I walk your way
Even though I should stay
Didn’t know what was around the corner

stay feat. Cosmic Rewind

2 bodies - Gesso (feat. Cosmic Rewind)

2 bodies circling
At last colliding 
Instantly confiding
Set me free

Lyrics and vocals - Katelyn Mulkey
Music -Cosmic Rewind

2 bodies feat. Cosmic Rewind

Great job with the legal tech stuff (psychosis pascal's wager mix)

Tom Petty and the Copyright Infringement Heartbreakers (8-11-25 hugging sand demo) (~feat Gesso)

A Kismet is an Anagram of Mistake

VOCALS BY NIKOLINA ROMEA

Staring into space chain smoking
Everybody knows I'm broken
It feels so good to light it up
It's how I keep my mouth shut

My fingers shake but not from cold
They shake from the weight of what I know
Strike a match, hold the secrets, don't shout
Just breathe it in, blow it out, and

Burn another lie
Let it die between my teeth
While I'm struggling to breathe
The smoke burns my eyes
I can't name the names
So I
Burn another lie

They say the coverup is worse than the crime
Either way, I'm the only one doing time
If I told the truth, I'd be called a liar
But when I tell the lie, I'm preaching to the choir

Burn another lie
Let it die between my teeth
While I'm struggling to breathe
The smoke burns my eyes
I can't name the names
So I 
Burn another lie

Do I have the strength
To step out of this narrative
With facts branded fake
And reality alternative
Is there a way to live
without pretending
When silence costs so much
And truth isn't trending

Burn another lie
Let it die between my teeth
While I'm struggling to breathe
The smoke burns my eyes
I can't name the names
So I 
Burn another lie

I can't name the names
So I
Burn another lie

(c) Carlene M Wentworth

BURN ANOTHER LIE

Aspirationally, 'Jefferson Airplane, White Rabbit, Part 2'

Lava Meeseeks (Orange mix)

Empire of Wheat

Still Trying

The space between Churchland(s) and Chalmers

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.

The space between Churchland(s) and Chalmers

blorgpulkfplorksickle

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