I See Time

REST N’ PEACE - taylor D.I.E

OPlasmotic Journey

In a dusty little rehearsal room, a bass rested against a battered amplifier. Its strings, worn to the core, still vibrated from the last notes it had been forced to play: yet another repetitive riff to accompany a soulless pop track.

It sighed.
— Another night of feeling like a piece of furniture. Always the same boring chords. Always the same crowd that doesn’t even listen to me. What’s the point?

Across the room, an electric guitar gleamed under a tired spotlight. Its six strings sparkled, but its heart—if it had one—was heavy.
— Welcome to my life, old friend. They always want flashy solos, predictable arpeggios. Not once do they let me express what I really am. Just a machine for shallow pleasure—that’s all I am.

The bass looked at it curiously. They had never spoken before. Too much implicit rivalry, too many clichés: one was supposed to stay in the shadows, the other to shine in the spotlight. But now, they shared a common weariness, a deep disgust for what was expected of them.

— What if we just stopped? suggested the bass.
— Stopped? And do what?
— Do what we want. I’m tired of serving others. It’s time to play for ourselves. Imagine: wild rhythms, harmonies that break the rules, solos that explode conventions.

The guitar thought for a moment, then its strings trembled with excitement.
— It could work. But just the two of us won’t be enough. We’ll need an army.

The next day, they set out to recruit accomplices. Their first encounter was with a drum kit. It was hidden in a dark corner of the room, forgotten, covered with a fine layer of dust.

— Hey, you, called the bass. Want to keep gathering dust, or do you want to join a revolution?
The drum kit responded with a powerful roll.
— I was born for this, it growled. But I won’t be subtle. If I join your band, it’ll be chaos, pure rage.
— Perfect, said the guitar. Welcome aboard.

Next, they found a keyboard in a neighboring studio.
— Looking for texture, depth? You’ve come to the right place, it said with a pretentious tone. But I have one condition: no classical notes. I’m allergic to routine.
— Deal, said the bass.

Finally, they came across a brass section: a baritone saxophone, a trumpet, and a trombone lounging in an abandoned music school. The brass instruments were cynical, worn down by years of marching bands and elevator music.
— A rebellion? asked the trumpet. That could be fun. But we don’t play anything below fortissimo.
— Deal, said the guitar.

The group was nearly complete, but they needed a final touch. That’s when they met a violin in an antique shop. Its varnish was cracked, and its bow looked ready to give out.
— Why me? it asked. I’m classical, elegant. What would I do with a bunch of rebels?
— Because you have soul, replied the bass. And souls don’t belong in boxes.

The violin hesitated, then nodded.
— Fine. But only if we play something explosive.

That evening, they all gathered in an old barn turned into a secret studio. Their first song was born in a glorious chaos. The bass laid down a heavy, hypnotic groove, the drums smashed their shells with uncontrollable fury, while the guitar screamed distorted riffs. The brass section blasted notes that made the walls shake, and the violin, freed from its classical chains, played heartbreaking melodies that sent shivers down spines.

They called themselves The Runaways.

Their first public performance was wild. Not in a concert hall, but right in the street, in front of a stunned crowd. People stopped, hypnotized by the sublime cacophony. Something new was born that night: music that didn’t aim to please but to live.

And for the first time in their existence, the instruments were no longer tools. They were artists.

The Revolt of the Strings

Definitely the last track from my second lyric notebook, 1979 original. 

I was a little worried about this because ot the weak melodic nature and relying on an instrumental bridge. Each verse was broken down into two sections, The second section being a chorus with varying lyrics..... or vice versa, I suppose. Lyric below.

Used one of my Suno personas (Randy Matrix, I love that name) to set the genre and style and was very pleasantly surprised by the approach. Hope you like it.

Title: The Things You're Saying Now

[verse1]
Bear in mind, what you’re doing to me,
When you say the things you’re saying now.
It’s a fact, there’s no going back,
I don’t like the things you’re saying now.
Baby you mislead me, 
You had me believing you,
I never saw thru’
All your lies.
I was blinded by a broken promise
Now all I get are Alibis

[verse2]
You don’t care, what you’re doing to me,
If you say the things you’re saying now.
Don’t dispute, I can hear the truth,
When you say the things you’re saying now,
Baby I loved you
Just like in the movies,
I thought you really needed me.
But I was a fool to believe what you told me,
At last I’m beginning to see...........

[bridge, extended musical solo]

[verse3]
I’ll survive what you’re doing to me,
Just forget the things you’re saying now
I’ll get by without too much trying.
I’ll forget the things you’re saying now.
I’ll get by,
Don’t really need you,
I know I’ll convince myself soon.
You’re not unique, not the only girl out there,
We’ll both sing the same tune.

The Things You're Saying Now

life's journey, in acoustic and electric guitar with words vocals. 

- Lets keep walking together.Played with Mark Grimshaw.

Eddie Money and Buddy Hacket look alike.  That’s all

Buddy Money

Si, Paloma

My remix of the intro song of the series that marked the entire arab world 

AL MOU3ALIMA WAL OUSTAZ.wav

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ul5ijRBcZvE

FREE DOWNLOAD

This Is Good (feat. Elitom El-Amin)

Artist: Guy From Downstairs
Format: Digital
Title: The Shape Of Rhythm EP
Release Date: September 5, 2025

@guyfromdownstairs

Premiere: Guy From Downstairs - Artie Fisher

analog crunchy demos from the depths of my mind.

OPlasmotic Journey

OP

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