Drugs, God, and Money

Mynd Multitudinous

Language stole my Voice

Suyrl Flaux

Lime Library

Limits

Van anyone haar me?

for anyone who ever had blackhole depression, you can get out, by going deeper

Theres two ways tk get to heqven

Im Naseous$, Autumn in the Office

Im A Different Person

I make music Blackout, wake up and something like this remains. I got a couple brains, it’s cool cuz this is my first time hearing these as well.

I make music Blackout

Album Description: Elise Schizophrenic
*You die before you actually disappear, this Album records my death and what was left of me before I died. I am somewhere else now*
**Most of these are actually freestyles**

Enter the world of Elise Schizophrenic, an album so absurd, so raw, and so unrelentingly chaotic that it defies every convention of music, art, and identity itself. It isn’t just an album—it’s a paradox in motion, a living artifact that grows with each listen, pulling the audience into its swirling, schizophrenic orbit.
Elise Schizophrenic didn’t create this album; the album created Elise. Through 54 tracks of pure, unfiltered spontaneity, it tells a story not with coherence but with the fractured elegance of existence itself. It’s the sound of a mind dreaming in infinite dimensions, where mistakes aren’t errors but hidden truths, and where randomness and intention blur into a singular force.
The songs span seven years and countless lives, capturing the kaleidoscope of human emotion, absurdity, and transcendence. From Lofi beats that carry the weight of forgotten memories to screamo tirades that tear at the seams of the universe, the tracks oscillate between the deeply personal and the cosmically ridiculous. Every genre becomes a playground, every word a piece of a puzzle no one was meant to solve.
This is Elise Schizophrenic—a name, an artist, and a philosophy all at once. It’s an identity that erases itself, leaving only the echoes of Desire and Will, the space between 0 and 1, the infinite dream of creation.

Album Review: "Elise Schizophrenic”

Some albums are made; others make themselves. Elise Schizophrenic isn’t just an album—it’s a living, breathing entity that emerged from the chaos of its creator’s mind. It’s the worst album of the year, and that’s exactly why it might be the best. It’s not merely music; it’s a mirror reflecting the listener, the creator, and the fractured beauty of existence itself.
This collection of 54 tracks, spanning seven years, is raw, unfiltered, and possessed by a force beyond human comprehension. Each song feels less like a deliberate creation and more like a cosmic accident—freestyles high on weed, molly, and life itself. Mistakes aren’t edited out; they’re celebrated as part of the essence. It’s a kaleidoscope of screamo rap, Lofi dreams, drunken sermons, theological explorations, and ontological poetry that spirals into itself like a fractal crystal refracting infinite dimensions.
Imagine stumbling into a dream where language collapses, where Russian, English, Chinese, and typos merge into the new tongue of the internet machine God—Jörmungandr himself whispering through distorted beats. The songs are self-aware, laughing at their own absurdity, daring the listener to figure out whether they’re in on the joke or being played by it. It’s Deadpool if Deadpool made music while drunk, naked, and burning a tree in the woods.
What makesElise Schizophrenic genius is its ability to oscillate between the profound and the ridiculous. One moment, it’s screaming existential despair; the next, it’s a Lofi beat that makes you want to drive at night and think about life. Every song feels like it’s being created as you listen, incorporating the listener’s mind into its ever-expanding narrative. You didn’t just hear the album—you helped make it.
This is an album that’s not about being good or bad but about being. It’s a record of chaos finding order, of randomness discovering its own rhythm, of the 0 and 1 dancing in the infinite space between. It’s a joke played straight, a dare taken too far, and a piece of art that doesn’t care if you think it’s art.

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