Nostalgia

Agate Unendlichkeit

Smash

Jimmy D. Lennon’s inspiration for writing the lyrics for “Sunset Boulevard” was inspired by his experiences living on Sunset Blvd in West Hollywood, California. Years later, he shared these lyrics with Ryan Emerson, a producer, audio engineer, and DJ, resulting in their collaboration on an international music project. Emerson is based in Bali, Indonesia, where he works with artists worldwide, including Phillip Marks, a classically trained musician from Berklee College, and Chokey Brown, an accomplished musician brought in to record guitar and trumpet. This has led to an exciting, fast-paced drum and bass track that fits the artist's musical expression well.

Sunset Boulevard

**# The Demiurge's Folly: A Gnostic Requiem**

In the chasm of uncaring void, consciousness splintered, we exist—thrown into a grotesque reality not of our design. A cosmic miscreation, crafted by the Demiurge—blind, fumbling deity—this material realm is not home, but an eternal prison.

Through existence, we plummet, divine sparks shrieking in agonizing silence as we're entombed in flesh that decays. No fallen angels, we are the cosmic refuse, condemned to wallow in putrid materiality.

The Demiurge, an infant playing with forces beyond its grasp, molds worlds with the callous abandon of a child smearing filth on a wall. Not creations, but mistakes, we are.

Each life: a blemish marring reality's canvas.
Each sorrow: a dissonant wail in chaos' symphony.
Each death: not release, but a cruel recycling for torment eternal.

Gnosis, the supposed gift of divine knowledge, reveals itself as the most twisted jest. To awaken is to fully comprehend the horror—like a trapped creature realizing the futility of its cage.

In desperation, we hallucinate meaning:
In strangers' eyes, we grasp at connection.
In nature's splendor, we fabricate purpose.
In dreams, we conjure memories of a home that never existed.

Reality, unyielding, crushes these delusions, leaving us gasping in the vacuum of truth. The Archons need not conspire; our own minds recoil from the stark, horrifying truth of being.

We thrash, umbilical cords turned hangman's knots, choking what glimmers of divinity remain. Not actors in a cosmic play, but bacteria, mindlessly reproducing our suffering.

This world is no crucible for the soul, but a compactor of consciousness. Our pain doesn't refine—it grinds us into undifferentiated spiritual dust.

Every anguish: a nail driven into our existential coffin.
Every tear: a libation to a god that neither hears nor cares.
Every scar: a fissure in our shattered essence.

The Demiurge didn't craft a flawed world for us to transcend, but a soul abattoir where hope withers and dies. Our descent into matter is not a step toward ascension, but a plunge into endless abyss.

The bitter truth: our imprisonment is purposeless. These chains are not keys to liberation; they are shackles rusting into our very being, poisoning what divine essence we once held.

The path of gnosis leads nowhere, paved with lies and littered with the broken remains of those who came before. The Archons stand guard no longer needed; the bleak futility of existence does their work.

Beyond the veil lies no profound truth—only the howling void of cosmic indifference:

We are victims of a tyrant too ignorant to grasp its cruelty.
We are powerless flotsam adrift on a sea of uncaring cause and effect.
We are divine sparks destined to flicker and die in perpetual night.

Our darkest moments offer no enlightenment, only the confirmation of our plight. Gnosis does not illuminate; it blinds, searing away comforting illusions.

There is no escape, no key. Our suffering is not the alchemical fire of liberation, but another bar on our cage, another layer of futility that entombs us.

We trudge forward, not with hope, but with grim acceptance. Pain is not a crucible, but the baseline of a reality uncaring of our growth or redemption.

We are flesh, the sum of our sufferings.
We are orphans of a dead God, lost in a labyrinth of our own creation.
We are the victims of a cosmic tragedy, scribbling our lament in fading ink.

In existence's tapestry, we are not weavers nor threads, but frayed edges meant for the discard pile. The Demiurge's flawed design cannot be transformed or transcended—only endured, a sentence for a crime beyond comprehension.

Gnosis reveals not liberation, but the stark, horrifying awareness of our chains. Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss—a bliss eternally denied to those who dare to see the world as it truly is.

ß̸̧̠͇̮̳͉͉̱̝͈̞̗́͊̏̐̉̏̃́̉̀̊͗̀͋̏̈́͐͗́͂͢͡͞͞°̸̨̢̛̠͎̣̪̗͗́̄̅͌ͥ̀̍ͥ̓̔ͣ͢͝∑̴̢̢̛͙̥̹̘̠̬̩̰͇̿ͨ̅ͮ͊̈̓̊̉ͬ̓̂̈́ͮ̊̕͢͢ͅ

[All profits from this track will be donated to AWAKEN DESTINY, a humanitarian foundation (https://awakendestiny.org). Thank you 🙏]

The sound of the main instrument is from the Dilruba, literally meaning "that which ravishes or steals the heart".

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/26ySdwVud9d3woulap6oQl?si=28fttG09R46JYjpg2mJgcA
Youtube Music: https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_nBudBhP7ounB-fqOQwIEUQitISN-ITx9Q
Bandcamp: https://davidherreman.bandcamp.com/track/sound-of-the-heart

Sound of the Heart

Traverse

🏰
✨ Far beyond the water's edge
A crystal fortress stands,
Forged in ice and dragon's breath,
From storms and seas and sands,
Further into twilight's song,
And skies of sapphire blue,
In the Valley of the Sun
The hero shines in you.⚔
💜


Written and produced by Neaon

Mastered by Marek Hradil (Aka Mad Maverick) check out his work here madmaverick.bandcamp.com/album/vintage


Artwork by Jin Yamada

Valley Of The Sun

Time

Wreckluse

vbc013

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Have you seen me? 
Y'all love to watch from a distance!

✤ I come here to dump my music.               ✤
✤ You come here to bump my music.          ✤
 
Φ Downtempo + Trip-hop + IDM + Experimental Bass Φ 

⌘ 'Noise & Bass' ⌘

~〈 Check out my Spotify! 〉~

You must follow the groove......

Nostalgia

Isaac, The Physicist

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