I called and left a message

Edgelorde - Black Rainbow demo

Chariots in Reverse

We often seek comfort in stories. Narratives we create to make sense of the chaos, even if they aren’t grounded in fact. That fragile space between truth and belief, where hope, fear, and imagination blur the lines of reality.

In uncertain times constructing emotional shelter from ideas, symbols, or myths that feel more real than the world around us is comforting. It’s really about the need to believe, not because something is provable but because it helps us survive.

The Security Blanket Of Ilusions

In the silence that follows grief, music offers a way to process pain, remember deeply, and hold onto moments that words alone couldn’t capture.

Recordings become a conversation with someone no longer here—a way to keep their spirit close and find light in the heaviness of absence. Through music, mourning transformed into meaning, and loss into a lasting connection.

There was nothing

So imagine a person—maybe your neighbor, maybe your barista, maybe you—whose psychic hard drive is so jam-packed with ephemeral pop-ups (think HOA politics, Taylor Swift conspiracy TikToks, third-hand outrage over school board decisions in towns they don’t live in) that they can’t seem to get around to, you know, actually backing up the system. These are folks who obsessively rearrange deck chairs on their personal Titanic while the hull’s already taken on water, not because they don’t see the problem but because the deck chairs are easier. They are, in a sense, both hyper-aware and willfully blind—a contradiction so common in late-capitalist modernity that it barely qualifies as ironic anymore.

Their inner monologue (though they’d never admit it because they don’t do introspection unless it’s hashtagged) runs something like: “If I can just win this pointless argument about paper straws vs. metal straws on Facebook, then maybe I’ll finally feel in control of my life.” The real issues—the slow estrangement from meaning, the dread of mortality, the creeping suspicion that their job title is just a socially acceptable costume for existential inertia—get buried under noise, static, fluff. It’s not ignorance, exactly. It’s a kind of knowing-but-not-knowing, a posture of learned helplessness covered in a thin glaze of performative indignation.

And the kicker is, they’re not wrong, exactly. The petty stuff feels real. It gives them dopamine and validation and a sense of community (or at least combat, which is often more available). It’s just that the cost is the stuff that actually matters—which is usually quieter, slower, scarier, and harder to meme.

In short: they are not bad people. They are simply people whose existential horror is being smothered under an endless, buzzing swarm of things-that-seem-urgent-but-aren’t.

And if you find yourself judging them too harshly, you should probably ask what you’re avoiding by doing so

Horizons that delude

Let the machine answer

Each empty sunrise unwraps the day without you
light falls cold and thin.
A name in the wind 
I reach through the hollow air, held by memory.

A Reckoning Part 2

Middle Man

Defnd - Bio

Beginning with classical music training, my journey into music production evolved from traditional composition to exploring the limitless world of electronic music. Over time, I have gravitated toward creating ambient, synth-driven soundscapes.

My work is a fusion of my classical roots and passion for electronic innovation.

There was nothing

Defnd

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