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**Cortex Drift Protocol**

In the final century of flesh, where cities had collapsed under their own digital shadows and consciousness was bartered like black-market software, there came a signal. Not a broadcast. Not a voice. A vibration. A pulse in the dead zones of deep orbit. It wasn't meant to be found. But the Psy-Tech Nomads weren't bound by meaning.

They found it drifting around the fracture moon of Kaon-7, wrapped in decaying encryption and carved into relic circuitry older than any human tongue. They called it the Cortex Drift Protocol. A living frequency. A portal encoded in sound. One that promised not just knowledge—but transcendence.

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They chose me.

Hooked into the interface rig, my body gone to numb shadow, I drifted into neural sync. What came first was silence, then the slow rumble of descent. Pressure against the edges of thought. Time unraveled. The spacecraft I wasn’t in began its fall toward an impossible planet.

The world was not real. It breathed like a beast. Its surface pulsed in sync with my heart. Each bass thump from the protocol dug deeper into memory, vibrating against trauma I'd buried in soft code. This wasn’t simulation. This was sentience — and I was inside it.

A flicker. A glitch. Rhythmic pulses began to organize, sculpting the space around me into something like architecture. Out from that structure came the Signal Dancers.

They weren’t made of flesh or wire, but waveform and instinct. Fractal limbs. Faces that never stayed still. Their movement synced with the emerging beat, cracking reality open with every pirouette. They danced not for beauty but to unbind me. Memory by memory, beat by beat.

I tried to fight it, but the sound burrowed in.

A tribal rhythm laced with metallic distortion surged through my brainstem. They found my childhood and twisted it into melody. They unearthed fear, love, and failure—and set it to syncopated collapse. The bass dropped. Everything shattered.

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Time collapsed. The beat faltered, became erratic, then violent. This was the Sub-Neural Collapse.

Suddenly I was *falling*. Not through space, but through self. All the layers I’d constructed to protect my identity tore loose. The Nomads lost contact. I was alone in raw cognition, drowning in psychic magma. My thoughts came unthreaded, spun backward, rearranged themselves in haunting staccato bursts.

Then—light. Thin and cold. An arpeggiated melody like a distant signal flare pierced the madness. I focused. The Spindle Reversal Protocol activated.

The environment restructured. I stood at the center of a kaleidoscope of my own past lives. Alternate selves flickered around me, each built from choices I hadn't made. One killed. One loved. One ran. One surrendered. Each reality pulsed with a unique rhythm. Every beat a door. Every transition a trap.

The psy-wraiths came then.

Shadow-thoughts made real, feeding on the regrets of alternate timelines. I ran. I fought. I danced through timelines like a DJ crossfading between lives. And still, the rhythm chased me.

...

Cortex Drift Protocol

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

Website or Instagram for booking.

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 I'll start Off-Beat Mondays so experimenting.

------ 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.