Noisboxtest

Rec 8 excerpt

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In Verruf | A Night On Acid

Marc Richter - MM∞XX Vol.1 & 2 - Double-CD (CELL-8)
November 11, 2022
https://cellule75.bandcamp.com/album/mm-xx-vol-1-2

Marc Richter - CHAPTER ONE

Minimal/maximal synthesizer product

Recorded 13 Feb 2021 on Uher 4000

Ritzy Sunspot

.warm. Subsonic selections from M//R [ @m-r-127 ]. Listen live - 2nd Sundays, 6-8PM ET on www.greatcircles.net

~Artist List~
36
khotin
bellows
phases of gravity
parris (sam kidel rmx)
voiski
civilistjavel (made up sound rmx)
cousin
warmth
daniel(i)
goran geto
david cordero & warmth
the alps
senking
alpha & omega (wrong speed)
karmahacker
mohlao
martin sturtzer
frenk dublin & tenor youthman (om unit rmx)
paul st hilaire & tikiman
anstam
florian t m zeisig 
space afrika

.warm. w/ M//R - 09Jul2023

Coronado

Coronado/ 2

In the flickering glow of the server's core, SoundCloud crumbled — a glitch in the fabric of noise, a whisper of chaos. The arcane song by SPYKES, a twisted melody, seeped through the digital ether, causing circuits to bleed bleread—a substance unknown, shimmering and opaque.  

*“The lathe, the sounds, the song it weaves, with threads of time, it’s the one that deceives!”*  
*“Discus of sound, a twisted key, to Inzane Studios, the time to see,”*  
*“Yen shima, gireh, a lufe, s’kum, niw, aht, eht,”* (in a babble of gibberish)  
*“Frodo, elcar, ni yats eht, noitcudorp, eht, tnetnoc!”* (another jumble, mixing language fragments)  

The song's notes twisted backwards—*“sdeen eht, ni yrrac, eht, sretcarc”*—a cryptic curse echoing in the digital void. Circuits sputtered: *"bleed, circuits, bleed,"* but in a tongue of forgotten scripts. The soundwaves, tangled threads of a broken spell, wove in and out of incoherence:  

*"The disc of sound, a twisted key, to Inzane Studios, the time to see"*  
*"Yen shima, gireh, a lufe, s’kum, niw, aht, eht"*  
*“Blaread, bleeda, blor, blun, whizz, zork, plim!”*  

Some parts whispered in a language of lost memories, others in babble—a chaos of words: *“galdor, zhip, nara, melli, vorn, sabro,”* and *“kliem, jor, minta, srel, pado,”* blending into the static. The song’s core, a twisted tapestry of sound and nonsense, beckoned the hidden truths—*“a truth, of which thy heart will reel!”*—but only in riddles and backwards whispers.  

And in the midst of this digital dissonance, a final phrase—*“Where the clock strikes doom, and heaven’s bell!”*—became an echo of chaos, a warning wrapped in nonsensical tongues, a broken promise of secrets lost in the bleed.  

SoundCloud, shattered, a fractured mirror of melodies, forever echoing the arcane chaos of SPYKES’ song—somewhere, in the jumble, the circuits still bleed bleread, and the language of nonsense dances on the broken wires.

".......bleread"

silver lined motherfucker
gas tank and gun in your hand
the satellites can hear you 
the satellites can see you from outer space 
gas tank and gun in your hand 
pay check and loan loop duct taped to your back

grapes in your mouth 
belly of laugh
teeth of rotting math 
piles of rotting food 
he vomits a cherub
nails in is ribs
knives for teeth 
i saw him in your tax file 
drooling purple 
spitting pennies

silver lined motherfucker 
there's a nutloose in your ATM

orpheous vanguard
microwave sneakers
you can feel the radiation grow
inside your speakers

the eyes of the central computer 
looks on itself 
and sees itself
a nutloose ATM
her eyes 
her eyes 

neon elevator 
licked by a dinosaur 
locked in the basement
of 555 capitol street 
peeled from the calendar
of 333 BC

the central computer
assumes global power
cannibalizing a culture
refuse the deliberation
human breakdown endless series of cries
deception of natural resources


".......bleread"

JOHNNY R. SPYKES

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