Robots Can't Disco

SUNNY DAY :)

Violet Firefly Gateways

Discotronic Mix Number One

😎Grass Patch Bum😎

Format 13 x Digital File(WAV/AIFF/FLAC/MP3)
Catalog Number: DARCA002

Artwork by Cimpian Mark
https://instagram.com/cimpianmark_artworks/

Mastered by DAMNC, RV Audio, Durosai
https://www.instagram.com/damnc__/
https://www.instagram.com/rvaudio/

Darcoform proudly presents DARCA002, marking our 23rd release. This album is a testament to our commitment to the dark and deep vibes. It brings together established pioneers and fresh, unique talents from the minimal scene.

We extend our congratulations and respect to all the talented artists behind this compilation. The result is a captivating journey through dark and deep minimalism, offering highs and lows, intricate breaks, and mesmerizing grooves. It's an empirical musical experience that boldly represents the global minimal scene. Get ready for a sonic adventure like no other.

Follow our representatives:

Follow #Beckhauser & #Cerbu
Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/beckhauserdj
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Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/boncalodenis

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Follow #Durosai
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Follow #Escu
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Follow #LLLIT
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Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/lllit_3

Follow #MarcoStefano
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Follow #Melihron
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Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/melihron

Follow #N&O
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Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/user-341759672

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Follow #Tangent & #Avram
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Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/av_ram

-Enjoy the darkness on the way to the light-

Melihron - Consciousness Virus [DARCA002]

After honing his craft in Istanbul, GRED returned to Morocco, where he discovered a thriving electronic music scene that embraced him with open arms. He has performed in numerous vibrant venues, founded the Beatscape Collective, and booked both local and international talents to share the stage with him. With a nod to North African culture and a keen ear for the latest in micro, minimal house, and breakbeat, this young DJ stands at the forefront of the scene, continually pushing boundaries and blazing trails. Hit play and enjoy the journey!

Keep an eye on GRED:
https://soundcloud.com/roftheed
https://instagram.com/redaghn
https://instagram.com/roftheed

Listen to more electronic music on Intaresu https://intaresu.com

Intaresu Podcast 391 - GRED

RTS.FM BERLIN x LOCAL HEROES
22.11 19:00-23:30 Live Stream
Recorded and Streamed at Mena: www.instagram.com/mena.berlin/

Line Up:
Kevin Domanski
www.instagram.com/kevin_domanskii/?hl=de

De:tronique
www.facebook.com/detronique/?ref=hl
LOCAL HEROES
The Hidden Talent: DJs of Berlin's Underground Scene
The electronic music scene in Berlin is globally renowned for its diversity and innovative character. While some DJs and producers dominate the main stages, there exists a vibrant underground scene that often operates in the shadows of public attention. In this article, we will explore the work of DJs who play electronic music in Berlin's local underground scene, focusing on their dedication to their craft rather than seeking widespread fame. Of particular interest is the "Local Heroes" online radio format provided by RTS.fm, which offers these DJs a platform to showcase their talent.
The Berlin underground scene is characterized by its openness, willingness to experiment, and independence. Here , Djs and producers develop their own musical identities away from mainstream influences. It is less about fame and commercial recognition and more about a passion for electronic music and creative expression.
Within this scene, RTS.fm and its "Local Heroes" format have emerged as a significant platform for supporting and promoting the work of DJs in the underground. This online radio format allows DJs to stream their sets live and showcase them to a global audience. RTS.fm's "Local Heroes" program specifically highlights the talents of these underground DJs, providing them with a dedicated space to share their unique sounds and artistic visions.
For many DJs in the Berlin underground scene, RTS.fm's "Local Heroes" has become an essential platform for making their music accessible to a broader audience. The format enables them to connect with like-minded individuals and gain recognition within the global electronic music community. RTS.fm's emphasis on supporting emerging artists and showcasing their talents has made it a vital hub for the underground scene.
The DJs in the Berlin underground scene span a wide spectrum of electronic music genres, ranging from ambient and experimental to techno and house. Each DJ possesses their own musical identity and individual style, often deviating from prevailing trends. Through the "Local Heroes" format, RTS.fm provides a space for this diversity, allowing listeners to explore new sounds and discover fresh talents that might otherwise remain hidden.
Although the DJs in the underground scene may not enjoy the same level of public exposure, regular local events provide opportunities for them to present their music live. These intimate gatherings create a unique atmosphere and encourage direct interaction between artists and audiences. The Berlin underground scene is not only shaped by its music but also by a tight-knit community that supports and inspires one another.
In conclusion, RTS.fm's "Local Heroes" offers a valuable platform for DJs in the Berlin underground scene to showcase their talent and reach a wider audience. It serves as a hub for creative expression, fostering diverse musical exploration, and nurturing the hidden talent that thrives within the underground's vibrant ecosystem. Through the "Local Heroes" program, these DJs can shine a light on the unconventional and push the boundaries of electronic music, making a lasting impact on Berlin's renowned music culture.

Contact Cem Orlow : www.instagram.com/cemorlow/

RTS.FM BERLIN Archives:
SoundCloud: bit.ly/3EmEC1w

RTS.FM Berlin x Local Heroes w/ Kevin Domanski b2b De:tronique

Buy: www.ecoulsnd.bandcamp.com/album/latvian-electronic-chronicles-va

Riga Dub Orchestra
www.soundcloud.com/nicolas_barnes

ECOUL SND
www.soundcloud.com/ecoul_snd

Premiere: Riga Dub Orchestra - Tvaika [ECOULVA007]

Buy the E.P on Itunes → smarturl.it/orangespray-itunes

CAJOLINE
Follow Cajoline on Soundcloud → @cajolineparis
Like Cajoline on Facebook → smarturl.it/cajoline-fb 

Marti Ann
Follow Marti Ann on Soundcloud → @Martiannmusic
Like Marti Ann on Facebook → facebook.com/Martiannmusic
Follow Marti Ann on Twitter → twitter.com/Martiannmusic

ARTWORK :
facebook.com/thugwarriorscars

EMPRISE MUSIC
Listen to Emprise Music on Soundcloud → @Emprisemusic
Like Emprise Music on Facebook → facebook.com/Emprisemusic
Stream Emprise Music on Youtube → youtube.com/theemprisemusic
Follow Emprise Music on Twitter → twitter.com/Emprisemusic
Videos, editorial and more → www.emprisemusic.com

Buy on iTunes

Marti Ann - You Wanna Think (Cajoline Remix)

Watch the Music Video | Trippy Neural Space Journey | 4K AI-Generated Cinematic Visuals : https://youtu.be/u1gHdO15l8M
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Dive into a 4K AI sci-fi dream where music, portals & neon suns pulse as one!
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Rekordbox | Traktor: 129 BPM; Gm
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Overflowing with radiant synth cathedrals and razor-sharp tech propulsion.
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#aimusicvideo #aiart #electronicmusic #techno #scifi #melodictechno 

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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 - Sci-Fi Music Video @ YouTube

FREE DL : https://hypeddit.com/unnamedunmd/mohalake

Mastering : YA 
https://www.ya-mastering.shop/

Bandcamp

Moha la Ké  -  [FreeDL]

Parsec - Rave is the Nation [Free Download]

Smartlink

Diamonds (Echonomist & Jenia Tarsol Remix)

FFRVA019 - VOYD

Label @feelfreerecordsparis

Release date : 11/07/2025

We explores Techno with all it have offer, from Rave to Industrial.
We deliver you 5 tracks from artists graviting around the collective.

No genra limit, only good music to Feel Free.

VOYD

0C0 ENDLESS

Free Download

F3STO & LAL0 - 0C0 ENDLESS [Free Download]

Visualizer Music Video : https://youtu.be/ncBHDoL8AQg
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Fractal portals, hypnotic bass—this space trip resets your brain.
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Voyage of the Fractal Nomad
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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

www.instagram.com/garciasauvage/ https://www.instagram.com/amrk1805/
Master @sasio

Garcia Sauvage X AMRK - Boss [FREE DL]

Schranzset 02.08.2025

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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Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/AeD5DNvqi4Q
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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

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

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Stream / download / buy ➜
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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.


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Rosette Mirror Test - 8K Psy 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.

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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.


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#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

Brizman & userUNKWN - Your Mind

Trippy music video : https://youtu.be/w2hUcPYG7dE

Peak‑time pressure + hypnotic grooves in a psychedelic sci‑fi visual trip.
Hard techno meets raw/deep hypnosis—warehouse energy in 4K.
Driving kicks, rolling bass, and a desert dream that won’t let go.

Stream / download / buy ➜
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The Story  ᓚᘏᗢ  ➜
I. The Door That Breathes Spores

At the rim of the desert stood a seam in the air, hairline and luminous, like a scar that learned to exhale. When it sighed, motes unfurled into the dusk—opal dust and spore‑light that arranged itself into shy constellations. The seam smelled of rain that could not remember where it fell.

Aneleth arrived without footsteps. Their feet left no mark by design; their kind, the Mneme‑walkers, were sworn not to bruise the hours beneath them. Aneleth’s body was a study in glass and vellum: skin the color of quiet dawn, thin enough to show the rivers of gold filament that ran like patient lightning under the surface. Along the throat, a translucent veil fluttered—a gill‑lace that drank aroma and rumor. The eyes were coin‑bright and slow‑turning, with irises that gathered starlight, folded it, and kept it as a kindness for later.

They wore a mantle of mycelial silk grown in moon‑dark gardens, the threads still alive, still remembering the tunnels from which they had been coaxed. On Aneleth’s left wrist slept a ring of living wire—the Thread, a compliant serpent of gold that could smell distance the way others smell smoke.

Aneleth placed an open palm upon the seam. The air learned their shape. Spores swept forward like a soft tide, mapping the fingers, the lifelines, the old scars of vows kept and nearly broken. The seam widened, not as a door does, but as a thought does when it finds its opposite. Hyperfine cracks spread, diverged, and converged again in a lattice that suggested both invitation and correction.

“Let me in,” said Aneleth in the language of mineral patience.

The seam spoke back in fern breath: Come in if you can accept the arithmetic of forgetting.

Aneleth had come for that arithmetic. The Dunes of Liquid Memory waited beyond the seam, and somewhere inside those dunes lay the promise they once made in the Dark Orchard—the promise the desert had taken as collateral and never returned.

They stepped through. The seam stitched itself closed with a surgeon’s certainty, and silence rearranged its furniture to make room.

II. The Glass Dunes and Their Blooming Sigils

The desert was not sand so much as the idea of sand persuaded into matter. Each dune was a slope of congealed recollection, liquefying and resolidifying on its own clock. The grains were translucent and full of tiny occlusions—faces, gestures, half‑remembered weather. When the wind moved, the dunes flowed in slow currents, as if all memory wanted to be water but had first to practice being glass.

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 #trippyvisuals #technomusic #visualizer #undergroundtechno #musicvisualizer #4kvideo #4kvisuals #psychedelicvisuals #peaktimetechno #hardtechno #hypnotictechno #drivingtechno #melodictechno #aimusicvideo

Dunes of Liquid Memory | Liquid Music Video @ YouTube

Deep/minimal groove with trippy ultra‑real visuals. Enter the corridor.
A fractal sun over glass dunes—hypnotic techno immersion.
Dark kicks, deep subs, cosmic glow—get lost in the visuals.

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


The Story  ᓚᘏᗢ  ➜
I — The Door Beneath the Dark

The star was a fever that never cooled. From orbit it painted the hard vacuum with spirals of color too precise to be chance: lime, magenta, ultraviolet lattices shimmering like the wings of mythic insects. The Hyphaeryx named it the LSD Sun for the way its light convinced stone to dream and dunes to rearrange themselves into perfect mandalas. Around this sun drifted a desert of comet‑ground silica, fused and refrozen into rippling continents. The dunes rolled on tides of radiance rather than wind, sculpted by spectra that moved with the patience of continental drift and the caprice of a hallucination.

Vhorin arrived not in a vessel but in a germination. His body stepped out of a seed that had been a star only yesterday; he shook the last dew of cold nebula from his shoulders and watched it evaporate into petals of cyan steam. The dunes murmured in color. Far beneath his feet, he felt the Hyphosphere stir—threads of living matter braided through the vacuum like the roots of a forest that had traded soil for starlight.

He walked until the dune‑faces climbed to meet the sky, tall as mountains and rimmed with auroral fire. At the base of one such face a circle of gills irised open in the dark glass as if the dune itself had been holding its breath. The hatch exhaled a fine mist—spores sculpted into vowels—and in their pattern Vhorin read greeting and test.

“I have come for the corridor,” he said, and his voice was a fiber of gold weaving itself into the mist.

The hatch widened. Beneath it, a stair spiraled away into a coolness that was not darkness so much as uncommitted color. Vhorin lifted one foot, then the other, and descended into the under‑dune where gravity behaved like a thought that refused to settle.

II — Gravities Turning

The stair did not point down. It turned toward a vector Vhorin could only name by taste: metal with a citrus tremor. Each step unhooked weight from one meaning and relayed it to another. The dunes above forgot he had ever stood upon them. Somewhere behind his eyes, a flock of phosphorescent glyphs convened: coordinates singing to each other in a language of angles.

Walls of interlaced hyphae rose around him, pale braids pulsing with slow, star‑blue light. He let his fingers brush the living weave. It shivered and disclosed a map—strands touched strands, and whole constellations changed their minds about where they lived. High overhead, where “overhead” was temporarily plural, he glimpsed DMT auroras sliding through the rock like cattails through riverwater: mint green, persimmon, electric violet. Each color drafted a hypothesis of the corridor’s location.

He tasted the air with the filaments along his wrists and whispered his lineage—the spore‑names and filament‑houses that had grown him. The stair humbled to a ramp and the ramp bent open into a chamber where the ceiling was not a ceiling but a low sky.

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  #trippyvisuals  #technomusic  #visualizer  #undergroundtechno  #musicvisualizer  #4kvideo  #4kvisuals  #psychedelicvisuals  #peaktimetechno  #hypnotictechno  #drivingtechno  #melodictechno  #aimusicvideo

Dunes of the LSD Sun | Cinematic Visual Trip @ YouTube

A collection of various tracks we've been working on 

follow us on facebook: 
www.facebook.com/moonmeltmusic

Space Junk Vol. 1

Colouring -About You (Défense Remix)

Slice of Paradise remix by CAPYAC - https://soundcloud.com/capyac

Like/Follow Cool Co: 
►FB: www.facebook.com/Coolcompanymusic
►TWITTER: twitter.com/coolcomusic
►IG: www.instagram.com/coolcompanymusic

Slice Of Paradise (CAPYAC Remix)

This week we talk Ancient Aliens, the tv show. We discuss why we love it as well as the many things about it that worry us. Then we talk about conspiracy theories at large: how do they function, why do they exist, and which ones are our favorites. Ljubica argues that all conspiracy theories may be reactionary and counter-revolutionary. Adam lends some cred to the episode and our harebrained ideas by introducing us to a thought-provoking essay by Eve Sedgwick about paranoid reading. We also manage to argue about religion. 

Links as promised in the episode---

Paranoid and Reparative Reading, or You're So Paranoid You Probably Think This Essay Is About You, by Eve Sedgwick:
https://sydney.edu.au/arts/slam/downloads/documents/novel_studies/3_Sedgwick.pdf

John Titor Conspiracy:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Titor

Link no one asked for, Mandela Effect listicle:
https://www.buzzfeed.com/christopherhudspeth/crazy-examples-of-the-mandela-effect-that-will-make-you-ques?utm_term=.hfMDJyNZV#.emVGJPEr6

Are We Being Paranoid? Ancient Alien Theorists Say Yes!

spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/0AZ0XXiMwruTPSQ0d0kqET?si=KLJEc4wNRJq_rrHQZtBiWA
apple music: https://music.apple.com/us/album/lost-single/1417523566

another day on the planet
lost (w/ cwason): https://soundcloud.com/supercason/lost

cover art taken by me

lost

lost.

Brand new remix from the funkiest guy @pastelofficiel

UPSTAIRS: THE REMIXES out now!

Buy / Stream: https://fanlink.to/upstairsremixes

Follow Me:
• Facebook: facebook.com/5ReasonsOfficial
• Insta: instagram.com/5reasons
• Twitter: twitter.com/5_Reasons
• Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2HmJ6cs

Follow @pastelofficiel:

Instagram : www.instagram.com/pastelmusique
•Facebook : www.facebook.com/pastelmusique
•Spotify : spoti.fi/2G8QyVe

Artwork by Jesse Sotomayor
www.instagram.com/purpleproposition/

Upstairs (The Remixes)

Buy / Stream

Down On My Knees feat. Mystery Skulls (Pastel Remix)

2/2
spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/3ZDfwQk7s9ieFRsiIUkbmQ?si=UeHebIEPS2WbGZ70qpWMfQ
apple music: https://music.apple.com/us/album/chromatic-feat-quinnie/1446326218?i=1446326383

produced by me
feat. quinnie
https://soundcloud.com/quinnnie
mixed by quinnie
mastered by me

cover art taken by me

in my arms tonight / chromatic

chromatic (feat. quinnie)

shiny sun, humble moon (prod. stoic)

lone

no destination

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

Website or Instagram for booking.

Need change - going into the depths.

Techno, Trance, Psytech, Psytrance, and other liquid psychedelic music is where I'm the happiest but I do love a lot of Latin, Tribal, Trip Hop, 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.