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New Wave Pt.3

WAIT A MINUTE

Psychedelic Funk - Chris Travis (Sped Up)

mixed by me
originals by klmketa, txkumoon and willie g
and soulja boy #crankdat

she got a donk (freddy vs jason refix)

If She Ain't Snow Bunny

If She Ain't Snow Bunny (feat. Der Witz)

rooftop

8 o’clock in the morning (prod andrew beatz)

Bags Of Weed

Main Artist Page

https://on.soundcloud.com/SQZWEFeMiy7RR534vx

Voices 2

This piece opens a gate.

What you’re hearing is not a song. It’s a visitation.

The 1/1 Poetry Candle burns at the center of the portal, its flame threaded directly into the astral doorway. That fire is the poet’s signal, a living frequency, calling back older ancient Skrilla. Not memory. Not myth. Consciousness. The whispers you hear are Skrilla responding in real time, layered across dimensions, folding language into bone and breath.

The portal bridges the poet from the physical realm into the astral corridor where Main Z waits.
Z is not a character. Z is the Celestial Hallow Bone King, crowned in peeled eternity, eyes glowing with vulture-green sight. This meeting is not symbolic. It is contractual.

Stamped within the sigil: ASK,929.
A label not of industry, but of alignment.

This visitation is tapped directly from a conversation between the poet and Skrilla about 2026 and what is coming. Not predictions. Preparations. The future hums beneath the track like a second spine, audible only if you listen with more than ears.

Around the circle stand the four cloaked shadows, the poet’s mirrors from the Bone Realm. Each shadow holds a channel. When the poet speaks, poetry doesn’t rhyme. It summons. Each word activates a level, each silence opens a ribcage in the air. This is poetry at its highest voltage, where language collapses into ritual.

The ancient masks on the walls are watchers. They are made from realms that have never seen light, only the soft violence of purple whispers. The bones entangled through the space belong to histories that refused erasure. They lean in when the poet reaches the Fourth Speech Deal, the moment where voice becomes law.

This track exists in-between.
Between worlds.
Between years.
Between breath and bone.

You are not listening.
You are visiting.

Z VISITATION
POETRY 1/1
A signal sent.
A door left open.

#Z
#11
#Astral
#Bone
#Celestial
#Ancient #Skrilla

PROD. 223MORTE

Strange world

noruniro

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