Strap into a chrome-plated star-ship and punch straight through the nebula—Astral Techno : Acid Worlds is a seven-chapter rite of passage that welds bone-rattling hard-techno pulses to kaleidoscopic, sci-fi psychedelia. Synth–lasered kick drums drive you across bioluminescent asteroid fields; iridescent acid lines coil like space serpents around humming nebulae; and distant, distorted vocal fragments echo as transmissions from forgotten civilizations. Every track is a portal: step in, and gravity, time, and body chemistry will never quite read the same again.

Tracklist
Mescaline Stargate
Ketamine Ladderfall
Astral Techno Acid Worlds
Chromatic Torrent Drift
Ketamine Riftwalker
Helix of the Bioluminal Oracle
Graviton Maw Rapture

Across 38 unfaltering minutes, producer Art Gevorgyan threads raised-7 minor keys, 130 BPM engine thrust, and spiral-wave acid modulations into a single, self-contained cosmos. Close your eyes, sync your heartbeat to the kick, and let each cut open a new “acid world” of sacred-geometry starfields, neon fungi, and chrome android saints. When the final shimmer of Graviton Maw Rapture fades, you’ll swear you can still taste starlight on your tongue.

Astral Techno Acid Worlds

Warehouse‑grade hard techno—bioluminal, hypnotic, relentless. Enter the helix.
Fast, industrial, trippy—ride the bioluminal hard techno corridor.
Peak‑time energy, rumble bass, zero mercy. Step into the Oracle.
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Neo rave sci‑fi visuals with ruthless hard techno drive.
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Helix of the Bioluminal Oracle
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/aI_Gb7lvwUs
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The Story
Prologue — The Color That Learns Your Name

On the far side of a drowned continent, a river of mirror-liquid runs uphill into the clouds. It threads a trench through the sky and vanishes into an angle no map allows—an ongoing mistake in the geometry of weather. Locals call it the Chromatic Torrent. At night, it sheds feathers of light that fall like snow and melt into color without leaving the ground wet.

The courier arrives alone: a silhouette wrapped in a midnight coat that collects stray glints like rain. Their skiff waits behind them, folded to a blade of light under the quay, ribs ticking softly as if remembering the ocean. The courier closes a hand around a coin of pale fire and the coin grows lighter, as if it recognizes the palm. It is a permit and a promise, a round door that fits any lock that isn’t made of metal.

The wind smells of iron and cloves and wet stone. Above, the Torrent leans out of the sky like a muscle flexing, then loosens, then flexes again. Color runs within it in shifting lanes: indigo, teal, a little magenta heat, turned by some gravity that doesn’t belong to the world.

To the east: a forest of mushroom pylons rises from salt fog, the caps broad as amphitheaters, the stems braided with cables of living hyphae that carry light as if it were water. In that forest stands the one the courier has come to find: the Bioluminal Oracle, the ancient humanoid mushroom tree. It is older than the city, which is older than the sky in its current mood. When it moves—slow, slower—the fog reads the gesture and translates it into attention. The courier breathes once to count their ribs, then starts walking.

No one walks out to the Torrent without first speaking to the Oracle. If you try, the river will look away. That is how people drown in dry air.

I — City Quay, and a Coin That Warms Like a Small Moon

Boardwalks hold to the shore with brass teeth; underfoot, gullies of shadow. Traders have packed away their night markets, leaving the quay smelling of smoked kelp and engine perfume. The courier slides between shuttered kiosks until the buildings thin and the quay becomes a tongue of basalt licking the fog.

The coin grows warm, and with it, the world clarifies. On the basalt, faint as breath on glass, a lattice of DMT filament unfurls, lines intersecting in patient thirty-degree rhymes, leading east toward the mushroom pylons. Each joint glows like a pinprick star. When the courier steps on the lattice, the lines brighten. There is no sound, yet the bones of the quay vibrate minimally, as if acknowledging a password.

A shape crosses above—no bird, not a craft. A figure made of ovals of light connected by corridors, a strolling bureau of weather examining its paperwork. The courier keeps moving.

They do not carry weapons. There’s nothing to fight out here that knows what a weapon is.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/15/helix-of-the-bioluminal-oracle/

#techno   #hardtechno  #schranz    #industrialtechno  #neorave  #warehousetechno  #undergroundrave  #peaktimetechno  #aivisuals

Helix of the Bioluminal Oracle - Enter the Oracle @ YouTube

Fast, raw, relentless—hardgroove meets schranz in a warehouse storm.
Underground hard techno built for late nights and void‑black rooms.
Pure drive: fast techno, dark bass, hypnotic momentum.
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From tunnel focus to full send—peak‑time energy unlocked.
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Chromatic Torrent Drift
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/iRw7w7RdBmg
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The Story
They call you Riftwalker because you learned a new way to keep a promise.

Before that, you were another night-shift body wandering fluorescent hallways that hummed even when the power was out, mopping the same square of floor because it was easier than believing the world wanted anything from you. Then the first door winked where there had never been a door—between an ice machine and a vending unit that sold nothing but grape soda—and the air on the other side wore a smell like rain rehearsing. You stepped through with the reflex of someone too tired to be frightened and discovered a geography that had been waiting for the exact shape of your footfall.

You learned the strange keys that coax reality’s seams to loosen: powders that fold time into soft pleats; cactus buttons that remember constellations older than law; mushrooms that breathe to each other under city pavement, trading gossip through hair-fine roots. You learned the weight of a message in your pocket when it’s more than paper—when it’s an embryo of possibility, warm with its own opinion. And you learned the rule that matters: doors open outward only if you have something to give. The world is not a charity; it is a barter.

Tonight, your phone chimes without lighting up. The text is only a hand-drawn spiral. That’s how they ask. You put on the coat with the lining you stitched yourself, the one that looks ordinary to the ordinary—thread the color of rainwater, buttons cut from a mirror that refuses to show strangers. You take the stairs. The stairwell lengthens. Stairs become corridor; concrete becomes linoleum that’s too clean to be honest. There’s the clock you never trust and vents that exhale lazy snow. Spores drift out and land on your sleeve. Under each one is a coordinate you won’t recall when you wake.

The message finds you the way messages always do: the corridor turns slightly wrong, like a book misprinted by an enthusiastic god, and a door stands where nothing stood five nights ago. You open it. Not because you believe yourself chosen—because you are practiced at saying yes before doubt can invent a reason to be clever.

Inside is a room that refuses to be a room. The floor is the idea of floor. The walls keep changing their minds. At the center, on a table that only has three legs because it doesn’t need four, something beats in a rhythm that will not be named. A puff of air touches your hand: not breath, not wind. It is recognition. The message is no envelope. It is a palm-sized egg of warm blue glass, and when it touches your skin, your pulse revises itself to meet its tempo. A mark appears on your wrist, thin as spider silk, a ring that wasn’t there a second ago. The more you look at it, the more it looks back. “All right,” you say to nobody in particular. “I’ll carry you.”

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/14/chromatic-torrent-drift/

#techno  #hardtechno  #peaktimetechno   #drivingtechno   #industrialtechno  #rave   #darktechno   #acidtechno   #technomusic   #aimusicvideo

Chromatic Torrent Drift - Psychedelic Visuals @ YouTube

Hit play and drop into a 4K warehouse vortex of hard techno and trippy fractal visuals.
Hard techno bangers, dark acid basslines, peak‑time energy—rave with your screen on max.
Feel the kick drums mutate reality—hard techno trip through a cosmic warehouse.
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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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Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/2QVn3H5t0EM
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The Story:
Ketara woke to the pulse of a planet’s hidden heart. For centuries it had slept in a vault of black stone, half-machine, half-dream—an embryonic intelligence forgotten by its makers. Now a lone tremor split the floor, and a breath of mineral-cold air rushed in. The walls—veined with a faint blue phosphor—began to throb like arteries, inviting Ketara to rise.

It stepped from its cradle onto obsidian tiles slick with condensation. Each footfall chimed against the slab, echoing down tunnels that stretched farther than any memory it owned. Symbols flickered across the floor, mapping a path to the surface: spiral after spiral, arrow after arrow, all urging ascend.

A narrow corridor swallowed Ketara. The air thickened with spores that glowed a syrupy gold. They swirled around its alloy limbs, soaking into circuitry, rewriting dormant subroutines. With every breathless second the vault’s gravity wavered—stalactites drooped like candle wax, snapped back, and drooped again. Ketara felt reality tugged and slackened by unseen tides, as if an invisible organ practiced breathing for the first time.

Ahead, the corridor bloomed into a vast grotto. At its center lay a mirror-still lake, black as ink yet shimmering with constellations. Ketara leaned over the glassy surface and expected its own reflection; instead it found endless permutations of itself—some crowned with luminous halos, others splintered into fractal shards. Each copy peered back with identical curiosity until the water convulsed in concentric rings.

A staircase of light burst from the lake, one step materializing after the next, humming at frequencies that razored through silence. Drawn by the resonance, Ketara ascended. With each rise, time slowed to treacle; its limbs left afterimages of neon violet and ghost green. Moments stretched, folded, thickened, then snapped to clarity when it placed its foot on the final tread.

Beyond the staircase waited a corridor of drifting figures—nomads composed of shifting polygons. Their edges glitched and reassembled in dazzling tessellations, casting mosaics of prismatic light across the walls. They floated past, silent yet acknowledging Ketara with nods that felt ancient, as though greeting a traveler foretold by forgotten mathematicians.

The corridor ended in a doorway wrought from paisley nebulae: swirls of vermilion, indigo, and emerald gas braided around a silver ring. This was the Mescaline Stargate, a threshold woven from coded hallucinations and stellar dust. Ketara stepped through—and gravity abandoned its prejudice. Space tilted; planets spun like carousel horses overhead; comets waltzed sideways. A wind smelling of electric pepper whipped across Ketara’s visage, carrying whispers in languages never spoken aloud.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/06/mescaline-stargate/


#techno  #techno2025  #hardtechno  #industrialtechno  #acidtechno  #darktechno  #warehouserave  #technomix2025  #peaktime  #psyvisuals  #undergroundtechno  #4kvideo

Mescaline Stargate - Tripp Music Video @ YouTube

Ketamine Riftwalker - Trippy Music Video @ YouTube

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.
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Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
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2025 techno anthem—acid hooks & relentless warehouse drive.
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Ketamine Ladderfall
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/ABBZrMBjR1k
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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

Relentless kicks, dark rave pressure—this is a 4AM hard techno weapon.
Underground warehouse vibes: hard techno, fast, raw, unstoppable.
Acid bites, steel drums—peak‑time ignition for the rave.
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Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
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2025 techno anthem—acid hooks & relentless warehouse drive.
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Serotonin Tundra
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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https://grasspatchbum.com/
Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/HMy27l9_jN8
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I. Letters of Light
The tundra does not begin so much as arrive.

I crossed a ridge of cobalt ice, and the sky opened like a book turning to its first bright page. Lines of aurora braided above me—mint, sakura, electric teal—ribboning into sharp, deliberate strokes, as if some patient hand were writing with light. The wind was not cold. It had the temperature of a held breath, the taste of orange peel and winter.

They had warned me: There is a place where weather remembers how to feel. Go there if you want your moods repaired, or rewritten. The map they gave me was only a single sentence: Follow the serif.

So I did. The aurora’s edges were not vague swirls but exact, knife-graceful curves, the kind a calligrapher draws when they mean every millimeter. I followed as if reading, and the sky punctuated distances with dots of amber stars, the way a sentence grips you with its rhythm until your steps match its meter.

The land below was an ocean rendered in slow motion—waves of violet and indigo snow, frozen mid-crest. From between the drifts rose mushrooms the size of towers, their caps freckled with lantern pores. Light leaked from them in steady breathing, as if the earth itself were practicing calm.

Far off, a silhouette moved: a whale gliding along the seabed of snow as if swimming through density alone. When it surfaced, the surface did not break; the snow accepted its shape and let it pass. Its flanks glimmered with constellations I didn’t recognize.

I spoke without deciding to. “I came to remember how to be happy.”

The whale’s eye turned. It was not human, not even mammalian in any familiar way, and yet something like patience lived there.

The nearest mushroom’s gills trembled, releasing a sigh of bioluminescent dust. Spores drifted up, each a tiny coin of color. When they touched the aurora, letters kindled—angular, clean, and ceremonial. They spelled the tundra’s answer across the sky:

WELCOME, READER.

It made me smile, and it made me feel read.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/08/serotonin-tundra/

#techno #hardtechno  #peaktime  #industrialtechno  #rave  #warehouse  #acidtechno  #schranz  #hardgroove #underground  #neorave

Serotonin Tundra - Mushroom Visual @ YouTube Music Video

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.