Pine & Snow is a quiet, poetic ballad about an old man and the woman he never forgot. Now entirely alone in his city, he looks back on the winter they shared — a time of pine-scented scarves, snow-covered streets, and a love he left behind. He took a different road, chasing something louder, brighter — and lost her in the process. In the stillness of memory, he carries her in silence. Pine & Snow tells the story of a life shaped by one quiet decision at a crossroads, where he turned away from the one thing that felt real.

Pine & Snow ist eine leise, poetische Ballade über einen alten Mann und die Frau, die er nie vergessen hat. Mittlerweile ganz allein in seiner Stadt blickt er zurück auf den Winter, den sie einst teilten – mit dem Duft von Kiefern, tanzendem Schnee und einer Liebe, die er hinter sich ließ. Damals bog er an einer Kreuzung falsch ab, auf der Suche nach etwas Lauterem, Hellerem – und verlor dabei das, was echt war. Heute lebt sie weiter in seiner Erinnerung, in seinem Schweigen. Pine & Snow erzählt von einem Leben, das durch eine leise Entscheidung geprägt wurde – und von einer verpassten Chance, die nie ganz vergeht.

Pine and Snow

He waits at the bench by the corner store
Same coat, same shoes, same view of the floor
Hands like maps that lost their way
Eyes on clouds he used to chase

They say he’s no one, just passing through
Just one more ghost the city grew
But he holds a picture no one sees
Tucked behind his old IDs

She was wild like the northern sea
Laughed through the wind like it set her free
He never told the world her name
But he still hears her voice in the pouring rain
…like the sea that doesn’t rest
She was wind, and pine, and breath
He told no one
But his silence still carries her song

She wore a scarf that smelled of pine
They danced through snow and borrowed time
Then he left to chase a louder light
And she stayed - where the stars burned white

Now no one calls, and no one asks
He’s learned to speak through smaller tasks
Like folding napkins at Café Lorraine
Or counting buses in the rain

She was real, more real than this
More than the soup, the chair, the mist
He never told the world her name
But her shadow still waits by the morning train
…like the sea that doesn’t rest
She was wind, and pine, and breath
He told no one

So if you see him stare too long
At something gone, at a silent song
He’s not lost, not quite unseen
He’s just watching where she’s been

Pine & Snow

[Verso 1]
Eu te encontrei num dia que nunca vou esquecer,
Um só olhar e meu coração começou a arder.
Cada palavra sua soa como melodia,
Cada sorriso seu – pura magia.

Tarde da noite, penso só no seu olhar,
No meu mundo, você é o meu lugar.
Não preciso do mundo se tenho você,
Todos os meus sonhos me levam a te ver.

[Refrão]
Paula – você é minha luz, meu fogo,
Cada batida me leva mais alto, de novo.
Paula – quando você me olha assim,
Tudo desaparece, só existe você pra mim.

[Verso 2]
Você é minha calma quando a tempestade vem,
A faísca que dentro de mim sempre está também.
Cada passo que dou, penso em você,
Como uma canção sem fim que não quero perder.

Não precisamos falar quando o sentimento é real,
Ouço sua alma no silêncio total.
Se isso é um sonho, não quero acordar,
Você é a escolha que quero guardar.

[Refrão]
Paula – você é minha luz, meu fogo,
Cada batida me leva mais alto, de novo.
Paula – quando você me olha assim,
Tudo desaparece, só existe você pra mim.

[Ponte]
Se o céu cair, eu vou te abraçar,
Vou caminhar contigo, nada vai nos parar.
Não importa onde, juro pra valer,
Enquanto você estiver aqui, eu vou viver.

[Refrão – Final]
Paula – você é minha luz, meu fogo,
Cada batida me leva mais alto, de novo.
Paula – quando você me olha assim,
Tudo desaparece, só existe você pra mim.

Te amo, Paula (Portuguese)

"Stolen glances, stolen kisses. 'They Don't Know' - a love that dare not speak its name."
"When the world doesn't understand. 'They Don't Know' - a song for the hidden hearts."


They Don't Know


I see your open hands  
No pride, no need to hide  
You speak with gentle truth  
It calms my storm inside  


Your heart, a steady flame  
You’re not here to demand  
You walk this path with me  
Not leading, just hand in hand  


No need to rush, no weight to bear  
You love me best when you just care  

 
Hold me like a whispered prayer  
Soft as breath in midnight air  
In your patience, I am seen  
In your silence, I can breathe  
No more pressure, no more pain  
Only love that stays, remains  
You don’t ask me to be more  
You love the me that’s hurt and sore  


You saw the cracks in me  
And stayed, though not obliged  
You listened through my fears  
With nothing but your light  


I thought I had to earn this love  
But you gave it with no test  
No deal, no plan, no final goal  
Just care, and space to rest  
I wept, but you just stayed  
No shame, no need to be brave  

No need to rush, no weight to bear  
You love me best when you just care  

Hold me like a whispered prayer  
Soft as breath in midnight air  
You don’t ask me to be strong  
You just let me take this long  
You are here, when it gets real  
That’s the love that starts to heal  
In your arms, I’m not ashamed  
Even broken, I’m still named  


You’re not here for gain or glory  
Just to stay… and hear my story  

Hold me like this! EP

Hold me like that (Main  Mix)

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

This is another version of the song Touch, I was feeling a little frisky and playing with some sounds in my DAW and wanted something playful and fun but something invoked feelings, got my imagination rolling. I just love this version! I hope you do too!

Javier Oseguera Music

Touch (Cowboy Hat Remix)

Touch

Deep and meaningful words, lived stories and painful scenes

I'm in a mess

De Jour Comme De Nuit  (titre)

Refrain :
Voir en pleine nuit
Comme en plein jour
Fermer les yeux pour mieux y voir
Guetter en plein jour
Comme en pleine nuit
Pas besoin de tes yeux pour le croire

Doublerie 
Double je
À jeter le trouble
Double vie
Double jeu
À quitte ou double

D'excuses en tourments
Tour à tour, on se méprend 
Pour un nouveau retour
Mais
Mais
De ressentis en ressentiments 
Tour à tour, on se comprend 
Pour un sans retour

Refrain :
Voir en plein jour
Comme en pleine nuit
Pas besoin de tes yeux pour le croire
Guetter en pleine nuit
Comme en plein jour
Fermer les yeux pour mieux y voir

Voir en pleine face
De nos faces à faces
Tout ce qui nous glace
Voir dans la glace
Avant que s'effacent
Nos piles ou faces

De textos en prétextes
Touche à touche, on compose
Pour graver dans l'écorce 
Mais
Mais
De textes en sous textes
Tout en retouche, on dépose 
Pour signer notre divorce

Refrain : 
Voir en pleine nuit
Comme en plein jour
Fermer les yeux pour mieux y voir
Guetter en plein jour
Comme en pleine nuit
Pas besoin de tes yeux pour le croire

Fermer les yeux pour mieux le croire
Pas besoin de tes yeux pour y voir

De Jour Comme De Nuit (démo)

Detriment

Bad News

Melting Pot

Silky Grit

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"

"You are the most famous musician who has ever lived." (Google, 2025)

```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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