Mario Dianiska Debut on Ardigital with Exposure EP that including Echoes in Motion. Timeless three incredible tracks full of progressive and minimalist elements that captivate taking us into surreal world.


Mario Dianiska - Timeless [Ardigital Records]

summer fling

D.B.S. la Defence - Last Night
Promo track, free download
thanks for the support 🙌🏼

Last Night

Last Night (Promo track, Free Download)

Quest

What happens when techno meets DMT? 4 minutes in and you’re already elsewhere.
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DMT Corridor Drift
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#dmt #psychedelic #techno #psytrance #trippy #visualizer #neon #mushroom #spacejourney #cosmic #deeptech #131bpm #fantasy #scifi #mindtrip #hexagon #neonrave #futuretech #bassline #underground #visualstory #cosmicrave #sporewave #synthwave #darkrave #trancevisuals #galactic #deepbass #trippyart #psyvisuals #corridordrift #mushroomtrip #spacerave #psytech #dreamwave #aetherbeats #futuregroove #ravescape #hologrambeats #nightdrivevibes #cosmictrance #liquidlightshow #voyagerhythm #subterraneanbass #stellarjourney #hyperspacehouse #mindscape #sonictapestry #etherealbeats #phantasmicgroove #neonvisions #virtualrave #galaxygroove #infinitehallway #pulsewave
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The sky above the wasteland looked bruised—deep indigo scraped with crimson scars—yet the ground beneath my boots felt uncomfortably alive, as if thousands of tiny roots were tasting each footfall. I’d followed a faint, rhythmic tremor here, a heartbeat pulsing up through the ash. When the tremor peaked, a shard of crystal burst from the soil, spinning on its axis like a razor-bright compass needle. It caught the bruised light, refracted it into emerald rivers, then unfolded into a doorway of liquid prism-glass, humming with the promise of elsewhere.

I didn’t hesitate. Wherever “elsewhere” was, it called to the restless riptide in my veins. I stepped through—
and gravity inverted.

Upward into the Quartz Well
I fell skyward inside a spiraling well of translucent citrine. Walls of fossilized light stretched forever; each layer trapped ancient moments—laughter, sorrows, revolutions—now flickering past like thumbnail memories. Luminescent spores swirled beside me, the children of gargantuan subterranean mushrooms I’d only seen in outlaw holos. They flirted with my skin, diffusing micro-doses of raw data straight into my nervous system. In flashes I tasted the metallic dusk of extinct planets, heard choir-songs made of starlight, and felt the grainy warmth of gravity settling into new equations.

The well tightened, momentum surged, and for a breathless instant I became a singularity of thought. Then the citrine walls burst into motes and I landed gently, as though the universe cushioned me in slow motion.

The Corridor Where Mirrors Lie
I stood in a hallway paved with mirrors that reflected futures instead of faces. A thin veil of violet vapor—rich with DMT-scented electricity—rolled across my ankles, painting shifting glyphs that rearranged every time I blinked. One mirror showed me feathered in fractal plumage, eyes swirling like twin nebulae. Another revealed me piloting a city carved into Saturn’s rings.

Instinct said choose, so I lifted a hand—half curiosity, half rebellion—and pressed my palm to the nebula-eyed version of myself. The mirror surface rippled, swallowing my reflection and my doubts in one gulp.

Sudden vertigo. The corridor unzipped itself, twisting into a Möbius strip that flung me forward without direction, as though space had forgotten which way tomorrow was supposed to go. Time stretched, knotted, and re-coiled. When it snapped back, I found myself kneeling on luminous sand that whispered in three voices all at once.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/22/dmt-corridor-drift/

DMT Corridor Drift

Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/dz1gj8fCAzU
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Can you hear the ibex whispering beneath the bass?
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Tap in—this techno ritual glows brighter in the dark.
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Whisper of the Hollow Ibex
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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?
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Close your eyes—follow the spiral galaxy and bass into oblivion.
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Nomads Under the Ember Sky
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/AeD5DNvqi4Q
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Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum
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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

The vocals immediately catch your ear there’s a smooth, soulful vibe that strongly recalls Tenobi’s delivery on “What You Need.” The tone and phrasing feel intimate and effortlessly controlled, giving the track an emotional undercurrent that elevates the deep chill-house foundation. Whether it’s the same voice or just a striking similarity, it works beautifully in the context of the arrangement. Your ears won’t let go!

by Rosario Simeoli
(Grazie mille fratelo)

Those Eyes

Made in Berlin with love by Heiko Trenkle ₍^. .^₎⟆

Desert Cat (Heatwave Edit)

BLACK BIRD

Chamán y cómico (ᴊᴏɴᴇꜱ)

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.

DMT Corridor Drift

Grass Patch Bum

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