Dvstrr X Miya Lowe- Damage Pattern

And my love spin thru the roof, am i gonna save you, all my fear is fallin under me, i dont even care ima run for the hug/thru the mud, yea i love 2 participate, did u feel the hurt when u stayed out my name, all my friends runnin thru the rain, kno where im sitting yea i smoke all my weed

i love weed

◦☽⌖ ♎︎⬥︎♏︎☢☢♎︎ ⌖☾◦

чуткость в моем понимании какой она должна быть

Лестницы и коридоры

sucker

k4718kfJe092qjdl;

106_olymp

https://open.spotify.com/track/1YLvfTSTBKoT8SEcmwfhtn

boredom (OUT ON SPOTIFY)

Colapso De La Función De Onda

Non Bilateria

🧥 Oldman Steptoe’s Tape Diary: Entry #62 — “Nine Voices in the Fade” (Final Revision)
It begins with restraint. Just a kick and a pad, humming like a generator in a forgotten corridor. The pad cycles through tones like a broken carousel: A for four bars, then Gb, then F. Then it jolts upward—B for two bars, Bb for two more. It loops, but it doesn’t settle. It’s like watching a lighthouse flicker through fog, never quite guiding you home.

At bar 16, the machinery stirs. A bass line creeps in, and an arpeggiated synth begins to speak—not in melody, but in chords that feel like memories half-recalled.

First, a D major over A (D/A), warm but distant. Then a G6, reaching for something it can’t quite grasp. The sequence shifts: B major over Gb, clean but cold. Then Bmaj7 over Gb, adding a shimmer of unresolved longing.

Next comes Bb major over F, a chord that feels like dusk. Then Ebmaj7sus2, soft and suspended, like breath held in a quiet room. The final stretch begins with E major over B, solid and grounding, followed by Emaj7sus4, which opens like a door to nowhere. Then Eb major over Bb, nostalgic and slow. And finally, Abmaj7sus2, a chord that doesn’t resolve—it just lingers.

These ten chords cycle from bar 17 to 33, each one a layer of emotional architecture. Then, a single-bar drop: a MIDI synth line doubling the top notes of the arpeggios, like a ghost tracing its own outline.

From bar 35 to 65, the full arrangement blooms—bass, pads, synths, all in motion. Then it collapses again to just synth and kick, from 65 to 81, like the track is catching its breath. A hi-hat loop enters at 81, ticking like a clock in a dream. From 97 to 113, the bass returns, and a stereo-panned synth dances across the mix like light through broken blinds.

The final act begins at bar 129. The full arrangement returns, and the tempo holds steady—but the energy begins to dissolve. A slow fade begins at bar 161, not dragging the rhythm but sinking the sound. Each layer recedes like a tide pulling back from a shoreline of memory. By bar 177, it’s gone. Or maybe it’s just waiting.

This isn’t a track. It’s a ritual. A slow, deliberate descent into something vast and unknowable. And when it ends, it doesn’t feel like silence. It feels like the room is still listening.

106_olymp

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