silver beam
Our hearts whisper so slow
Lost in this tranquil dream
We let our true selves show

Eclipsing Moon

a relaxing break from everyday stress⚘💫🍹

Artic & Antartic ❄⚡❄ instrumental.mp3

A Screaming Manifesto Against the Corrupt Machine of Lies and Injustice. The title is already a novel.

Echoes of Dissent - A Screaming Manifesto Against the Corrupt Machine of Lies and Injustice

literally wrote this in 10 minutes during my lunch break, whatever that means

Tonight (for now)

Remain

File updated 14/04/25 @ 12:12 GMT - Added strings, additional lead and backing vox

https://soundcloud.com/the_boy
This song is for my SoundCloud friend The Boy from Japan linked above. Thanks for being such an amazing inspiration. Your music is fire my friend :-)

冒頭のメッセージ。「これは日本のアーティスト、The Boyへのメッセージです。本当にありがとうございます。これからも頑張ってください。」

Lyrics

You are the most able
Music for us
Our saviour

The Boy
Showing us real man
Doing it for the clan
We all have problems
We all have pain
You feel us
We're with you
Keep showing that way

Your music man, heals
With minds lost in fields
You align with musical zeal
NIN like, but The Boy
Original joy
Sing that keyboard toy
Sort out us men like a boy

Forever Boy

The Boy

The debut album of the German singer, who feels musically at home in the Italo-pop of the 80s. Lyrics that get under your skin and music that invites you to dance and more.

We Go Up We Go Down

We've all been there when the sound of silence sharpens our spirits ability to heal and realize pain unlocks its potency. 

Silent House

lullaby

"Moments of being passable beyond novelty"

"Actually slaps"

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