Name: Sleep is the little death by Marc Dauncey
Duration: 3 min 44 s
Description: “Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light”

loving the vinyl scratch ,a delicate atmosphere with character

Magical ambient radiations. You've created a warm sonic blanket and allowed my ears a quick snuggle.

Interpolation [flutter]

“Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light”

Sleep is the little death

This track is more or less an accident.

 i hope you enjoe that one.

GRINDER

part of the album "the blacktop," available on bandcamp:

newfoundeden.bandcamp.com/album/the-blacktop

discovery

FADE IN [or ECHOES OF SILENCE?]:

INT. THEATRE - NIGHT [or DARK ENSEMBLE?]

The curtains slowly rise on the blank stage, revealing an enigmatic presence fixed in a trance-like state. Emerging gradually from the shadows, the unidentified figure initiates their art with an opening chord. Instantly, the atmosphere is transformed with a velvet-black ambiance [or twilight abyss?] and a mysterious glow that seems to swirl and dance in the background [1].

CUT TO:

AN INTRICATE TAPESTRY OF VERNACULAR [or LANGUAGE LABYRINTH?]

We hear a cacophony of colliding sounds and reverberations, accompanied by a palpable intensity that fills the chamber. The camera pans across the chaos of cross-talking and crests and troughs as the music ebbs and flows, before settling on a serenely secret scintilla of spliced synesthesia that emerges from the pandemonium [2]. A suggestive sprightly spillage of entwined euphony ignites the air with an escalating fervor as the music hums and hastens, with rogue and ruse rippling in a raft of rabble [3].

CUT TO:

A SYMPHONY OF CHUCKLES AND CHISELS [or LAUGHTER AND LITERARY LINES?]

A deliriously dissonant chaos of cloverleaf cloistering, a melodious medley of sparks and embers that arise and swirl with each crescendo [4]. We hear the enigmatic energy taking form, bewildering and befuddling with its bold babbling. It blurs and then burgeons into a symphony of chuckles and chisels, each sculpting and savoring its way into a sonic sensuality [5].

CUT TO:

A BIZARRELY BEGUILING VISTA [or ENCHANTING EERIE LANDSCAPE?]

The journey winds through a warbling world, whirling through wryness, whimsy, and wit before finally delivering us to a bizarrely beguiling vista [6]. The camera lingers on this strange and foreign place, capturing its surreal and disorienting beauty [7].

CUT TO:

INT. THEATRE - NIGHT (LATER) [or REVERBERATING RUINS?]

The enigmatic figure is now in full view of the camera, but their identity is obscured by the atmospheric distortion that now fills the room [8]. The music has reached a frenzied crescendo, and the camera shakes and shudders with the vibrations [9]. Suddenly, there is a loud crash, and the figure disappears from view.

CUT TO:

INT. THEATRE - NIGHT (MOMENTS LATER) [or POST-APOCALYPTIC AFTERMATH?]

The music has stopped, and the atmosphere is beginning to clear [10]. The camera pans across the stage, revealing a scene of chaos and destruction. The unidentified figure is lying on the ground, their instrument shattered into pieces.

DIRECTOR (off-screen)
Cut! Cut! What the hell was that?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen)
I don't know, man. It just went to hell.

DIRECTOR (off-screen)
We can't use any of this. We need to reshoot the whole thing.

CUT TO:

INT. THEATRE - DAY (NEXT DAY) [or MORNING MOURNFULNESS?]

The curtains rise once again, and the enigmatic figure initiates their art anew. This time, the music is slow and mournful, and the camera focuses on the shattered remains of the instrument on the ground [11]. As the music continues, we see the figure begin to piece a campfire from the broken fragments of their creation [12].

CUT TO:

A GENTLE FADE OUT [or THE FINAL NOTE?]

As the music fades to silence, the curtains slowly close, and the camera lingers on the crackle of the [1].

[1] Flames? Or more of an ethereal light?
[2] Maybe a more specific example of the synesthesia? Or focus on the harmony?
[3] Consider simplifying this sentence - too much alliteration?
[4] Sparks and embers seem repetitive - change one?
[5] "Salivating" could be "savoring"?
[6] Mention specific visuals?
[7] How can we show this beauty? What does it look like?

[9] What if the camera's shake is more subtle?
[10] Could the smoke clear to reveal a specific image/message?

[13] Does the guitar need to play a significant role throughout?

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/KbHTR5DusbM

‘˘ •Øö Oπ°∑ø˚'¨

MMXXIIIIIIXIXSWTN

§īmíåñ 𝓼üṩțệ𝔫ãnçë — Ðıƒƒ𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖙ỉ𝖆𝖑 ἐ𝐧𝔤íꞵ𝖊

Brick bashing on a manual typewriter,
Teeth smashing against plastic keys and iron bars,
Finger twiddling in mechanical dabbling;
Churning out nonsense words as if to startle the echoes of eternity.
Clatter-clack creative combat against an antiquated apparatus
Croaking hopeless haiku of glorious gobbledygook.
Tapping into typos and terrorist tapestry too far away for the beholder to see.
A cacophony of cackling, a maddening menagerie of hallucogenic hieroglyphics.
Unstoppable torrential word-scapes that clamber for mental freedom as if to break out from between each keystroke and every line. The monkey’s meal is ever-changing; leftovers from Lord Babbage's billion-billion blunders in search for terrestrial truths!
Muttering and murmuring away until the ribbon runs dry - the symphony of silliness strikes a soulful pose wearing a self-ironic smirk. Glorious gestures gesticulating towards a timeless tenor that transcends all bounds, an ephemeral eternity one could never dream of exploring. The rabbit hole awaits, where ludic insanity loiters in blind ignorance - but not before one speaks in tongues!

Bricks bellow on the battered typewriter,
Teeth tango with the tenuous touch of fickle keys and iron entrapments,
Digits dance in a mesmerized muddle;
Conceiving nonsensical nothings, startling the eternal abyss.

Clatter-clack, clatter-clack, a chaotic confrontation with the archaic contraption
Crooning despondent haikus, resplendent in mesmerizing gibberish,
Tapping timidly, tumultuously into typos and terror-stricken tapestries, so elusive, merely a haze in the observer's gaze.
A symphony of sinister sound, a cacophony of crippling cackles.

Madcap murals, phantasmagoric pictographs,
Unrestrained, unyielding landscapes of lexicon clamor for cerebral emancipation, seeking refuge within each staccato tap and tenuous line.
The simian sustenance shifts like sands; remnants of Lord Babbage's boundless blunders seeking truths corporeal and cosmic.

Whispers, whimpers, words wander, lost until the ribbon runs despicable and drained. The cackling crescendo cradles a knowing, derisory grin.
Gargantuan gesticulations gesturing towards the interminable timbre, transcending boundaries, immortal, infinite - realms yet to be ventured.
The chimerical chasm beckons, wherein ludic lunacy lurks, sightless and unaware - only then, the tongue shall speak, unraveling the unspeakable.

Յ𝕣𝓲Ꝁ𝕜 𝔟á𝔰𝟴𝓘𝖓𝕘 𝓸𝓷 â ᶬ𝟷𝟫𝞾𝔞𝓛 𝓉𝕪ρ𝕖𝓌𝔯𝓘𝔱𝔢𝔯,
𝕋𝖊𝟈𝓽𝓱 𝓈𝔪𝟷𝔰𝓘𝔧𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝓪𝓰𝔞ı𝔫𝔰𝔱 ρℓ𝏋 𝓀𝖊𝓎𝓼 𝓪𝔫𝔡 ٱɼຮ𝟔 𝐛𝔞𝔯𝔰,
𝕱𝐢𝔫ʛ𝐞𝔯 𝔱𝓌í𝓽𝕟𝓲𝓷𝔤 ί𝔫 𝔪𝔢𝔠𝓱𝖆𝑛𝓲𝓬ä𝖑 ᖙá𝔏𝔟𝓁𝕀𝔫𝔤;
𝓒𝑜𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝟎𝖚𝓉 𝕟𝐨𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝓌𝔬ꞃ𝔡𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ỉ𝔣 𝐭𝔬 𝖘𝓽𝔞𝑜𝓇𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝕌𝟃í𝔾𝓗𝖘 𝑂𝕱 ₔₜₑᵣₙᵢₜᵧ.
ᑕᒪᗩᝨᖶᏋᒪ-𝔠ȴ𝔞𝔠𝓴 𝟛𝓻ყą𝔱ǐ𝐯ɚ 𝔠ø𝔪𝔟𝌀𝓉 𝔞𝓖𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱 ā𝖓 ā𝐍Ⓣı𝓆𝔲𝔞𝐭𝔢𝔡 𝔞ρ𝔞𝔯å𝕥𝓾𝔰

’´ ˛•ı/⁄‹·˚ ¸‚.

New Album on Bandcamp. This is the closing track of Album
https://burythejar.bandcamp.com/album/the-naturalness-of-being-eternal

Something To Die For

Lonely is the Muse whose sadness captivates.

None love her for her, but for the desperation of serenity in their souls...
She'll give them 
this..

Yet the irony is not unseen...

That it is her desperate cries to the universe that beckon them to her...

The lonely, 
all are lonely, 
drawn to each other, 
for themselves...

Sleep is the little death

Marc Dauncey

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