super atmosphère et la voix robotique que j'aime !!!

La voz espectacular, el bajo sobresaliente, tiene un ambiente muy potente , este tema es una obra perfectamente podría entrar en una serie tv, gran trabajo aquí echo transmite mucho

Tact; Franco Tartaglia, Paul Torpiano, Charles Cassar, Carl Matthew Camilleri
Film by Kenneth Scicluna & Klara Vassallo 
Recorded and Produced at Temple Studios

Catharsis

Tact - Catharsis

Taken from Arise, the New Light EP, released February 2, 2024
https://allss.bandcamp.com/album/arise-the-new-light

Walking in a Snake Country

The last track for Subliminally Sublime. See ya next time.

Subliminally Sublime

iTunes

Upon My Arrival

Blue Drop

Poca reflexión filosófica. ¿Hemos llevado una vida de presos en nuestra pequeña y tranquila Europa? Seguramente no. ¿Pero en otros lugares? Dormimos bien.

Forçat

Forçat - KRT Production

Kraken

Track 164 - Featuring Spacey Panda!  https://soundcloud.com/spaceypanda

Visitor ft. Spacey Panda

Creature

ALISA WUNDER https://soundcloud.com/alisa-wunder

Piano Cheese ( Performed By Alisa Wunder )

The Jesus, Mary, Roger Stone: Human Centipede Song

"He loved an actress,  She loved scarlett roses"
Production by Hennedy

Can't Stop Dreaming

"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.

The Jesus, Mary, Roger Stone: Human Centipede Song

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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