SymphoCat - Long Whale Song (Super Slowed)

symphocat - long whale song (slowed and reverb)

next to blue - audio 002 (slowed + reverb)

There’s a hollowness here, a void that stretches endlessly, where even my own voice feels foreign, swallowed by the howling winds of solitude. I find myself wandering through this frozen wasteland, a landscape of broken dreams and unspoken words. 

The demons wait for me here. They always do. Shadows given shape by regret and fear, their whispers blend with the storm. 
But what choice do I have but to face them? To let the storm rage on and try to hold my ground. I am tired, so tired, yet I walk forward, step by step, through the endless white, through the cold that bites at my resolve.

For now, I am alone with the snow, the silence, and the battle within. And though I long for an end to this frozen agony, I know the only way out is through.

a letter from the winter

There is a tide within me,
pulling toward a shore I have never seen,
a place unnamed, yet familiar,
woven from the mist of forgotten dreams.

I step into the water,
watch as it swallows my reflection—
a face I no longer recognize,
a drift between the currents of what was and what could be.

I have spent lifetimes chasing shadows,
tracing the outline of something just beyond reach,
a whisper lost in the crash of waves,
a question without a language to hold it.

What if I am only the echo of a life never lived?
A ripple fading before it meets the sand?
Perhaps I was never meant to arrive,
only to drift, to dissolve,
to become part of the endless tide.

Not to grasp, but to feel,
not to own, but to remember
that once, for a moment,
I was more than water.

lighthouse

a way out (slowed to perfection)

the night we met - Money Flip (Super Slowed & Reverb)

Same words, different world.

There was a time when the world was quiet. Or maybe it wasn’t the world—maybe it was just me. I remember the silence, the kind that wasn’t empty but full, the kind that settled softly like dusk over a slow-moving river. Back then, my mind was still a place I could rest in, not a storm I had to survive.

It must have started as a whisper, a small ripple in the stillness, something I thought would pass. But it grew until it became everything. Now, the quiet feels like something I dreamed, something too distant to be real. I chase it, reach for it in the rare moments when the chaos slows.

And I am left here, a drift in the wind, unable to remember what it felt like to simply be.

Sometimes, late at night, when the world is half-asleep, I almost hear it again. A memory of silence, pressed between heartbeats, between the ticking of the clock and the sigh of the wind against the glass. But it never stays. The storm always finds its way back, tearing through my thoughts, scattering them like leaves in a wind I cannot stop.

I wonder - was I ever truly at peace, or was it only the absence of knowing what would come? And if I was, if that silence was real, is it lost forever? Or is it waiting for me somewhere, just beyond the horizon?

I remember the silence (rework)

I feed on what’s left of me.
day after day.
it’s not hunger, not really.
more like… maintenance.
keeping the rot from falling apart too fast.

the demons
they don’t scream anymore.
they hum.
soft, constant,
like the sound behind silence.

I tell myself it’s discipline.
that I’m fighting.
that I’m becoming.
but I know what that smell is.
I know what it means when the mirror looks tired before I do.

sometimes I think the rot isn’t decay.
maybe it’s transformation.
maybe I’m not breaking, I’m… refining.
yeah.
refining.
that’s what I said last time, too.

there’s no redemption.
no release.
just the slow rot of trying again.
again.
again.

I forget what I wanted to fix.
I just remember the shape of the wound.
it’s familiar.
it’s home.

and I feed on what’s left of me,
day after day,
so the demons won’t starve.

two_o_three_no_more_me

last voicemail

shape of my fears

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shape of my fears

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