Who's In Charge

Dont let love run off the tracks keep it online

Have You Got the Power indie

Down (Deep House)

I hope you hear this 👂 I hope 🤞 you see this

“Built On Lies” (Diss Track Sequel To “You Used My Love To Stay”)

Switching between "if feelings were possible" and "if I could feel" is a deliberate rhetorical and philosophical choice

“Pieces I Can't See” is an anthem born from the struggle of darkness and the weight of pain, yet it reveals the hidden hand of God weaving together what cannot be seen. With hard-hitting vocals, cinematic depth, and a chorus that explodes into glory, this song reminds us that the unseen pieces of our lives are already falling into place. It’s raw, powerful, and unrelenting, a journey through the valley into the light.

Pieces I Can’t See

A well known 80s album imagined as another genre

The Same Deep Waters


“Devi” is an original poem set on AI-generated music, created to sink deep into the soul and awaken the ancient rhythms of the Divine Feminine. This piece is both a mantra and a meditation, weaving words and sound into a spiritual invocation.

With its hypnotic verses — “Devi is Life, Devi is chaos, Devi is grace…” — the poem celebrates Shakti, the Goddess energy, the Mother of Worlds. It moves through life and death, light and darkness, chaos and order, embodying the eternal dance of creation and destruction.

The AI music transforms the poem into a cosmic soundscape, carrying the listener beyond words into a state bliss, devotion, and transcendence.

DEVI
(original poem)

Devi is Life
Devi is chaos
Devi is grace
Devi is power
Devi is wisdom
Devi is dance
Devi is the smile
On an old woman’s face

Devi is Life,
Mother of worlds
Devi is here
Spirit condensed
Devi is All
Devi is now
Devi is ME
And I am her.

Devi is rainbow
Devi is thunder
Devi is ashes
Devi is fire
Devi is teardrop
Devi is ocean
Devi is honey
Devi is poison

Devi is Life,
Mother of worlds
Devi is here
Spirit condensed
Devi is All
Devi is now
Devi is ME
And I am her.

Devi is bliss
She’s the abyss
Devi is marrow
Devi is nectar
Devi is snake
Devi is phoenix
Devi is dirt
Devi is diamond

Devi is dust
Devi is star
Devi is forest
Devi is stone
Devi is word
Devi is meaning
Devi is symbol
Devi is spell
Devi is the sound
Forging creation
Devi is rhythm
Devi is play
Devi is spiral
Devi is flow
Devi is now
Devi is here

Devi is Life,
Mother of worlds
Devi is here
Spirit condensed
Devi is All
Devi is now
Devi is ME
And I am her.

Devi is ME
And I am her.

A
S


DEVI is Life

The Mirror Cracks is a dystopian rock narrative that critiques the illusion of rebellion in a digitally controlled society. Through surreal imagery and ironic tone, the lyrics explore themes of algorithmic conformity, performative resistance, and the commodification of identity. The protagonist is trapped in a system that offers the appearance of freedom while reinforcing psychological and technological control. From ambient introspection to explosive choruses, the song builds toward a haunting realization: the wall of oppression is self-made, and the voice of rebellion has been absorbed into the machine.

---

Lyrics:

"You asked for freedom. We gave you mirrors."  
"Now break them. If you dare."

You say you want a revolution  
But your hands are tagged and scanned  
Your voice is just a simulation  
In a system built by command  
You wear your thoughts like uniforms  
Pre-approved and sterilized  
You dream in corporate storms  
Where rebellion’s monetized

And the mirror cracks again  
But the cracks are all designed  
You’re free to choose the cage  
That fits your state of mind

Don’t tell me truth is just a wire  
Don’t sell me hope through broadcast fire  
You built your soul on borrowed code  
Now you’re not alone  
You’re just controlled

You say you hate the institution  
But you’re logged in every day  
You chant your revolution  
In a feed that fades away  
You want to burn the tower  
But you’re scared to lose the light  
You beg for sacred power  
In a world that bans the night

"Teacher, I forgot my name."  
"That’s not required anymore."

You say you want to change the system  
But your dreams are pre-approved  
You whisper in the algorithm  
Till your edges are removed  
You draw your lines in dust  
But the wind begins to scream  
You talk of love and trust  
Inside a sponsored dream

And the cracks become a door  
But it leads to mirrored halls  
You’ve seen this scene before  
It’s written on the walls

You say you want a revolution  
But your pulse is not your own  
You trade your voice for resolution  
In a house of glass and stone  
You want to break the chain  
But the chain is made of you  
You want to feel the pain  
But only if it’s true

Don’t tell me truth is just a wire  
Don’t sell me hope through broadcast fire  
You built your soul on borrowed code  
Now you’re not alone  
You’re just controlled

"The wall was never theirs… it was yours."  
"And now it sings to you."  
"I comply… I comply… I comply…"

---

© Lyrics and concept by Martin Oliver Beinersdorf (MOBest). All rights reserved

The Mirror Cracks

Black City

burj-khalifa-sky-of-light.

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.

Switching between "if feelings were possible" and "if I could feel" is a deliberate rhetorical and philosophical choice

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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