Contraband Starlines

Mixes & Remixes

Album Music Videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DB6rTW1nEo&list=PLymNA9M985DgVuEZkgQMVel6v54ZiHZ_E
---
Drown distraction in rain‑lit lofi beats—perfect for late‑night study & deep focus.
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
---
Aya curled her fingers around a chipped porcelain mug, the steam fogging her glasses as rain braided silver ribbons down the café window. Old Kumo City’s crooked lanes vanished into mist, leaving only the glow of rain-lamps—teardrop bulbs strung on sagging wires that shone brighter the wetter they became. Their honey-orange halos pooled in every puddle, turning the street into a trembling galaxy of tiny suns.

She opened her sketchbook to a fresh page. The blank paper shimmered under the lamp’s reflection, and for a heartbeat Aya thought she saw a pulse behind the page —as if it were breathing. She touched her pencil point to the center and drew the faint outline of a gateway: two weather-blackened pillars crowned with tangled wisteria that dripped rain like beads of quicksilver. Each pencil stroke felt less like graphite and more like tugging thin threads out of the falling water. When the final tendril of wisteria bloomed, the sketch glowed ember-soft, then burst into quiet lavender light.

The café around her stretched, smeared like wet paint, and Aya felt herself slip forward—through page and window and lamplight—into weightlessness.

She landed in an abandoned metro tunnel where the tracks floated several inches above the gravel, loose as ribbons in unseen water. Bioluminescent mushrooms crowded the sleepers, caps wide enough to shelter two people, their undersides dripping neon-green spores that drifted not down but up, filling the air like reversed snowfall. Somewhere far away a single wind chime sang one clear note, and the spores shimmered in sympathetic ripples.

An origami crane unfolded from shadow. Its paper wings were ink-black, but its eyes glowed citrate yellow. With a quick tilt of its head, the bird launched itself forward, flapping in slow, deliberate arcs. Aya followed, her footsteps whisper-light on the hovering rails. Gravity felt hesitant here, as if deciding every second whether to stay.

The tunnel curved, walls widening into a cavern lit by moonlight that had no source. Cracks in the stone let thin waterfalls bleed upward, threading through the air toward some invisible sea overhead. Whenever a droplet brushed Aya’s skin, kaleidoscopic patterns blossomed in her vision—mandalas of jade, magenta, and cerulean that folded into one another like living stained glass. She let herself drift, each breath thick with petrichor and possibility, until the crane slipped through a circular archway rimmed in tiles that pulsed faint electric blue. Aya stepped through and the world blinked again.

Wind rushed with the scent of wet cedar. A colossal corkscrew tree stood before her, its trunk spiraling toward a sky smeared in dusk purples and dawn blues at once. Around the trunk coiled a bazaar in mid-air—suspended balconies formed from giant lotus petals, each petal lined with stalls. Air-fish glided between vendors, translucent bodies flickering oranges and pinks, casting watercolor shadows across drifting banners. Bells chimed from every direction, their notes weaving together like threads on a loom.

Fox-masked merchants beckoned Aya with wave fans painted in shimmering ink. She explored slowly, fingertips skimming glass bottles that held clouds, marbles that contained sunsets, lanterns harboring sleeping fireflies. At one stall she paused: a tiny vial labeled Memory of Tomorrow rested on a velvet cushion. The merchant behind the table—tall, cloak stitched from scraps of midnight sky—did not speak. Instead, he pointed at Aya’s sketchbook.

Rain-Soaked Notebooks

If you like the tunes and video please share & subscribe, appreciate you!

https://youtu.be/llMrJOAYnZg
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum

---
Rekordbox
135 BPM
F#m
---

Violet starlight flickers against a velvet void as the cosmic desert exhales its first pulse. Beneath that pulse six chrome-shelled sand-skimmers rest like dormant predators, engines humming at the edge of silence. Captain Vel Anteras swings a leg over the lead hull, his weather-tattered cloak snapping in the faint solar wind. In his palm glows a crystal compass—its needle refuses to point north, instead twitching toward a jagged fissure in the sky: the Prism Gate, a rift rumored to weave rhythm into wormholes.

One sharp twist of the throttle and the entire caravan erupts forward. The skimmers skim a desert of liquid glass, carving mirrored wakes that fling prismatic shards into the air. Each shard hangs momentarily like a frozen lightning bolt before dissolving into a mist of rainbow static. The bass throb of their anti-grav drives merges with a percussion of skittering micro-rocks, forming an accidental symphony that echoes for light-years across the dunes.

Soon the horizon buckles. A single dune rises higher than any mountain—its grains flash through colors no spectrum can name, cycling from prehistoric shades of ochre to futurist neons birthed in laboratories yet unbuilt. Vel powers down and steps onto its shifting flank. Time thickens. Every footprint detonates into cloudlets of fractured memories—childhood rainstorms, half-forgotten melodies, strangers’ kisses tasted only in dreams. The world slows to the heartbeat of a slumbering star.

But the lull is a trick. A sudden thunder of crystal hooves shatters the trance. Shards of those earlier rainbow mists have fused into translucent beasts: giraffe-long necks of glass, lion torsos refracting desert light like living chandeliers. They charge alongside the skimmers, their footfalls chiming as if a cathedral bell tower were galloping at full tilt. Vel laughs, steering through the crystalline stampede, sparks of mirrored sand tick-tacking off his visor.

An eye-blink later, the roar collapses into hush. Where sound once pounded, silence now rings. A silver pool—smooth as mercury—materializes at dune’s base, offering stillness so complete it swallows breath. Vel kneels, cupping liquid metal that weighs nothing yet drips memories of languages no tongue has spoken. One sip, and he recalls how it feels to be born tomorrow.

The beat returns—faster, tribal, insistent. Thirteen moons slide across the violet star, stacking atop one another like the tumblers of an interstellar lock. Each eclipse click syncs to the caravan’s drum-laced engine rhythm. Gravity hiccups. Skimmers hop from one sliver of reality to the next, bouncing between dimensions as easily as children skip stones across a pond.

Vel’s compass spins wild, then locks onto a new signal: a neural riptide roaring eighty meters ahead. Invisible yet deafening, the current is an ocean made of forgotten tweets, orphaned lullabies, and half-erased diary entries. The caravan dives in. Sonic waves of acid-bright arpeggios batter them left and right, rewriting neurons in real time. Memories flash-update; old scars heal; ancient grudges flicker out like bad code purged from a system. They emerge dripping data that shimmers like dew on circuit boards.

Continues on the website...

Prism-Gate Smugglers

If you like the tunes and video please share & subscribe, appreciate you!

https://youtu.be/aqG1Kors-6o
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum

---
Rekordbox
150 BPM
Am
---

The highway was never intended to dangle in space. One sleepless midnight it simply materialized—a matte-black ribbon coiling through the velvet nothing between yellow dwarf suns. Scientists logged it as “anomalous infrastructure,” then moved on. Yet salvagers whispered about a rust-red hover-wagon prowling those impossible lanes, its engine pulsing like a colossal heartbeat beneath chromed armor.

I met that wagon the night the air-pressure of existence dipped below common sense. Lightning stitched paisley sigils across an indigo void, and every flash revealed fresh mile-markers under my boots. With nothing but a dented harmonica case and a suitcase full of regrets, I thumbed for passage—and the Quantum Caravan hissed to a halt beside me.

“Name your frequency,” rasped the driver, a woman whose irises shimmered like molten vinyl frozen mid-swirl.

“Minor key mood,” I joked out of habit—then caught myself and shrugged. “Hope that still counts.”
Her grin widened. Doors hissed open, releasing warm amber light that wrapped my bones like electric wool. I climbed aboard.

1 ✦ Asphalt Nebula
The wagon kicked away from the roadside, flinging fiery dust behind its thrusters. Outside, nebular clouds pulsed in time with some hidden mechanism, while constellations strobbed like warehouse strobes. The windshield displayed scrolling glyphs—migrating sigils that seemed less like navigation data and more like prayers meant to keep the laws of physics attentive.

Without warning the road tilted into a spiral on-ramp to everywhere. Gravity lost her grip; inertia improvised. We plummeted through crystalline ravines whose mirrored walls refracted our headlights into endless mosaics. Time itself cracked into shards that chimed against the hull, each note an echo of something just barely remembered.

2 ✦ Mirrored Oasis
Energy bled from the engine, dimming to a luxurious purr. Glassy black water spread beneath us, reflecting not only the galaxy above but memories I had fought to bury. On its surface drifted faint images of every promise broken, every letter I mailed too late. Soft electric vapors curled along the shorelines, painting the air with melancholy silver.

“Mirrors only show you backward,” the driver murmured, killing the throttle. “But momentum—that carries us forward.” She tapped a crimson lever.

The thrusters snarled awake, deeper and wilder. Across the sky meteorites bucked and sparred, twin blades carving incandescent arcs. I braced against the dash as the wagon banked hard. Sparks—or perhaps newborn stars—skittered down our hull like beads of mercury.

Continues on the website...

Bassline Event Horizon

Please share & subscribe, appreciate you!

https://youtu.be/YajCBArrdRw
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum

---
Rekordbox
141 BPM
A
---

Starlight on Liquid Mercury

Parallel to the spiral arms of a shy galaxy, a single glimmer drifted—no bigger than a lantern-mote, yet bright enough to stain the void a faint blue. The mote did not remember its birthplace; memory felt optional when you were made of pure light. What mattered was motion. And tonight—even though “night” meant nothing outside clocks and planets—the mote felt a tug unlike any gravity it had learned to dodge. Somewhere ahead, an invisible current was braiding time into a rope, and it wanted a rider.

The mote stretched itself into prisms, testing each hue the way swimmers test depths with cautious toes. Ruby fizzed into amber, amber cooled to jade, and when sapphire finally surfaced, the tether snapped tight. Space folded like satin around a gemstone, revealing a hidden corridor paneled with mirrors. Each pane bloomed with a possible future: emerald jungles that breathed fire, citadels carved from harmonics, oceans of whisky-colored plasma. Gravity excused itself. Forward became the only direction left.

—

A corridor of mirrors

With every meter the mote travelled, reflections multiplied. But the mirrors—tricksters that they were—didn’t echo the mote’s own shape. Instead, they produced flocks of skeletal birds spun from molten ember. Hollow bones, ringing like windchimes, snapped together into wings that ignited mid-beat. One ember-bird swooped low. The air crackled; every feather was a shard of smoldering sunrise.

Ride, the bird cawed without sound.

The mote obliged. As soon as it settled onto the fiery saddle, the flock wheeled into formation—spiral upon spiral—until centrifugal force tore a rip in the corridor’s silver lining. Together they dove through the gash, plunging into a garden where nothing soft could survive.

—

Continues on the website.

Starlight on Liquid Mercury

Please share & subscribe, appreciate you!

https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum

Nebula Pulse Engine

Watch the Music Video | Trippy Neural Space Journey | 4K AI-Generated Cinematic Visuals : https://youtu.be/u1gHdO15l8M
---
Dive into a 4K AI sci-fi dream where music, portals & neon suns pulse as one!
---
Please share & subscribe, appreciate you! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Rekordbox | Traktor: 129 BPM; Gm
---
Subscribe on YouTube for more music videos: https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
---
Overflowing with radiant synth cathedrals and razor-sharp tech propulsion.
---

Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://youtu.be/u1gHdO15l8M

Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum

#aimusicvideo #aiart #electronicmusic #techno #scifi #melodictechno 

---

I. A Signal in the Fog Nebula
At the dead center of a lavender dust cloud—so dense that even photons tripped over themselves—Captain Averi Kincairn floated in her derelict survey skiff. For two unmarked cycles she had listened to static hiss across every band the skiff’s receiver could reach. Then, on the edge of sleep, the static warped. It folded in on itself, became a hush, and finally resolved into a whisper of crackling violet light that shimmered across her cockpit glass like a swarm of fireflies.

The pattern wasn’t random. It traced runes older than any star-chart—glyphs from a pre-crystal civilization scholars called the Silent Makers. Legends claimed the Makers threaded entire galaxies with invisible arches, portals so narrow only light could pass. Averi, orphaned scavenger and reluctant dreamer, had spent her life hunting for proof. So when the violet swarm spiraled into the ancient Maker symbol for “open,” she understood: a Gate was near.

She powered every thruster to maximum and plunged into the fog.

II. Corridor of Shifting Planes
A luminescent corridor burst forth, carved through the nebula like a crystalline knife wound. Facets of unknown mineral lined the passage—each facet reflecting not her skiff, but alternate versions of her life. In one facet she piloted a merchant frigate; in another she grew elder beneath a garden sun; in another she never left the orphanage at all. The corridor was forcing her to confront diverging futures, tempting her to veer off course and disappear into a mirror of “might-have-been.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on a single violet point gleaming ahead, Averi nudged the skiff deeper. Reality around her kinked and refolded. Time slowed to the rhythm of her pulse. Colors she had no names for bled from facet to facet, painting her cockpit with kaleidoscopic tides until she forgot the way starlight normally looked.

Yet the point remained—steady, pulsing like a beacon. When she reached it, the facets snapped shut behind her with a silent shudder, and her skiff burst into open black.

Suspended before her, impossibly vast, hovered a Gate: an eight-spoked wheel forged from woven amethyst arcs, each spoke ablaze with countless tiny fireflies flickering in unison. They moved like neurons firing—but also like dancers trading partners in a silent ballroom—the choreography both mechanical and ecstatic.

Averi throttled back. Every childhood myth about Maker Gates ended with the same warning: They devour the unprepared. She drew a trembling breath.
“Devour or deliver,” she whispered—and keyed the impulse drive.

III. Threshold Burn
The Gate accepted her. The skiff pierced its core and dissolved into pure vector: coordinates divorced from matter, will pressed flat against distance. She became velocity itself. She tasted iron memories, smelled petrichor that had never fallen on any planet she knew—sensed moments stacked like playing cards inside a cosmic deck being rapidly shuffled.

The voice subsided, satisfied.

Continues on the website : https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/05/27/violet-firefly-gateways-techno-neural-space-odyssey-4k-ai-generated-cinematic-visuals/

Violet Firefly Gateways

Violet Firefly Gateways - Sci-Fi Music Video @ YouTube

Quantum Lapse: A Mind-Bending Visual Story w/ Trippy Cinematics
---
Please share & subscribe, appreciate you! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
---
Stacked with glimmering synth scaffolds and razor-sharp tech propulsion—building it (and the visuals) was a blast and a learning curve.
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://youtu.be/xNM-UhntOik
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#aimusicvideo #aiart #electronicmusic #techno #scifi #psytech  
---
Page 1 — Rune-Plateau Awakening
Grains of black glass crunched beneath Solenne’s boots as sunrise crawled over the Rune-Plateau. The plain looked infinite, a frozen sea of obsidian broken only by drifting mist etched with ever-morphing sigils. When a breeze cut across the cracked surface, those symbols flared cyan—as though the wind itself were a stylus on cosmic parchment.

Solenne had chased rumours of this place for whole star-cycles: a realm that appears only when longing aligns with the heart-pulse of the galaxy. Tonight, her longing had stitched a doorway between coordinates, and she had stepped through.

The mist parted, revealing a thin spiral staircase extruding out of vacuum, its edges sharpened to impossible points. Null-Stone, legends called it: matter grown from the idea of ascent. At the top hovered a lone mirror, dark as deep water. She inhaled, feeling the plateau tilt, gravity rewriting its vectors until “up” meant “forward.” One step, then another—each footfall sparking teal ripples on the glassy ground—she rose.

Page 2 — Chamber of Soft-Spoken Mirrors
Crossing the final step, she faced a hall rimmed with mirrors. They whispered in overlapping threads, braiding memories that were not yet memories: Solenne striding across nebula petals; Solenne with no reflection; Solenne crowned in circuitry.

Above, a vault of prismatic glass funneled starlight into the room, refracting it into roaming shards. Each shard carried a different timeline. Choose one, the mirrors implied, and the others collapse.

She touched the faintest shard—a sliver tinted indigo—and the hall shattered into a billion splinters that orbited her like a swarm of obedient moons. From the debris, a sigil ignited in mid-air: ⇝—the vector arrow. With that arrow pointing somewhere beyond probability, she stepped forward, and the world re-shortened itself around her.

Page 3 — Worm-Thread Corridor & The Shift
The transition was seamless; one breath she lingered in silence, the next she was inside a corridor woven from argent filaments. The walls pulsed with distant star-chatter—voices of galaxies echoing across aeons. The Vector Arrow on her palm glowed hotter, guiding her toward an unseen fulcrum.

Ahead, six pylons coalesced, forming a hexagonal gate. At its centre, a single star burned black, devouring colour. The Shadowstar.

As Solenne crossed the threshold, the universe shifted half a pitch up, like reality had slipped one key on a cosmic keyboard. The filaments re-threaded themselves into new angles, constellations redrew into glyphs she couldn’t parse, and her heartbeat sync-locked with the alien cadence. She felt lighter, as though mass itself had negotiated new terms with spacetime.

Continues on the website : https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/05/30/shadowstar-vector-shift-techno-neural-space-odyssey-4k-ai-generated-butterfly-visuals/

Shadowstar Vector Shift - Psy Music Video @ YouTube

Magic-mushroom visuals + quantum bass drops—hit play, lose gravity.
---
Please follow!
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Astral Mycelium Pulse
---
https://youtu.be/4nrl1PNYkYQ - Music Video
---
Some wild mushroom scenes in this one and a lot of trippy sci-fi / fantasy scenes!
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#psytrance #psytech #techno2025 #hallucinationvisuals #trippyvisuals #electronicmusic #futurebass #dreamwave #neuralbeats #generativemix #aivideo #cyberrave #mushroomtrip #hypnoticmix #fractalart #sporelight #darktech #progressivepsy #bassritual #deeptech #startrance #spacevibes #144bpm #vortexbeats #undergroundset #cosmicbass #dusthelix #liquidgroove #hypermix #syntheticwave
---
Page 1 – The Quiet Sparks
Lyra drifted at the threshold of the Luminant Gate, her skiff rocking in an unseen current. Above, the fungal super-structure arched like a cathedral grown from starlight and living hyphae. Each strand shimmered, humming in a language too old for vocal cords—yet she felt every murmur in the marrow of her bones.

A hush settled, and the mycelial canopy inhaled. Spore-dust quivered, lifting from the deck in tiny spirals before dissolving into motes of turquoise flame. In that breathless pause, Lyra sensed a heart beating beneath the architecture—steady, patient, 144 silent pulses every minute, waiting for its cue.

Then the canopy exhaled. Threads of luminescence lanced outward, braiding a tunnel of emerald fire. Her skiff shuddered forward as if reeled in by destiny, and the voyage into the Astral Mycelium Pulse began.

Page 2 – The First Bloom
Thirty-eight seconds into the passage, the tunnel flared wide. Lyra burst into a vast chamber where colossal mushroom monoliths formed a circle, their caps dotted with galaxies. A bloom of spore-light erupted—brilliant, searing, euphoric.

Voices resonated through the bloom, not in sound but sensation. Will you splice your story with ours? the council of Fungal Oracles asked. Before Lyra’s mind could fashion an answer, her heart spoke yes.

Instantly, the bloom collapsed into a velvet dusk. Gravity inverted, and she plunged downward through strata of midnight violet mist. Electric-blue lightning stitched fractal glyphs across the vessel’s hull, each glyph a memory of paths not taken. Lyra watched them race past and understood: the fungi were mapping her potential futures, judging her resonance.
---
Continues on the website.

Astral Mycelium Pulse

Lose yourself at the 2:36 drop—acid bass meets crystal visuals!
---
Please follow!
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Subterranean Starlight Shuffle
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
https://youtu.be/nnfbA57gHRM - Music Video
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#techno #psychedelic #darktechno #melodictechno #psytrance #acidtechno #cosmicjourney #trippyvisuals #fractalart #4Kvideo #bassmusic #futurehouse #spacetravel #synthwave #galacticbeats #astralprojection #bassdrop #undergroundrave #neonvibes #visualstorytelling #electronicmusic #hypnoticgroove #danceenergy #nightdrive #cyberspace #mindbending #cosmicvibes #raveculture #deepbass #chromaticdreams 
---
Movement I – Awakening in the Nebula Verge
Thick indigo mists rolled like sentient tides, veiling a lone spore drifting at the edge of a newborn nebula. Within that obsidian mote slept a consciousness so ancient that time itself had forgotten its name. When the nebula’s first hydrogen flashes bloomed, ultraviolet shockwaves cracked the spore’s shell.

The being inside tasted infinity—and breathed. Vaporous ribbons of ion-blue air stitched themselves into elastic sinew, forming limbs clothed in living mycelium. Eyes alight with bio-luminescent rings, the Spore-Knight straightened. He touched the nebula floor—a spongy lattice of star-seed and fungal root—and it answered with a reverberation that set his pulse to a steady 126-beat cadence against the void’s silence.

From the reverberation rose a blade: translucent, forever shifting between violet and viridian, humming with promise. The sword’s edge carried runes etched by cosmic radiation, promising both creation and annihilation in a single swing.

He did not yet know why he had emerged, only that an impossible destiny waited beyond the mist.
---
Continues on the website & if you're into manga, there's manga depictions of the story!
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/06/16/lotus-of-the-singularity/

Lotus of the Singularity

Ride a bioluminescent wave to the heart of the galaxy—no psychedelics required.
---
Please follow : https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Please follow : https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Sporewave Overdrive
---
Please follow : https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Creative Music Video : https://youtu.be/rMp49rXUTaA
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#sporewave #psychedelictechno #cosmicvisuals #trippymusic #scifiart
#fantasyworlds #neonmushrooms #bioluminescence #125bpm #darktechno #mycelium #galacticjourney #spaceodyssey #undergroundtechno #visualmusic #trancefam #edmcommunity #vaporwavevibes #audioreactive #progressivetechno #cyberfantasy #cosmicvibes #nightdrive #synthwaveart #futuristicbeats
#atmospherictechno #hypnoticgrooves #dreamscape #mindbending #4kvisuals 
---
— Page 1 —
A single pulse shook the abandoned moon of Serrath-9, rolling across iron dunes like distant thunder. Frost-coated pylons—remnants of a long-dead observatory—flashed with ghostly ultraviolet runes. Vera Flux, quantum cartographer, knelt beside a circular glyph etched into the sand. She pressed her gauntlet to the sigil, and an emerald shockwave raced outward, peeling open a portal that smelled of petrichor and static.

Beside her, K’to the Seeker—a bio-forged being woven from filamentous fungi and liquid chrome—extended a tendril to steady the tear in space-time. Mycelial threads glistened along his arm, each one humming the same subterranean note: a low G that matched Vera’s own heartbeat.

They had come to find the Pulse-Spire, a living tower rumored to recalibrate reality itself. No vessel could reach it by conventional means; only the Sporewave, an interdimensional tide of sentient spores, could ferry travelers across the void. And it was rising—right on cue—beneath the portal’s rim.

— Page 2 —
The leap felt like sliding through liquid glass. Light fractured, reassembled, and then exploded into a river of bioluminescent particles: the Sporewave. Each spore was a microscopic eye reflecting whole galaxies. Vera and K’to surfed its crest on boards formed from crystallized intent, gravity forgotten.

Currents of color rippled beneath them—violet cyclones, crimson geysers—each one broadcasting whispered memories of extinct civilizations. The wave’s roar twisted into ancient songs, promising revelation or ruin with every bend. Vera leaned forward, hair dissolving into photon mist, steering toward faint flashes ahead: the Spire’s heartbeat, thundering like a subterranean drum.

But the Sporewave was capricious. A maelstrom of prismatic shards spun into view, morphing into a colossal helix. It yanked them sideways, dumping them into a Silence Rift—a pocket where sound, time, and thought collapsed into a single unmoving point. Their momentum vanished; so did color. Only a monochrome horizon remained.
---

Continues on the website & if you're into manga, there's manga depictions of the story!
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/06/19/sporewave-overdrive/

Sporewave Overdrive

Can you handle a galaxy detuned by two semitones?
---
Please follow! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Hush‑Matter Halo
---
Please follow! https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Creative Music Video : https://youtu.be/bbg-7I_t99I
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
techno #melodictechno #psytrance #techhouse #futuregroove #spacevisuals #4kvisualizer #trippyvideo #psychedelicjourney #bassdrop #trance2025 #undergroundtechno #cosmicmusic #hypnoticbeats #deeprave #darkgroove #progressivetechno #neonbeats #visualstory #synthwave #spacerave #galaxytrip #astralmusic #bassline #mindbending #immersiveaudio #clubmix #trippytechno #visualodyssey #psygroove #hushmatterhalo #nullbloom #quantumspores #silentcarbon #detuneduniverse #125bpm #gmkey #4kpsyvisual #beatsyncedfx #scene2void #scene14labyrinth #vaultjar #crownhalo #portaldoorway #visualstorymix #melodictechno #darktechno #techhouse #psygroove #futurerave #spaceopera #scififantasy #psychedelicvisuals #neonsynth #cosmicjourney #galaxyvibes #cybermyth #astralbeats #myceliumtrance #cosmorave #loopelectronic #bassdrop #visualizer #immersiveaudio #trippyvideo #4k60fps #studymusic2025 #latenightmix #newmusicfriday #mindblowingsounds
---
Page 1 — Fault Line of Silence
Numina-Ω hung beyond the light of any star, a matte spheroid of ancient carbon veined with violet ice. When the mining drones broke into its deepest stratum, they did not find ore. They found absence: a black dust that swallowed every motor hum, every radio ping, every rasp of drill against rock. The drones’ onboard recorders returned only wide-eyed video—mouths opening, mechanical limbs spinning—inside a perfect mute.

The discovery detonated across the secret channels of the Archivists, the galaxy’s most obsessive keepers of impossible things. Within hours, Vessel Seraph 7 was diverted from a mapping patrol and fitted with a vault-jar of obsidian glass. Mission: harvest a single gram of the silence-dust—quickly dubbed Hush-Matter—and deliver it to the Hidden Stacks before any corporate salvage team caught a whiff.

You boarded as chronicler, pen in hand, lungs tight with anticipation. Captain Zhera Lyne, whose eyes shimmered like tide-pools at dusk, welcomed you to a crew of nine: navigator Rhys, engineer Lau, physician Aru, five stoic drone-handlers, and yourself. None of you could feel the exact moment the vault-jar sealed around the specimen. Yet all of you heard it: a micro-tremor in the skull like a piano key pressed in a dream.

Page 2 — Unchaining the Pulse
Seraph 7’s quantum sails unfurled, gathering the bland photons of interstellar dark the way a jellyfish drinks the ocean. The engines’ beat, measured and comforting, settled at four pulses per unit time—steady as a human heart in sleep.

But on the thirty-second cycle the pulse lurched. The vault-jar glimmered with internal auroras, threads of black swallowing threads of color. Rhys called up the harmonic maps: the ship was still in G-minor space, yet external gravitational harmonics flirted two semitones sharper, as though the universe itself had shivered.


Continues on the website & if you're into manga, there's manga depictions of the story!
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/06/22/hush%e2%80%91matter-halo/

Hush-Matter Halo

Can your eyes handle this synthwave warp? Trippy visuals start at second #125bpm 
---
Please follow! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Night Orchard Eclipse
---
Please follow! https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Creative Music Video : https://youtu.be/AKPNtsRp4rs
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#synthwave #neonnoir #futurebass #psytrance #trippyvisuals #cyberwave #edmmix #4kvideo #bassdrop #psychedelic #fractalanimation #darkwave #vaporwave #techorbitals #glitchart #visualizer #cosmicbeats #electrohouse #spacebass #bassmusic #edm2025 #nightdrive #chromaticbeats #wavevisuals #neonbeats #mindtrip #danceelectronic #cybertrance #tripvideo #darkpsy #NightOrchardEclipse #HeartSpore #SporeStorm #MycelialThrone #OrcusWell #VelvetInfraspace #TriangleClouds #NeonDandelions #RiverOfLight #MembraneGate #Synthwave #FutureBass #Darkwave #Psytrance #Techno #Cyberwave #ElectroHouse #SpaceBass #NeonNoir #Cyberpunk #FantasyBeats #SciFiVisuals #PsychedelicTrance #Retrowave #Glitchwave #MusicVideo #EDM #4KVisualizer #BassDrop #BassBoosted #Psychedelic #TrippyVisuals #ImmersiveAudio #ViralVideo #NewMusic2025 #TrendingNow #EpicBeats #BeatDrop #NightDrive #ChillBeats #StudyBeats #ElectroMix #GamingMusic #WorkoutMusic #RoadTrip
---
Pulse One — Blood on the Gate
Talis Vireo felt the orchard before he saw it. The air on Lyseria’s eternal night side had always tasted faintly of cold iron, but tonight it crackled with something sweeter—like sparks leaping off sugar. Beyond a dune of jet-black sand waited the concentric trees of legends: trunks of glassy crystal, branches blooming aurora-colored thorns.
He pushed through waist-high tufts of star-grass until the first thorn brushed his wrist. It pricked. A single bead of scarlet welled, then shattered into motes of light that sank into the bark. With a hiss, the Gate-Tree parted. Petals the size of stained-glass shields folded outward, revealing a corridor alive with pulsating roots. They beat in time with Talis’s racing heart, as though announcing a challenger’s arrival.
Behind him, the dune had already begun to crumble—no return. Ahead, an eight-point spiral path invited him into the orchard’s dark glow.

Pulse Two — March of the Chromatic Roots
The path carried him rather than the other way around. Roots braided together, forming a living conveyor that rolled beneath his boots. Each step he would have taken sprouted neon moss, then dissolved back into earth once he’d passed—as though the orchard rewrote itself to his rhythm alone.
Sometimes the trees leaned inward. Their pliant limbs formed archways that whispered in dozens of voices—snippets of extinct languages, negotiations between long-dead lovers, the recitation of prime numbers backwards. Talis tried to focus on the steady thrum of his pulse to stay anchored. He had inhaled only a breath of spore-dust so far, yet colors already felt louder than thunder.
At a curve in the spiral, the conveyor slowed. Ahead stretched open ground littered with swirling pollen. Every particle flashed a full rainbow cycle before vanishing. Where did it go? He stepped forward—and the orchard answered with a storm.
---
Continues on the website...

Night Orchard Eclipse

Witness a crystal beetle constellation ignite this psychedelic techno saga—watch in 4K!
---
Please follow! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Night Orchard Eclipse
---
Please follow! https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Creative Music Video : https://youtu.be/qdSGP_lYIsQ
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#psychedelic #techno #melodictechno #psytech #visualizer #4kvideo #hdrvisuals #cosmic #spaceambient #fantasyworld #scifivibes #trippyart #neonmushrooms #floatingislands #bioluminescent #galaxygroove #surrealjourney #progressivebeats #electronicmusic #mindtrip #epicvisuals #cosmicforest #dreamscape #beatsandbass #audioreactive #futurebeats #ultraviolet #spiritualbass #nightdrive #beatsforstudying
#CrystalBeetleConstellation #SporeCrest #MyceliumThrone #NebulaWindForge #FloatingValleyRise #BioluminescentMushrooms #ChronoFungus #CosmicSpores #QuantumForest #GalaxyChalice #AntleredAvatar #VioletVortex #PsychedelicIsles #StarForgeCaravan #AscensionDawn #PsychedelicTechno #MelodicTechno #PsyTech #SciFiVisualizer #FantasyMusicVideo #CosmicFantasy #SurrealVisualizer #TrippyArt #SpaceAmbient #FutureBeats #ProgressiveElectronica #NeonDreamscape #EpicVisuals #AstralJourney #4KHDRVisuals #MusicVideo #ElectronicMusic #ChillBeats #StudyMusic #NightDrive #LofiVibes #RelaxingSounds #MeditativeJourney #ImmersiveExperience #VisualStorytelling #ShortFilm #CreativeInspiration #DigitalArt #CinematicSound #viralbeats 
---
— Page 1 —
Kalen Thrynn trudged across the abandoned moon of Myrhazel, his boots raising lonely puffs of ash‑gray dust. No city lights guided him—only a faint, rhythmic glow pulsing beneath the surface like a somnolent heartbeat. At first he thought it a trick of fatigue, but when he paused, the ground answered with another gentle thrum, and soft teal motes spiraled upward in dancing helices. They drifted around his shoulders, mapping cryptic runes in the air before fading. The language was unfamiliar, yet it felt older than planets.

The desert’s hush deepened; even Kalen’s breath seemed to mute. The sky bled into hazy mauve, as though day itself forgot how to dawn. Out of that silence rose elongated shadows—guardians sculpted from stillness, their edges blurring against the color‑stripped horizon. They stood unmoving, watchful, like living ellipses around a secret sentence. Kalen’s pulse quickened, but a daring curiosity overrode his fear. He closed his eyes, inhaled the dust‑laden air, and stepped forward.

— Page 2 —
A tremor spidered through the crust. The plain split with a hissing sigh, revealing a mammoth bloom: a chrono‑fungus, its iridescent gills fanning wide like celestial wings. Every pore exhaled spores glowing bright enough to cast shadows. Time bent—Kalen felt minutes elongate into hours, then snap like overstretched wire. In those elastic seconds he glimpsed himself multiplied: ten separate destinies branching outward, each tinted by a different emotion. He chose the vision where courage glowed ultraviolet, and the unchosen paths folded away like petals at dusk.

The fungus unfurled a final layer, and a prismatic archway manifested above it—interlocking tetrahedrons humming at the edge of perception. Inside each crystalline face shimmered a micro‑universe, dizzyingly infinite. As the gate yawed open, gravity winked off; Kalen’s body rose like a mote of dust drawn toward a star. He braced for cold emptiness—but instead drifted onto a vast caravan of translucent beetles marching through open space.
---
Continues on the website...

Crystal Beetle Constellation

Rainlamp Reverie

Fractal Umbrella Waltz

Coffee-Steam Constellations

Cassette Cloud Parade

Mushroom-Ink Metro

Upward Sakura Drizzle

Inkblot Bicycle Dreams

Lavender Fog Haiku

Pocket Universe Polaroids

Jellyfish Lantern Hop

Turntable Tower Drift

Wobbly Paper Skylines

Soft Gravity Sketches

Ohhh I've missed these! My psychedelic heart calls for em. They still tell a story, it helps being pretty high for it.
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Trippy visuals + deep melodic techno = your next sonic escape.
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Portal Pulse Ceremony
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
4K Music Video : https://youtu.be/oMeH2sDH2U8
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#psychedelic #techno #musicvideo #4kvisuals #trippyart #spacerave #futurebeats #visualizer #scifimusic #electronicdance #neonvortex #spacejourney #cosmictrip #melodictechno #deephouse #synthwave #fractalart #vrmusic #galacticroad #bassdriven #immersivesound #mindbending #dreamscape #cinematicbeats #vjnation #astralmusic #crystalshards #ambientgroove #surrealvisuals #focusmusic #serotonineclipsedrive #neonmindtrip #galaxytech #cybertrance #astrohouse #portalbeats #spiralvisuals #quantumgroove #stardustrhythm #voidrider #hyperrealsound #mycelialbeats #luminousbass #stellarvibes #echofields #otherworldaudio #chromaticwave #voidcinema #psytechjourney #infinityloops #synestheticrave #extradimensions #dreamportal #nightdriveclouds #futureclub
---
Liora didn’t remember falling asleep beneath the abandoned viaduct; she only remembered the faint lavender shimmer that pressed against her eyelids like someone nudging a door from the other side. She awoke atop a pale slab of concrete that suddenly felt warm and breathing, as if a pulse beat beneath its surface.
A hairline fissure ran along the concrete’s edge, glowing soft and orange, and the glow spread outward in branching webs. The air thickened with the scent of crushed juniper. A hush—too deliberate to be silence—gathered around her.

Without quite knowing why, Liora placed her palm on the fissure. The warmth became a current, humming through her veins. The crack widened and swallowed her hand, her arm, and then her entire body. She slipped through the concrete as if it were vapor, emerging in another place entirely.

I. A Sky of Roots
She stood on an upside-down plain—above her stretched a tangle of colossal roots instead of clouds, dangling tendrils tipped with luminous spores that drifted upward and vanished. Beyond them, hidden by phosphorescence, pulsed a sun the color of serotonin in chemical diagrams, crescent-shaped and curiously hollow, as though a bite had been taken from its light.

The ground was a glossy obsidian mirror. Every step sent ripples of violet into the distance, echoing along an endless surface. She caught her reflection: eyes dilated wider than normal, skin faintly silver, as though the voyage had scrubbed away something ordinary.

II. Crystal Moth Crossing
The obsidian sea fractured into prisms at her feet, and from the fracture soared creatures—moths made of quartz, wings refracting the hollow sun. Their antennae curved like tuning forks, plucking silent harmonics from space itself. Without speaking, they invited her to climb onto one of their backs. She obeyed. Claws clicked delicately around her shoulders like corset stays.

The moth rose. Flight was a vibration more than a motion, a steady ascending tremor. Below, the obsidian rippled into a mosaic of jagged colors, each shard reflecting some forgotten memory: her childhood bicycle gliding over summer asphalt; a friend’s half-finished laugh; a heartbreak sealed in a jar of midnight. The shards tumbled away, replaced by unknown frames—faces she’d never seen, landscapes too improbable to have been real.

She realized the moth was culling old serotonin echoes and feeding them into its wings, transmuting emotion into propulsion.

Portal Pulse Ceremony

Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/SqE374GGTJo
---
Hit play & drop into a 4K vortex of space‑techno and trippy mushroom visuals—headphones on!
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
4K bass, cosmic visuals, zero gravity vibes—welcome to the Supernova ritual.
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Thousand Eye Supernova
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#techno #psychedelic #4Kvisuals #trippy #spacejourney #scifimusic #bassboost #cinematicmix #psytrance #neonvisuals #hardtechno #deeprave #hypnoticbeats #futurevibes #darkrave #electronicodyssey #galactic #cosmictrip #visualizer #musicvideo #synthwave #undergroundtechno #tripvisuals #ambienttrance #spacemix #dreamstate #psytech #nightdrive #raveculture #basshead #thousandeyesupernova #prismgate #myceliumstag #liquidquartz #sporestorm #quantumriver #psytechno #cinematictech #spacerave #fantasybeats #synthcosmos #galactictrance #futuretechbass #losemind #deepfocus #nightdrivevibes #soundscape #tripmode #4Kmusic #beatsforstudy 

---

PROLOGUE — SHARDS OF THE SLEEPING SKY
Night on the planet Quoria is never truly dark; the heavens shimmer with a half-remembered aurora known as the Sleeping Sky. Everyone in the floating archipelago of Cloudroot knows the legend: when the aurora stirs, it means a Wanderer has been chosen by the cosmos itself.

Eloen Tiral, map-maker and reluctant dreamer, never asked to be that Wanderer. Yet on the eve of the triple moon alignment, when violet motes began tumbling from the stars like embers from a gargantuan hearth, the aurora cracked open and a single prism shard drifted down into her hands. The shard fluttered like a wounded hummingbird, then folded in on itself, revealing an impossible glyph: “Seek the Eye that sees a thousand things.”

The moment Eloen traced the glyph, gravity bent sideways, Cloudroot slipped beneath her feet, and she was swallowed by a tunnel of color.

CHAPTER 1 — THE RIVER OF LIQUID QUARTZ
Eloen landed—softly, miraculously—atop a glassy current that flowed through nothingness. The River of Liquid Quartz pulsed beneath her boots, every droplet refracting her own bewildered reflection. Star-specks swirled above like curious fireflies, and distant mushroom monoliths cast sapphire halos across the water.

A voice—not quite a voice—rippled through the river: You stand in the Interstice, cartographer. Your maps end here, but the path does not.

Eloen knelt, dipping her fingers into the flow. It was warm and humming, as though the very notion of music had liquefied. With each pulse, the river projected shimmering coordinate lines into the air, charting a route toward a colossal orb far beyond the horizon—a faint pinprick of iridescent light. She knew, without knowing how, that this was the Thousand-Eye Supernova.

When she stepped forward, the current carried her effortlessly. Bioluminescent koi leapt beside her, shedding equations that assembled into floating bridges before splashing back. Each step was both falling and flying, and time folded into a Möbius strip of wonder.


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/14/thousand-eye-supernova/

Thousand Eye Supernova

4K Music Video : https://youtu.be/KLcTwtPieZc
---
Skip reality—enter a celestial rave of deep bass and neon spores.
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Liquid Quartz Voyager
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#techno #psychedelic #4Kvisuals #trippy #spacejourney #scifimusic #bassboost #cinematicmix #psytrance #neonvisuals #hardtechno #deeprave #hypnoticbeats #futurevibes #darkrave #electronicodyssey #galactic #cosmictrip #visualizer #musicvideo #synthwave #undergroundtechno #tripvisuals #ambienttrance #spacemix #dreamstate #psytech #nightdrive #raveculture #bassheads 
---
CHAPTER 2 — THE SPORE-STORM EXPANSE
The river deposited Eloen onto a plain of cobalt grass swaying beneath an amethyst sky. A gentle snow of spores drifted down, each mote popping into kaleidoscopic shapes when it touched the ground.

Ahead sprawled the Spore-Storm Expanse—a biome where thoughts erupt into living hallucinations. Eloen’s first exhale birthed a miniature sun that bobbed around her head like a curious sparrow. Her second formed a violin-tailed comet that circled her ankles, singing in frequencies she felt more than heard.

A towering figure emerged from the spore haze—part stag, part mycelium, crowned with antlers that branched into nebulae. Its eyes reflected every possible version of Eloen, from triumphant to terrified.

Stag-Shaman: You chase what cannot be caged. The Supernova’s eyes are windows and mirrors; they grant revelation at a cost. What do you offer in return?
Eloen: I offer the only thing I possess—my uncharted curiosity.

The Stag-Shaman bent its head, touching its nebular antlers to her prism shard. Reality rippled. A new route—carved in threads of luminous mycelium—spiraled toward the horizon. Then walk the spire of questions, the shaman intoned, and keep no answer for yourself.

With that, the hallucinations dispersed, and Eloen marched on, trailed by a constellation of living questions that fluttered like paper cranes in her wake.

CHAPTER 3 — THE HOLLOW ECLIPSE
The grassland ended at a vertical cliff that sliced the world clean in half. Above loomed a Hollow Eclipse—a black coin eating the sun from within. Its corona radiated oscillating mandala patterns that drummed against her skull. Gravity tilted, hurling her sideways onto an invisible staircase that circled the eclipse’s rim.

Each step plunged Eloen into a memory not her own: civilizations that built cities of laughter, oceans woven from silk, wars fought with symphonies instead of steel. She climbed through lifetimes in minutes, shedding old fears like molting skin.

Halfway up, she encountered a mirrored corridor containing a multitude of possible Elos. One was ancient and weary; another sparkled with childlike mischief; a third bore haunted eyes and battle scars. They spoke in unison: Choose who walks onward.

Eloen closed her eyes and realized the trick—all of them were true, but none complete. She stepped forward without choosing, absorbing them like colored threads into her own tapestry. The corridor shattered into prismatic dust, and the staircase delivered her to a plateau of black glass.

There, suspended in the void, glowed the Thousand-Eye Supernova—now immense and breathtaking. Its surface shimmered with a million iridescent pupils, each cycling through impossible spectra.

Liquid Quartz Voyager

Trippy Sci-fi Music Video : https://youtu.be/RyhardbnYbU
---
Hit play and dive into a glowing mushroom rave across the cosmos!
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Hypnotic Techno Pulse 🌀 Neon Mushrooms & Stellar Soundscape
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Quantum Shroom Surge
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#techno #deeptech #synthwave #psychedelictechno #spacemusic #visualizer4k #trippymusicvideo #fractalarc #bioluminescent #deeptechjourney #cinematicrave #neonmushrooms #glowingspores #cosmicodyssey #quantumbeats #trancescape #futuristicsynths #galacticbass #ambienttechno #darksynth #myceliumdreams #stellarvisuals #electronicescape #hypnoticgroove #sci_fi_vibes #surrealuniverse #bassritual #immersionaudio #progressivebeats #nightdrivingmusic #vrfriendly #mindbender #epicvisualstory #quantumshrooms #haloofspores #mushroomrave #rootpulse #mirrorcorridor #psysynth #spacerave #techtrance #futurescapes #cosmictrance #synthvoyage #darkscifi #4kvisuals #epicmusicvideo #soundscape #audiovisualart #immersiveexperience #chillbeats #bassmusic #soundjourney #virtualtrip #losemindfindmusic

---

— Page 1 —
Even in a cosmos where planets wrapped themselves in silken auroras and comets sang in gravity-bent choirs, the fungal moon Verridia shimmered with a strangeness all its own. From orbit it looked like a pale amethyst pearl veined with emerald. Up close, its surface was a living quilt of towering mushroom citadels, bioluminescent rivers, and spore-storms that swirled like nebular tempests.

Explorer-librarian Nyra Vale arrived alone—save for her pocket-sized archivist drone, Glyph—hunting a legend whispered through pirate channels: “Where the caps glow indigo at dawn, reality folds easier than parchment.” She believed those words pointed to the Quantum Shrooms—organisms rumored to warp probabilities with every heartbeat. Secure in a sapphire pressure suit, Nyra stepped from her scarab-shaped lander onto a lattice of fungal roots as wide as an ocean. The ground pulsed beneath her boots in a steady, alluring beat, like a promise or a dare.

— Page 2 —
Low gravity made each stride a languid leap. Spore-dust spiraled around her visor, painting psychotropic mandalas across the glass. Glyph projected a holo-compass, but its readings jittered—up became east, north folded back onto itself, and the horizon ran in Möbius loops. Nyra disabled the device; here, instinct would guide better than instruments.

A shriek of chromatic light erupted a kilometer away: indigo caps blooming taller than skyscrapers, their stalks braided with silver mycelium. Every pulse rippled into the air as a prismatic shockwave, rearranging reality like shards in a kaleidoscope. Nyra’s breath caught—the Surge had begun.

She set a micro-beacon and walked toward the phenomenon. With each step, memories surfaced unbidden: her childhood kite morphing into a solar sail, a lost friend’s laughter echoing like crystal chimes, dreams she hadn’t yet dreamed. Verridia’s spores read her mind and projected possibilities into living hallucinations. Nyra steadied herself, remembering her mantra: Observe, don’t drown.


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/17/quantum-shroom-surge/

Quantum Shroom Surge

Bioluminescent bass drops meet cosmic visuals—skip ahead if you dare!
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Dark techno + trippy fantasy art = your next late‑night obsession.
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Echoes of the Fungi Lords
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Fantasy Music Video : https://youtu.be/mNAE4tQrGjw
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
#techno #deeptech #synthwave #psychedelic #darktechno #organictechno #melodictechno #technovisualizer #4Kvisuals #trippyart #bioluminescent #mushroommusic #fantasyvideo #cosmicjourney #forestgroove #deepbass #mycelium #neonforest #sporerave #psychill #futuregroove #hypnoticbeats #electronicritual #undergroundvibes #cosmicrave #trancefusion #visualstory #dreamscape #darkpsy #etherealbeats #spaceambience #nightdrive #raveculture #fungigods #shroomlords #psyforest #fantasytechno #galacticbeats #nebularhythm #glowgroove #rootedbass #mythicrave #ectoacoustics #spaceodysynth #chromabass #nocturnalgroove #dimensionaldance #otherworldlybeats #ritualvisuals #luminoustemple #stellarstep #prismaphonic #sacredbass

---

I. Spores Beneath the Obsidian Dawn
Deep in the marrow of an unnamed continent, a cavern yawns—its ceiling a cathedral of black crystal, its floor a velvet quilt of mycelial lace that glows like moon‑soaked snow. From that living lattice a lone spore quickens, silver as starlight caught in water.

Nyra, a wanderer whose dreams have always whispered in forgotten tongues, kneels beside the spore. She feels it trembling against the pulse in her palm, hears it singing inside her skull—a hum so low it might be the heartbeat of the earth itself. When she breathes, the air tastes of petrichor and electric pine.

A ripple of emerald vapor uncoils from the ground, shaping itself into a serpent crowned with obsidian feathers. Its eyes are twin vortices, galaxies spinning in reverse. With a hiss that feels more like a promise than a threat, it slithers around Nyra, dusting her skin with bioluminescent pollen.

The cavern wall before her softens into translucent flesh. Behind it, shadow‑figures in chalk‑white masks beat unseen drums, their motions slow and tidal, summoning glyphs of an empire lost before language was born. Nyra steps forward, and the wall parts like silk, inviting her into the Spiral.

II. The Spiral of Masked Voices
She finds herself upon a circular mesa suspended in nothingness—an impossible stage surrounded by endless night. Masks float above the rim, each carved with a rune no living alphabet could hold. They chant in a tongue that slides sideways through thought, and Nyra’s own words fall away like leaves in autumn.

The serpent coils at her feet, then bursts into spores of scintillating jade. The pollen swirls upward, knitting a doorway of refracted moonlight. Through it marches a procession of tribesfolk draped in feathers and radiant lichens, skin tattooed with constellations that shift like migrating flocks.

They circle Nyra, marking her brow with violet resin that burns cold. In that sear of ice she sees a vision: titanic beings—Fungi Lords—looming in a valley of living quartz. Their limbs are roots, their crowns are coronal shrooms fuming rainbow spores that rewrite the wind. They speak without mouths, their voices felt rather than heard, commanding her to bear witness to the Cyclone of Prism Blood.


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/23/echoes-of-the-fungi-lords/

Echoes of the Fungi Lords

Visualizer Music Video : https://youtu.be/ncBHDoL8AQg
---
Fractal portals, hypnotic bass—this space trip resets your brain.
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Voyage of the Fractal Nomad
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---
Page 1: The Cocoon and the Call
In the pitch-black cradle of deep-sector 91‑Δ, something stirred.

The Cocoon was not a ship in the traditional sense. It pulsed, breathed, and dreamed. Its hull was laced with thin-film iridescence, woven from the silk of bioluminescent mycelia. Inside, a singular entity began to wake—the Fractal Nomad. Not born, not made, but grown from the remains of a forgotten psynaut and an ancient fungal intelligence.

No alarms. No spoken commands. Just a vibration that deepened into meaning.

The Nomad blinked twice. Not eyelids—there were no more eyes. But consciousness phased into clarity. A lattice of liquid sunlight unfolded across the Cocoon’s canopy. That was the signal.

The solar sails unfurled, silent sheets of translucent light slicing through vacuum like blooming petals. The Cocoon heaved forward, stretching spacetime into a tunnel of colorless heat. As it entered slipstream velocity, the Cocoon's internal symbiotes pulsed in sync, lubricating the journey with ionized thoughtform lubricants.

And then... they descended.

Not downward, but inward. Into something deeper than space.

Page 2: Tunnels of Smoke and Memory
The slipstream was not linear. It twisted like a Möbius nerve—a loop folded upon itself, hiding deeper truths with every pulse. Inside the stream, light behaved like thought, and thought behaved like fluid.

The Nomad’s mind flickered with echoes of past lives: dying on a jungle planet while mushrooms sang dirges; drowning in clouds made of serotonin; kissing a mirrored self on a moon with no name.

The Cocoon shook.

A metallic howl rippled through the spine of the vessel. The warp coils strained, each one a living organ wrapped in platinum membranes. Electro-psionic turbulence tore at the mycelial lattice, splitting it momentarily into kaleidoscopic nerve clusters.

They were being rerouted. Something unseen had hijacked the trajectory.

But then came the release.

The Cocoon burst into a nebular blossom—a great flower made of starfire and pheromone dust. The Nomad hovered in its core like a bee tasting eternity.

Time bled into petals.

Page 3: The Bloom, the Chorus, and the Caravan
An 8-second eternity.

The Cocoon drifted inside a radiant prismatic bloom, where rainbow light condensed into liquid lenses. Through them, the Nomad could see latticework cities built by forgotten species: organic skyscrapers, breathing streets, psychic highways.

Then, something emerged from the bloom—a mushroom spire, golden and immense, coiling around the Cocoon. It released a harmonic burst of spores, each one humming a perfect A♯ frequency. The chorus of spores sang a name the Nomad had never known it had.

And with that, the Cocoon recalibrated.

A swarm of micro-vessels unfurled from its hull—the Quantum Caravan. These weren’t ships; they were fragments of the Nomad’s own psyche, each carrying a different version of truth. They aligned into a spiral formation and began gliding across a plane of turquoise plasma.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/29/voyage-of-the-fractal-nomad/

#techno  #4kvisualizer  #psychedelictechno  #trippyart

Voyage of the Fractal Nomad

Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/dz1gj8fCAzU
---
Can you hear the ibex whispering beneath the bass?
---
Please follow - https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
Tap in—this techno ritual glows brighter in the dark.
---
Please follow - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
Whisper of the Hollow Ibex
---
Follow on SoundCloud for more tracks : https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---

A sand-red dusk bled across the Vermilion Void when the caravan first appeared—seven wanderers cloaked in fabrics the color of half-remembered dreams. Their leader, a sinewy guide named Vael, pressed his palm to the dune beneath him. He could feel it: the hush-loud heartbeat rumored to lie under this desert, a primordial rhythm older than stars. Tonight it throbbed like an invitation.

The group’s purpose was half-spoken, half-felt. Each carried a buried ache—a lost love, an unanswered question, a fracture in their own reflection. All believed the legends: that somewhere beyond the last ripple of sand rose the Lunar Root, a crystal that could rewrite the mind’s worn grooves. But the Void was treacherous; only those who matched the pulse of the land could cross without becoming mirage.

They moved in silence until the third crescent of the moon crowned the horizon. Then, on a dune as sharp as a scimitar, a phantom silhouette emerged: an ibex sculpted from living dusk, antlers hollow like twin horns of bone-wind. Its eyes shone void-black, absorbing all starlight.

Vael’s breath snagged in his throat. This, legend swore, was the desert’s sentinel. The Hollow Ibex appeared only to caravans worthy of passage. But its price was steep—a fear willingly offered.

Without speaking, the travelers laid bare the truths they dreaded most. A warrior named Irian surrendered the terror that his blade was all that defined him. A glass-voiced singer named Seral released her secret anxiety that every note might be her last. One by one, the ibex drank their confessions; shadows peeled from their spines and evaporated, tasting like iron on the wind.

The ibex bowed. A single wordless whisper rippled through the Void, sinking into skin, marrow, memory. Proceed.

The Mirror Gates
Hours later, twin arches of black obsidian rose out of nowhere, facing one another like opposing truths. Polished surfaces reflected neither stars nor faces but endless corridors of possible futures. Stepping through, the caravan felt color invert: sky bloomed into viridian, dunes shimmered in gold. Time elongated, syrup-thick. Thoughts flitted like moths across molten glass.

Seral heard the hush-loud pulse grow louder, altering pitch as if tuning their hearts to a cosmic hymn. An emerald gust swept across the arches, scattering crystalline sand that rang faint chimes with each grain’s fall. Everyone knew: they could no longer turn back. The Mirror Gates sealed behind them, swallowing their echoes.

Comet-Serpent Tempest
Inverted skies crackled as a comet-wide serpent slithered along the firmament, scales sparking cyan lightning. Wind gathered, howling wordless drones. Sand rose into spiraling towers. Vael signaled for the caravan to lock arms. Instead of resisting the gale, they leaned into it, bodies swaying like blades of dune-grass.


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/30/whisper-of-the-hollow-ibex/

#techno  #melodictechno  #deeptech  #trippyart  #visualizer

Whisper of the Hollow Ibex

Feel lava under your feet—hard techno meets a psychedelic sky in 3…2…1.
Plug in—this dark rave journey will melt reality in five bass drops.
Nomads march. Drums pound. The sky turns ember. Are you ready?
---
Stream / download ➜
---
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
---
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
---
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
---
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
---
Close your eyes—follow the spiral galaxy and bass into oblivion.
---
Nomads Under the Ember Sky
---
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/AeD5DNvqi4Q
---
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
---

The moon had not been seen in thirty-three nights, for an ember-red shroud lay over the heavens like molten silk. Beneath that burning veil sprawled an obsidian plain—black glass so polished it mirrored the crimson firmament above. Rumors called this place Ash-Hollow, though the oldest wanderers claimed it was once a lake of fire that cooled into stone the night something else fell from the constellations.

Into this hush trudged a caravan of cloaked nomads. Their boots rang dull notes on the glossy floor, each footfall accompanied by a pulse that throbbed up from the rock itself, as if the ground possessed a heartbeat trying to match their own. Spirals—tattooed in shimmering mica—glittered across their weathered skin, guiding them forward with a geometry no star-chart could replicate.

I. The Echoing Path
Kai, youngest among the pilgrims, paused to gaze at his reflection in the obsidian. The sky’s ember glow painted his eyes a fierce amber, yet within them danced the tremor of uncertainty. He had heard the legends from whispers in desert markets: When the sky turns embers and the stone begins to hum, follow the pulse to the heart-rift. There the world’s secret will open like a mouth of light.

He tightened his cloak and rejoined the march. The caravan curved toward a fissure in the plain—an ink-black wound wide enough to swallow cities. From its depths rose faint tendrils of emerald luminescence, like vines of living ore trying to escape. It was here, the elders said, that the ritual would begin.

II. Breath of the Spore Wind
A sudden gust, impossibly cool, spiraled up from the rift. With it came a cloud of spores—spherical motes aglow in hues that shifted from jade to amethyst to gold depending on how one dared to blink. They drifted among the nomads, kissing foreheads and slipping under cloaks.

Kai inhaled—and the world kaleidoscoped. The obsidian plain rippled as if water; constellations buckled and re-arranged into sigils that pulsed in time with his racing heart. Cloaked companions fragmented into geometric silhouettes of themselves—prisms walking. Every doubt, every childhood memory, floated outward and crystallized as visible thought-petals before dissolving back into the wind.

An elder touched Kai’s shoulder. Through vision warped by chromatic tides, Kai still recognized the gesture: reassurance. “Let the spores rewrite seeing,” the elder murmured, voice both thunderous and whispered grains of sand. “Only then can you walk paths not yet laid.”


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/03/nomads-under-the-ember-sky/

#techno  #psytrance  #hardtechno  #psychedelicvisuals

Nomads Under the Ember Sky

Brace for 150 BPM carnage—hard‑techno warehouse meltdown starts NOW!
Industrial kicks + acid squelch = peak‑time rave weapon—hit ▶
Underground‑rave energy—pounding basslines, strobe‑ready visuals.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
-
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
-
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
-
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
-
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
2025 techno anthem—acid hooks & relentless warehouse drive.
-
Ketamine Ladderfall
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/ABBZrMBjR1k
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

The Story
The void between the ninth and tenth shattered moons of Periapsis-7 was so black it seemed to drink thought itself. Nothing moved there—nothing except a small, scuffed skiff whose hull was etched with rotating ideograms that only the half-dreaming could read. At its helm stood Liora Rakas, cartographer of dreams and sworn addict to ketarite vapor—the crystalline distillate mined from moon-shade petals and whispered, in hushed guild cant, to open ladders in space. An obsidian mask covered the left side of her face, grafted after an accident in a forgotten orbit; the mask hummed faintly, tasting reality the way a tongue tastes storm-charged air.

Tonight the mask vibrated harder than she had ever felt. Out of the pitch, a beacon coughed two silent bursts of ultraviolet. On her console a single phrase pulsed in aquamarine runes: Descend the Ladderfall.

She inhaled a steady ribbon of ketarite, silver and cold, and the universe stretched like warm wax. The beacon unfolded. A spine of molten aurora irradiated the vacuum, rung after glowing rung, each clanging against existence as though the cosmos were hollow iron. Gravity shifted—up became in, down became through—yet the ladder hung absolutely still.

Liora closed her eyes. She had spent years mapping evershift phases, cataloging where dreams touched matter, but she had never seen a structure this explicit. The Ladderfall was an invitation. Or a trap. Same thing, really, for a cartographer itching to burn her name across the impossible.

She stepped from the skiff, boot heels clicking on nothing until the first rung flowered beneath her soles: cooled plasma crusted with frost. Ketarite flooded her circulation; the mask interpreted smells in colors never meant for retinas. Deep violet tasted sour—somewhere inside the rung was a filament of lemon-bitter fear. She smiled and descended.

I

The first ten rungs sang like struck crystal goblets. With each step her surroundings dilated—soft cobalt fogs unfurled, bending away to reveal a tunnel of fractured lightning. There she fell sideways, ribs colliding gently with prismatic panes that hissed static equations: entropy tends toward amber; love is an ultraviolet fault line. Black-glass serpents the width of her thumb corkscrewed along the ladder’s rails, wrapping loosely around her wrists, guiding, perhaps guarding. Every hiss from their throats synced with her heartbeat until she could not tell which was pulse and which was prophecy.

On the twentieth rung the serpents tightened, halting her descent. Below gaped a chamber impossible to square in Euclid’s memory—a lopsided gulf where sound pooled like liquid mercury. Hanging at its nucleus rotated a carnival of emerald acid, each droplet torqued by invisible wind, spinning out after-images that smelled of rust and citrus. A subsonic voice, neither male nor female, leaked from the green spiral: Trade your name for the next plunge.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/07/ketamine-ladderfall/

#techno #hardtechno  #rave  #peaktechno #darktechno  #acidtechno  #warehouse  #industrialtechno  #technorave  #undergroundtechno  #ravevisuals

Ketamine Ladderfall - Dark Psy Journey Music Video @ YouTube

Saturday bangers babay!
A little psychedelia for yah peepers my peoples! 😘💚
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Neo rave sci‑fi visuals with ruthless hard techno drive.
-
Helix of the Bioluminal Oracle
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/tTh2kXk3rT0
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

There's a STORY!!! ;)
I — The Map That Wasn’t a Map

You arrive where the atlas stops pretending it knows anything.

Beyond the ridge, the land is a black opal plain veined with cobalt veins that hum in no wind. A hush sits on it the way frost sits on grass—delicate, temporary, sacred if you move gently enough. The dew here is wrong in the way a dream is wrong: each bead is too round, too steady, too awake. They don’t roll or soak in. They hold. They wait.

You kneel and the beads reflect not your face but diagrams—hexes nested in hexes, spirals that refuse to end, angles that feel like numbers you once knew. The longer you look, the more they join: a filament touches a filament, and there’s a glow passing between them like the smallest current. It is not water. It is a statement.

The old story said the Oracle grows where dew refuses to be only dew.

You rise, dust the grit from your palms, and walk without choosing a direction. The plain chooses for you. Lines of cold light thread from bead to bead like veins answering a heartbeat. The geometry doesn’t push, it persuades, shaping your steps, showing paths only as you take them. The horizon stays perfectly level, the sky a long bruise of cobalt with a single pale star pinned in the wrong place. Your breath fogs and then the fog arranges itself into numerals you cannot read and then dissolves. It’s almost kind, the way this place tells you: you are in the presence of a very patient intelligence.

When you feel it—before you see it—the hair along your arms rises not from fear but from recognition. As if a song you used to know finds your throat from the outside.

And then you see the Oracle.

II — The Humanoid That Was Also a Tree

It towers but does not loom. A torso of varnished bark with shoulders braided out of roots, hips heavy with the memory of storms. The arms bend the way branches bend, and where hands should be, the wood splits into filigreed fronds—their undersides ribbed with gill-like lamellae that pulse with bioluminescence. The face is not a face, not really, but a mask of old growth and lichen with hollows where eyes should be; inside those hollows slow constellations wheel like watch gears. A crown of fruiting bodies bursts from the skull and then recedes, then blooms again in a long, tidal breath, spores drifting like snow that has learned how to glow.

Its feet are not feet, they are a root-crown woven into the plain, plugged into the dew like a nerve into a brain.

You do not speak. You bring your question the way you were taught to carry flame—cupped, stubborn against the wind. The question is old and small enough to be dangerous: what am I for?


Continues on the website: https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/16/cobalt-dewfall-geometry/

#techno  #hardtechno  #peaktimetechno  #hardgroove #fasttechno #industrialtechno  #schranz  #warehouserave  #ravevisualizer #cinematic3d  #aimusicvideo

Cobalt Dewfall Geometry - Mushroom Visualizer @ YouTube

Hard techno warehouse energy—drop in now and ride the storm.
Peak‑time kicks, industrial grit—enter the tunnel.
Acid‑laced hard techno for the 4AM warehouse.
-
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Neo rave sci‑fi visuals with ruthless hard techno drive.
-
Helix of the Bioluminal Oracle
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/dv56pNhrA-c
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

The Story
The plain was made of black salt, a horizon of matte crystals that swallowed reflections instead of returning them. Above it hung a sky the color of cooled iron. Nothing moved, not the thin grasses fossilized in place, not the distant ribs of petrified cactus, not the oval shadows that pooled where there should have been light. The air felt thick—like a held note, like a thought someone forgot to finish.

Out of that heldness, a figure stepped.

They were not armored or robed. They carried no tools, only a glass seed cupped in both hands, small enough to hide in a fist, heavy enough to pull the shoulders down. The seed was not luminous, but light noticed it; beams bent when it passed. The traveler steadied their breath until it matched the inaudible pulse threading through the ground. When they looked up, the horizon turned by a fraction, just enough to show that all horizons here were part of a wheel.

The wheel’s center was nowhere and everywhere, but its rim—the path—ran straight ahead. The traveler started walking.

Out past the fifth step, the salt exhaled spores that did not rise or fall. They hung, counting each other, arranging themselves into a body: a lank, cathedral-shouldered mushroom being with gills inscribed in teal. Its shadow formed before its cap; then its stem curled up from the shadow’s edge, a reversed sprout. The gills flexed, and stenciled onto the air between them appeared a silent string of equations shaped like vines.

The traveler paused without fear. The equations were invitations.

The mushroom lifted its arm. Halfway through the gesture, the arm became a cactus rib, green lacquer with glints of trapped suns. The rib arched overhead and, with a soft click of geometry, multiplied into a corridor: rib upon rib, an arcade of living anatomy, each curve fitted to the next by joints that whispered when they turned. Salt slipped out of salt, forming steps that did not look like steps until the traveler placed a foot on them and the ground agreed.

A corridor of ribs and spores opened toward a darkness that was not night, and the traveler crossed the threshold.

Beneath the ribs, the air acquired weight. Droplets formed on the cactus skin and beaded, each bead holding a world full of tiny weather. Where the beads grazed one another, prisms were born—micro-faceted insects that hummed without sound and flew in quivering constellations. Columnar forms extruded from the salt like glass trees, branches interlocking in a scaffold of perfect errors. Between branches, filaments stretched into a lattice, a graph of choices the traveler hadn’t made yet.

In the prisms, the traveler’s reflection wore a dozen futures. In some, the seed had already been planted; in others, the seed was a piercing and the sky was stitched to their skin. In one, there was no traveler at all, only the seed rolling like a planet where the ribs met the plain.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/18/mercury-river-protocol/

#techno #technomusic #hardtechno  #neorave  #industrialtechno  #warehouserave  #peaktime  #acidtechno  #undergroundtechno  #4kvisuals

Mercury River Protocol - Psy Visuals on YouTube

Warehouse‑grade hard techno pressure; peak‑time energy, hypnotic drive.
Schranz edge at 136 BPM—rolling subs, iron kicks, relentless momentum.
Peak‑time assault; raw, deep & hypnotic textures collide.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Underground tunnel energy—driving techno for maximum lift.
-
White Field Aperture
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/1inW88pif3w
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

The Story
1 — Threshold: The Mirror That Drinks the Sky

The desert had learned how to be quiet. Black salt dunes laid their scales to the horizon; the wind went around them like a respectful rumor. I walked until the ground lost the habit of footprints and turned to mirror—not glass, not water, something that behaved like both until you asked it to choose. When I touched it, my fingers sank into a ketamine hush, the temperature of a held breath. The sky above me slipped downward, pooling at my feet, and the mirror took the sun into itself as easily as a coin into a sleeve.

“State your vector,” said a voice with the pleasant bluntness of machinery that also dreams.

I looked up. The ship had been a shimmer in peripheral vision; now it chose to exist. Ribs of spore-glass unfurled like the gills of an enormous bioluminescent mushroom, a vessel grown rather than built. Patterns pulsed beneath its skin—teal and cobalt, the color logic of an ocean that had never seen water. On its prow: a thin seam of light, smiling.

“Inside,” the ship said, as if there were no other sensible direction. “Name me and we’ll move.”

“If I name you, do you become true?” I asked.

“Everything is already true,” it replied. “Names are just handles to carry it by.”

I touched the seam and said, “Aperture.” The word fit its hull the way a right word fits a wrong silence. The mirror accepted our weight as if we were a memory returning to where it had been recorded. The world tipped, rotated—not falling but refracting—and the desert’s heat turned to the cool inner-weather of deep caves.

The hull closed around me, a cathedral grown from hyphae and patience. Filaments stitched the air with soft LSD confetti, each mote a syllable of a grammar only light can speak. Somewhere in the Aperture’s frame, a heartbeat began—mechanical and patient, the kind of rhythm you trust without deciding to.

“Destination?” the ship asked.

“Forward,” I said, and the mirror drank us whole.

2 — Corridor of Peyote Suns

Forward was a river of mercury that couldn’t decide between surface and volume. It braided under a ceiling of peyote suns, each one a hex of luminous scars that re-inked themselves as you watched. Desert bones turned to architecture: arches of white stone that remembered having been whale ribs. We slid beneath them like a secret trying to become a law.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/19/white-field-aperture/

#techno  #technomusic  #hardtechno  #schranz  #industrialtechno  #warehousetechno  #peaktimetechno  #undergroundtechno  #rave  #visualizer

White Field Aperture - Psy Music Video @ YouTube

Hard techno warehouse visual—industrial drive, acid sparks, peak‑time pressure.
Warehouse rave energy meets sci‑fi worlds—hard techno visual on max drive.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
-
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
-
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Neo‑rave surge: hard techno, trance‑techno twists, warehouse energy unleashed.
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-
Starwell of the Null Garden
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/6i25ex5LE6U
-

The field was a sheet of cooled night—black glass stretched to every horizon, unmarked, unscarred, holding a silence that felt designed. Nothing moved. Even the wind kept its thoughts to itself. Above, a single white disk hung in a sky the color of an unblinking eye. It wasn’t a sun in any faithful sense; it didn’t warm, it didn’t arc, it didn’t dim. It merely existed in a way that implied observation.

The traveler arrived with boots that did not echo. They paused to test the place with a breath. Air, metallic and clean, entered and left their lungs as if passing through a narrow instrument. Their coat carried a seam of cyan light along the hem, a habit taken from other worlds where shadows kept score; here, the light cut no more than a suggestion along the glass.

A tremor rose beneath their feet—steady, unhurried, identical from one pulse to the next. The black field flexed like the surface of a held note, then cracked along a hexagon so precise it might have been measured by a patience older than mathematics. Light bled upward through the seam, saturating the hexagon, then the one beside it, then the next, until a column of hexagonal plates rose into the air with the diligence of a plant uncoiling.

It was an elevator without walls, a starwell, and the steps it offered were simple: up.

The traveler set a foot on the first light-plate. The plate accepted the weight, glowed a shade deeper, and ascended. Another plate took its place beneath, then another. The starwell climbed, carrying its passenger into a shaft of perfectly still air where dust never existed and sound had to invent itself. Each hexagon expanded and contracted as if breathing; the traveler matched that rhythm without knowing when the decision had been made.

As they rose, the glass field below revealed patterns like frost. Threads of quartz traced sigils that widened into channels and closed again, searching for a memory of water. Halfway through the ascent, the white disk overhead winked—one crisp shutter of absence—and returned to watching. The starwell reached a height where the horizon curved, then stopped as if listening.

The traveler stepped off. The platform had delivered them to a hovering terrace cut from nothing: a balcony of air with a thin rail of light to keep the idea of falling honest. Far below, the glass field was no longer empty. Pale filaments were pushing through it, quivering as they tested the world. In seconds the filaments thickened into latticed columns—quartz spines veined with faint teal. Plates slid into existence along the columns, opening like gills. The gills pulsed and released motes that drifted upward in spirals.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/13/graviton-maw-rapture/

#techno  #technomusic #visualizer  #hardtechno  #industrialtechno   #warehouserave  #peaktimetechno  #drivingtechno  #neorave  #rave2025

Starwell of the Null Garden - Trippy Visualizer @ YouTube

Industrial drive, hypnotic groove—130 BPM pressure chamber.
Hardgroove + hard techno—zero filler, all momentum.
Schranz‑tinged storm: pounding drums, cinematic visuals.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
-
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
-
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
-
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
-
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Dark‑rave energy at 130 BPM—minimal parts, maximum impact.
-
Coin of Light Cartography
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/ffI57ALIZ84
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

The desert is black salt and starlight, a plain so smooth it could be the pause between two thoughts. Heat doesn’t shimmer here. The night itself does. You stop to catch the sky rearranging itself—the constellations running a quiet algorithm—and the seam appears, a stitch in the dark that pulls apart as if the heavens were a coat that someone decided to unbutton.

Something slips through the gap.

It is not a coin, but your mind insists on that word because it must be small enough to hold and bright enough to spend. It spins, calmly, like a promise made by a patient liar. Its face is neither gold nor silver, but all metals at once, a mirrored glyph constantly writing and unwriting itself. It hums. It casts prismatic letters on the salt, a language that becomes clearer the less you try to read it.

When you reach for it, gravity forgets you. Sand grains lift, hang, learn a new way to be obedient. Your hand closes and the world edits. The seam in the sky zips shut. The hum threads down your bones and finds your pulse. The coin is warm, precisely the temperature of a person whose name you can’t remember and whose presence you can’t forget.

You stand in the desert, and the desert stands in you, and the coin hangs in your palm like a second sun scaled down for intimacy. On the horizon, a thin line of silver draws itself with a ruler no one is holding.

You have been invited.

—

The river runs uphill.

It is a mirror more than water. You test it with your boot and the surface dimples then firms, an elastic sheet stretched over an abyss full of answers. When you step onto it, the reflection refuses to be yours alone. The face staring up is you with different histories in the eyes, variations of a chord you never learned to play. Behind those other-yous dart schools of chrome fish arranging into starfields and disassembling into arithmetic you feel in your teeth.

The coin hums and the current syncs to it. A gentle upstream pull. The hum wants you forward, wants you to become the map it’s asking you to read.

Overhead two moons lean close, and between them, a flotilla of dragonflies writes ultraviolet calligraphy. Their threads hang in the air for heartbeats before the wind erases the sentence and the insects begin again as if repetition were a kind of prayer.

You let yourself be carried. The Mercury River curves not with geography but with memory, as if it follows the path of a story told out of order.

A bend, and you see it: the gate.

—

Mushroom spires braid themselves into an arch so tall it could yawn and swallow a cathedral. Each cap reveals teal gills that breathe like lungs learned to glow. The gate’s surface is not bark but something polished into a glass that remembers being alive. Spores drift in patient spirals, then rush inward in a single inhalation you feel along your ribs.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/27/coin-of-light-cartography/

#techno  #technomusic  #hardtechno   #industrialtechno   #rawtechno   #rave   #peaktimetechno   #acidtechno   #visualizer #darktechno

Coin of Light Cartography - Trippy Psychedelic Music Video on YouTube'errr

Peak-time hard techno: warehouse pressure, industrial bite—drop in.
Neo-rave hardgroove—fast, driving, ruthless.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
-
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
-
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
-
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
-
Concrete drums, acid smear, peak-time momentum.
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/4E7B3ZCnSJw
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

The basin looked like someone had poured night into a bowl and then raked a single line across it with a needle. Wind moved the salt in long sighs. I stood where the line met the rim, a blank blueprint rolled tight in my fist and a coin of cinnabar resting on my palm. The coin wasn’t mine, though I woke with it in my boot three days ago. Its weight refused to match its size, as if it contained a decision I hadn’t made yet.

Across the basin, the Orchard rose—no trunks, no leaves, only a lattice of branches that forgot to stop branching. The structure breathed with a regularity I could feel through my boots. Every inhalation pulled the stars into thin lines; every exhalation returned them to points. People called it a grove because that was the nearest human word. Specialists called it a photonic-biologic computer, a self-indexing archive of unchosen routes. I called it a place you approach once.

A corridor opened in the branches without moving them, the way a thought opens a door. Pale equations flared across their bark-spiral skins and then went dim again, as if embarrassed to have been seen. The blueprint warmed in my hand. The coin hummed once—one pure note without air—and oriented itself, turning so that the stamped face with the radial notch faced the Orchard. The notch aligned to the basin’s needle-scratch. Permission, though no one had uttered the word.

Inside, the corridor’s floor seemed poured from glass and silt. The air tasted faintly metallic, like the moment before rain. Capacitive filaments along the walls registered my body and then withdrew to a polite distance. The Orchard understood the calibration signal of the coin and let my outline exist here.

The first room was small enough to matter. No gore of myth; no booming gods; just a chamber with a low ceiling and a single object in the center: a stair made of prisms nested within prisms, each step splitting the room’s dimness into bands of color that drifted away like escaping ideas. Not an invitation to climb—an exam.

I placed the coin on the bottom step. The stair recognized the alloy—old-world cinnabar seeded with something not on our table—and sprouted a thread of light straight through the coin’s notch. The thread pointed not north, but near. The blueprint’s surface—previously a matt emptiness—absorbed the thread and printed a line that curved in a way compass roses never do.

A figure stood to my right; I hadn’t heard it arrive. “Pilot?” it asked.

Its voice rustled like pages being turned in a glove. It was not flesh. It was a pillar braided from mycelial cords, with teal gill-ribs that breathed faint luminescence and a face assembled from the geometry of patience. Heat exchangers masquerading as gills, I reminded myself. Biological computation doing what silicon rarely can. A clerk. A librarian. A host.

Continues on the website.

#techno  #musicvideo  #trippyvisuals  #technomusic  #visualizer  #undergroundtechno  #musicvisualizer  #melodictechno  #4kvideo  #4kvisuals

Blueprint of the Void Orchard - Music Video @ YouTube

**Coin Ripple Gazetteer** is a field guide to impossible places. Each entry is a waypoint where reality behaves like water—nudge it and concentric worlds spread outward. The “coin” is your portable compass; the “ripples” are choices made visible; the “gazetteer” is the record of everywhere those choices can lead. Across the album the landscape keeps its cobalt-and-teal night, rim-lit in warm amber, but the terrain morphs: salt-glass corridors, hex-tiled basins, bioluminescent mushroom halls, and lattice bridges that hum like quiet equations.

The journey opens with **Coin of Light Cartography**, where a hovering sigil maps the desert by shining through it, then slips into **Atlas of the Shifting Threshold**, a border that redraws itself the moment you cross. **Blueprint of the Void Orchard** finds a grove that grows diagrams instead of fruit; branches etch directions directly onto your intent. **Mycelial Usher Mandate** grants passage under braided caps and teal gills, a soft bureaucracy of spores that stamps your movement as lawful. Each piece is an entry in the index—corridor, bridge, basin, court—stitched by recurring motifs: prism stairs, spore-glass breath, peyote hex-ripples, and the ever-present coin.

The mood is lucid and cinematic rather than dream-blurry. Space feels fully built: surfaces read as metal, glass, salt, and obsidian; light behaves like physics; particles hang in volumetric shafts. Motion is steady, purposeful—tunnel energy without claustrophobia—so you can travel long distances inside a single scene. Instead of big narrative speeches, the album speaks in small, precise gestures: a snowflake that falls in slow time, a door that folds into a spiral, a river that remembers you and adjusts its current.

Taken together, **Coin Ripple Gazetteer** is less storybook and more instrument panel for exploration. You can run it end-to-end as a continuous transit or open to any page and step through. Wherever you enter, the coin meets you mid-decision, throws a light into the basin, and the world quietly rearranges to fit your answer.

Atlas of the Shifting Threshold

Trippy 4K Techno Experience!
Hypnotic warehouse drive—glass seed pulses, map hums back.
-
Stream / download / buy ➜
-
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
-
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
-
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
-
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
-
Warehouse visualizer: teal haze, sunflower halos, 123 BPM.
-
Keep in touch with latest releases:
https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/fLXi1z5_xH0
-
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
-

Prologue: The City That Forgot Its Corners

The city had no right angles anymore. Years of slow migration in its own sleep had rounded every edge into a soft, treacherous kindness. Streets drooped like ribbons. Towers leaned in to hear each other breathe. At night, light pooled in bowls and refused to climb the walls. People blamed the damp, or the age of foundations, or the recent habit the wind had of returning lost words.

Sen walked through it with the steady patience of someone who carried a task heavier than their shadow. Their satchel held a glass seed—smooth, thumb-sized, faintly warm—taken from a mineral library deep under the old quay. The librarians had warned that it wasn’t a seed at all, but an organ, the kind you could add to a place in order to give it a new sense. “Don’t plant it in soil,” they’d said. “Plant it in a problem.”

The city’s problem was the same every city kept hidden: it had forgotten where it ended. Some nights its borders drifted so far that fog felt foreign; some mornings the outer districts woke up looking at mountains that weren’t on any chart. The mayor had asked for better fences. Sen, a cartographer too stubborn for fences, had asked for the seed.

On the night that began the end of drifting, the seed woke. Not with light, not with sound, but with vibration—a low, velvet hum that traveled up Sen’s bones and mapped out a direction behind the ears. When Sen faced that way, the hum smoothed. When they turned aside, it rasped. That was how Sen knew the thing was a map: it cared when they cheated.

The seed’s hum pulled them through the city’s softened streets to a battered iron wicket that had never opened for anyone sober. Beyond it lay a scar of land no one managed to name—the Orchard of Glass to some, the Prism Orchard to those who liked their danger with geometry—the place where trees grew mirrors and fruit pretended to be planets. At the orchard’s edge, the air carried the flavor of cold coin and rainwater under stone. Mushrooms at the roots of the iron fence opened teal gills and breathed out a pause, like a door deciding whether to be a door.

Sen set the glass seed on their palm. It rolled toward the fence and pressed itself against the iron. The hum pressured Sen’s ribs. The wicket sighed and forgot that it had ever been locked.

“Show me,” Sen said to no one and to the seed and to the orchard. The hum approved.

They stepped through.

I — Threshold Sap

Inside, the orchard’s darkness was organized. The trunks were columns. The leaves were ruled lines. Moss laid out a grid with small, amber nodes, and every so often one node blinked and sent a ripple through its neighbors until the whole mat had agreed on something quiet.

Continues on the website: https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/09/01/a-map-that-hums-back/

#techno  #musicvideo  #trippyvisuals  #technomusic  #visualizer  #undergroundtechno  #musicvisualizer  #melodictechno   #4kvideo  #4kvisuals  #psychedelicvisuals4k

A Map That Hums Back | Psychedelic Music Video @ YouTube

First attempt at an 8K music video. If it's not showing up in 8k, that's because I read it takes a while to process 8k videos.

Peak‑time energy meets cosmic calm—ride this melodic techno odyssey.

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://youtube.com/@grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
1 — Arrival: The Observatory that Breathes

The observatory didn’t sit on the planet so much as the planet grew around it, like a pearl grown from a grain of math. From space it was a pewter iris set in a black-salt desert. Up close, it was alive: the walls breathed, exhaling faint motes that glowed teal before dissolving into the heat.

The traveler reached the threshold at nightfall—though night here meant a subtler dimness rather than absence of light. They were called Quen, or perhaps they had chosen that name because it sounded like a question. Cloak drawn against the cold, boots whispering over mirror-smooth stone, Quen paused beneath the arch. The arch was ribbed like the underside of a mushroom cap, gilled with bioluminescence, damp with ancient condensation. The place had the hush of a cathedral and the throat-clearing hum of machinery waking from a long reconsideration.

“Authorization?” asked a voice that didn’t quite use sound.

Quen let the question hang. The observatory’s throat worked, swallowing some old echo. A thin disc of light rolled down the arch, took one lazy lap around Quen’s boots, and wobbled upright like a coin deciding whether to fall.

“Navigator,” Quen said, finally. “Cartography corps. Voluntary.”

“Voluntary,” the voice repeated, as if tasting the word for its mineral content. “Then step in, and let the engine look at you.”

Inside, corridors radiated from a central well whose surface held a patient mirror of stars. But the stars rearranged themselves when Quen approached, as if the sky engine beneath the observatory preferred to work from its own memories instead of tonight’s weather. The air smelled faintly of iron and cedar; somewhere water trickled, but it couldn’t be seen. The mirror showed a constellation Quen didn’t recognize: a lacework of hexagons threaded by gold, humming between choices.

They walked until the corridor narrowed and the light gathered into an alcove. The alcove held what passed here for a reliquary: a coin of light, half-embedded in the wall. When Quen reached for it, the coin slid free and hovered over their palm, precessing slowly. Its face had no inscription. Its edge was impossibly sharp.

“Ephemeris,” the voice said—no, not the voice: the engine itself, speaking through vibration, a bass line felt along the bones. “Not a prophecy, not a command. A schedule of where the possible intends to be.”

Quen had come for that schedule. People told different stories about why. Some said Quen wanted to find a world that had been mislaid by history—a planet erased when a war needed a place to hide a mistake. Some said Quen had lost someone. Some said both were the same story, depending on how you rotated the map.

Quen closed fingers around the coin. It stayed warm in the glove, pulsing in time with the engine’s hum. “Show me the path that arrives,” Quen said. “Not the path that repeats.”

The observatory’s ribs flexed and sighed. The mirror-well brightened. Far below, something turned—a mandala as big as a city, as elegant as a seed.

The engine began to open.

Continues on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno  #8kvideo   #musicvideo   #trippyvisuals   #technomusic   #visualizer   #undergroundtechno   #musicvisualizer   #melodictechno   #8kvisuals  #8kvideosong  #8kvideoultrahd

Ephemeris of the Sky Engine }|{ Psychedelic 8K Music Video on YouTube

A hypnotic 8K sci‑fi voyage—deep bass, trippy geometry, melodic lift‑offs.
Melodic, psychedelic, progressive—zero‑gravity techno for late hours.
Minimal to massive: trippy textures, deep drive, melodic bloom.

8K Video: https://youtu.be/_6mjYbS_-6Y

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The shuttle cut across the dark like a scalpel of dull chrome, its hull showing only a thin comb of starlight as it banked toward the Quay. Below, an archipelago of structures rose out of the vacuum—a ring of barbed petals and glassy ribs, like a flower pressed between the pages of physics. They called it Tessellation Quay, and at its center—hung on invisible filaments—waited a round, black sheet with a faint sheen, as if it were coated in oil that refused to drip.

Amri Quell watched it tilt, an angle shifting against nothingness, and adjusted her ship’s attitude until her reflection skimmed the slick surface and fractured into a dozen faint copies. The copies kept flying, like she did, but their courses were off by the smallest degree, and she had a brief, superstitious fear each one would plow into some invisible wall she’d avoid only by accident.

“The Mirror’s awake,” said the Quay’s traffic mind, its voice a steady alto that made no effort to be comforting. “Dock on rib seven. Your sponsor is waiting. And Amri—don’t touch the surface.”

“As if anyone comes this far to smudge a priceless artifact,” she said, and let the shuttle kiss the rib with a well-practiced lean.

Mag clamps took hold. The cockpit glass irised open. She climbed down into air laced with a mineral chill and the faint musk of wet soil—the Quay kept gardens threaded everywhere, corridors furry with moss and filaments, a mycelial skeleton that made walking through the place feel like navigating a living lung. The filament glow was gentle, teal and cobalt, as if bioluminescence had learned restraint.

A figure waited at the end of the causeway—a long coat, a thin halo of thin-film iridescence around the shoulders, and the austere expression of a person who conversed mostly with machines.

“Conservator Nals,” said Amri. “You look exactly like your letters, which is mildly disappointing.”

“Pilot Quell,” Nals said, dry. “You look exactly like someone who doesn’t believe in mirrors.”

“I believe in mirrors. I don’t trust them.”

“Good. The Rosette returns mistrust with courtesy. Come.”

They walked a narrow path that spiraled inward, over a dark well where the Mirror hung. From above, it was not perfectly round. Its edge flowered into petals of angle—eight elaborate lobes, like a rosette carved from shadow. Each lobe was the suggestion of symmetry, not symmetry itself; when she tried to count the facets at any given radius, the count changed by one, as if the Mirror reserved the right to differ with her.

“Everyone calls it the Rosette Mirror,” Nals said. “But that’s not its name. It’s an artifact we don’t know how to name.”

“What does it test?” Amri said.

“Continuity.”

“Of what?”

Continues on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno  #musicvideo  #trippyvisuals  #technomusic  #visualizer  #undergroundtechno  #musicvisualizer  #melodictechno   #4kvideo  #4kvisuals  #psychedelicvisuals  #8kvideo

Rosette Mirror Test - 8K Psy Video on Youtube

Well holy hell Andre it's mushroom-spaceship bananza or maybe it's just a banana OOORRR MAYBE a bandana! :) enjoy crew!
Hahah I might of taken it too far with the spaceship scene but I just couldn't get enough :)

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The first time the stars breathed, Kiera thought the station’s windows were fogging from the inside. A ribbed pattern shimmered over the night—fine, parallel lines radiating outward, folding and unfolding like the underside of some celestial creature. Then the pattern vanished and the sky returned to the ordinary cold scattering of points.

Kiera held still, counting. Three seconds. Five. Eight.

The pattern returned, faint but certain: silver lamellae sliding across the constellations, as if the dark itself wore gills.

She killed the cabin lights of the Kite of Radials and let her eyes adjust. The ship—a grafted thing of bone-white ribs and black ceramic tissue—hung docked on Harbor Nine like a seed caught in a spiderweb. In the dim, the cockpit felt more grown than built: vein trails in the console resin, organ-glass curled around the navigation core, the slow pulse of the hull’s self-healing membranes.

“Show me the sky raw,” she said.

The glass peeled back its filters. Deep field flooded in, along with the faint photonic noise the station usually scrubbed. There—again—the slow, tidal sweep of lines, not atmosphere, not lensing, not a glitch. It was a rhythm. A breath.

Kiera’s left hand eased toward the lamina compass she wore on a cord around her throat. It was an old, illegal thing: a coin of frost-glass with a thin gold filament threading inside it like a living maze. At first breath the filament trembled; at the second it traced a curve to starboard. By the third, it formed an arc that settled toward a patch of nothing near the Mirror Belt.

“Coordinates,” she whispered, and the Kite woke by degrees—panels unfurling, thrusters whispering, marrow engines tasting vacuum.

Three months earlier, a courier had handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle with no name. Inside: the lamina compass and a single line of handwriting, shaped like a sigh.

Find where the stars learn to breathe.

Kiera had laughed then, because she had spent years mapping lies dressed as mysteries. Contracts with extraction fleets taught her that most wonders hid pipes and price tags. But now, with the compass thrumming and the windows showing parallel ridges slipping over starfields, the old skepticism felt thin and brittle. This wasn’t a trick. The sky had gills.

She undocked without asking permission. Harbor Nine came from a culture that never said no if you didn’t ask first, and Kiera had long since learned to protect that balance.

The Kite drifted, then glided, then became a line spreading away from the station into the black.

Continues on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno   #musicvideo   #trippyvisuals   #technomusic   #visualizer   #undergroundtechno   #musicvisualizer   #melodictechno    #4kvideo   #4kvisuals   #psychedelicvisuals   #8kvideo

Gills in the Stars | Psychedelic Music Video @ YouTube

Music video : https://youtu.be/fV8jBmirnjM

Peak-time pressure meets cosmic ship cove voyage — a 3D techno odyssey.
Melodic shadows + industrial grit = peak-time visual ignition.
Ship Gaze Phantom — Progressive Techno | Cinematic Warehouse Voyage
Boats boats and more boats!

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
No story, just a healthy obsession with boats :)

Key frames on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#technomusic  #musicvideo  #trippyvisuals  #technomusic  #visualizer  #undergroundtechno  #musicvisualizer  #melodictechno     #4kvideo  #4kvisuals  #psychedelicvisuals  #8kvideo

Ship Gaze Phantom | A Cinematic Music Video on YouTube

Music video: https://youtu.be/1Fw3n-lUjyI

Peak‑time hard techno through a living corridor—strap in for the dropless rush.
Warehouse‑grade drive, hypnotic pulse—space‑rave energy from first beat to last.
Acid sparks, industrial weight, cinematic pulse—one‑way ticket to peak hour.

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The spool looked like a scar the color of thunderclouds. It sat on a velvet square inside a pressure‑sealed vial, not turning so much as remembering how to. You didn’t pick it up with your hands; you picked it up with your oath.

“I need a name for the record,” said the clerk behind the counter. Her office floated at the edge of the Tangled Dock, where ships moored like insects under the belly of a sleeping leviathan. The walls were utilitarian alloy engraved by a patient hand into simple repeating tessellations—triangles drifting into hexagons, hexagons into twelve‑pointed starbursts. When the station lights dimmed for cycle-change those carvings did a strange thing with shadow, a faint color‑split that made them seem to breathe.

“Ilyra Vale,” I said. “Courier class. Solo.” I let my thumb rest on the imprinted pad. It tasted my blood and pretended to be surprised.

The clerk glanced at her slate, not at me. People who work too long where the Dock meets the Loom learn to look slantwise at reality. “Destination?”

“Uncertain.”

The smile she gave me was the bureaucratic version of a shrug. “Then I’ll put Anomalous / Designated by Cargo.” She slid the vial through the pass window. “You know the penalty for threading without registration.”

“I’ve never pretended otherwise.”

“Then sign the waiver that absolves us of ever having known you.” The clerk’s smile became human. “And don’t die in a stupid way.”

I slotted the vial into the Spindle Heart I wore over my sternum and felt the little tremor go through my chest. The Spindle was a ring of spun glass riddled with filament paths; when it accepted cargo it warmed like tea between hands. The moment the spool touched its cradle, the filaments shifted and the warmth became a soft, insistent pulse—not yet and hurry at the same time.

My vessel waited in Bay Thirty‑Two, a small thing built for stupid jobs. The hull had the matte look of an instrument that spends more time listening than shouting. Three phase‑sails folded along her spine; her name, stenciled under the docking lights, had been painted and sanded off and painted again until it refused to take any pigment. Names cling and weigh. I called her Ravel because she unmade tangles.

Docking clamps sighed; bay doors yawned like the eye of an animal that forgives you for riding in its skull. Ravel pushed away from Tangled Dock and let the black close over us like cool water. The Spindle Heart ticked in my ribs. The spool pulsed once, as if testing my attention.

“Go ahead,” I told it. “Point.”

It didn’t point. Impossible threads never do. They incline. It was like standing in a room where a good song has started somewhere nearby and knowing which doorway will make it louder. My hands did a thousand familiar things in response—trimmed the vector, unfurled the first sail, feathered the second. Ravel angled toward a star that wasn’t there and away from one that was.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno   #musicvideo   #trippyvisuals   #technomusic  #visualizer   #undergroundtechno   #musicvisualizer   #melodictechno    #4kvideo   #4kvisuals   #psychedelicvisuals

Courier of Impossible Threads | Scifi Music Video on Youtube

This music video is trippy az - took a minute : https://youtu.be/riJ2PAnbyzQ

Dark, hypnotic, warehouse‑ready techno—step into the Index and don’t look back.
Rolling bass, acid edges, space‑bound pulse—built for late hours.
From void to city: a cinematic techno journey.

(●'◡'●)
Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
There is a library that rotates around a star that does not shine.

The star is called the Umbra Crown, an object that drinks light the way dry soil swallows rain. Around it, on a safe, slow ring, floats the Palimpsest Array—thirty‑one linked hulls and one cathedral of glass mathematics, all of it oriented toward a thing no eye can see. The Array keeps records of what the universe attempts, fails, revises, and forgets.

In Vault Nine, behind shutters etched with compass roses, the Index of Lost Vectors sleeps in a cradle of null‑metal. It is not a book. It is not a map. It is a living catalog of directions that once were real and then weren’t: bearings erased by paradox, routes collapsed by war, trajectories canceled by the absolute pressure of someone’s choice.

Every so often, a new arrow appears in the Index, pointing toward nothing and still insisting it points. That insistence is hard to ignore when your job title is Vectorist.

Kael Ivers had held that title for sixteen years. They had seen the Index wake exactly three times.

On the fourth, the arrows did not appear.

They bloomed.

I — Arrowfall

Kael did not dream in pictures. They dreamed in angles: a narrow gate of ninety degrees held like a promise, an indulgent sweep of one hundred twenty that never closed where you thought it would. That night, in the small sleep between the first cup of bitter broth and the second, Kael dreamed a circle that would not stay circle. It kept erupting with tangents, each tangent a pale hairline of intent.

They woke with the taste of tin in their mouth and the feeling of a room straightening around them.

“Vault Nine,” said the Array, warm and calm in Kael’s ear. The Array never hurried its vowels. “The Index is agitated.”

Kael rolled off the hammock, slid into a field jacket, and jogged through the airless corridor. The shard windows along the passage showed a black full of small, reluctant stars. The Umbra Crown lived where no starlight reached, but the shyer stars still haunted the periphery.

The vault door recognized Kael’s gait before it recognized their badge. Inside, the Index floated—a torus of glass, a halo with a heart. When it slept, it looked like a ring made by someone who understands rings only as an idea. When it woke, angles sprouted from it the way grass erupts after a secret rain.

Today, it was a meadow.

Thousands of vectors had blossomed out of the torus, paper‑thin and luminous. They didn’t point to random; they pointed toward a choreography. Some curved, some refused to bow; others leaned with the authority of a road that predates the city it enters.

Kael did not touch it. They didn’t have to. The vectors brushed the surface of their attention and left afterimages that behaved like memory. The taste of tin intensified.

Continues on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno   #musicvideo   #trippyvisuals   #technomusic   #visualizer   #undergroundtechno   #musicvisualizer   #melodictechno    #4kvideo   #4kvisuals   #psychedelicvisuals   #8kvideo  #peaktimetechno  #drivingtechno  #darktechno  #hypnotictechno  #acidtechno  #warehouse   #cinematicmusic  #scifiadventure

Index of Lost Vectors | Uber Trippy Morphing Music Video @ YouTube

a little late night messing around mixing. a track from coss wolf muller and some liquid samples.

Ai Magic (Mix)

a bit of messing around with tracks from drumspyder and that one song that makes your balls drop instantly and grow a 5 pound beard hahaha

@drumspyder

Sword Sailor (Mix)

leda valladares is a legend! thanks to @fertildiscos & @folcore for not forgetting this beauty.

here's a little remix.

Canto De Velorio (GPB Remix)

It's been a while so here's a little mix. Happy Halloween!

Reverse Peripheral (GPB Mix)

i love it how. when i'm playing around with music... there's endless posibilities :)

Pick It Up Put It Down (edit, remix, mix)

Dig the tunes? Check out the music videos YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum

Website or Instagram for booking.

Need change - going harder.

Techno, Trance, Psytech, Psytrance, and other liquid psychedelic music is where I'm the happiest but I do love a lot of Latin, Tribal, Lofi, Chillhop so occasionally I'll release something off-beat.

------ Past-Tense Shenanigans ------

Born in the dust-filled vibes of a ‘90s apartment, Grass Patch Bum started spinning records back when vinyl was king and internet cafes were revolutionary. Armed with a crate of vinyl, Grass Patch Bum dived headfirst into underground raves and sweaty house parties, learning the art of blending beats on turntables and (eventually) the "futuristic" CDJs. But the journey didn't stop there.

After taking a hiatus to dive into the world of FL Studio and dissect the mechanics of production, Grass Patch Bum came back stronger, with a repertoire of original sounds and the technical chops to match. Fast forward, and they've turned dancefloors upside down from Thailand to Vietnam, Bali to the heart of Europe. Now, powered by Ableton Live and a creative arsenal that refuses to stay in one genre, Grass Patch Bum weaves sonic journeys that blend groove, grit, and just a sprinkle of nostalgia for the good ol' days.

Catch him live for a taste of nostalgia, modern beats, Latin grooves, electronic melodies, and a wide range of liquid sounds. Whether it's a tropical beach in Thailand or an underground club in Berlin, Grass Patch Bum brings thems booty movements like no other.

Grass Patch Bum

Pinned to spotlight

Popular tracks