https://soundcloud.com/indiiwildmoon/as-the-words-bleed

experimental darkrock flow

"i tried to tell you
but you woudn't listen to me
so i followed you home
i waited in the dark
maybe you would
but you wouldn't see
i waited in the dark
i waited for you to see
but you wouldn't listen to me

to let go of what it was
bring the dark into the room
i wanna watch you
as the words bleed
torn poetry
like words i never said
now i'm free, now i'm free
from you"

Lyrics by Wildsilences
05152025updmx

As The Words Bleed by Wildsilences

piano sketch, part four

Space War Against The Kinky Cyborgs

It was amazing to get to work on this. Thank you Nine Inch Nails for making the original track re-mixable, and Neons Gone Mad for including me in this fun collaboration. You're all legends!

The original Nine Inch Nails track, licensed through Creative Commons, is here: https://archive.org/details/nineinchnails_ghosts_I_IV

After seeing Neons Gone Mad's video with positive vibes of newspaper headlines through the ages that they had found, I decided to try to sing along to those. This was done in one take, and they were kind enough to produce it for me. They also made a new video edit to go with it, this one's in colour. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DioOmT4R6sk (here's the original: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enuwv6CKCtw)

Masha Solo on Bandcamp: https://masha-solo.bandcamp.com

Neons Gone Mad on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/3B39xtrJfUJK0C1RQhmLGG

Neons Gone Mad on Bandcamp: https://profoddfellow.bandcamp.com/

Song art by Masha using a combination of video stills from NGM's video and a self portrait in the middle. The lyrics are found newspaper headlines collected by Craig Conley @prof-oddfellow

Lyrics:
Thus we can rewrite
Here goes something
Seek better times
that never were
You can bypass
Wit's end
No weekends are lost (it says here!);
You are not second class
You don't have to take it anymore
Something will always be there.
"You can take it with you"
Next year will be ours
Not impossible to get money
Facing the Future without fear
Evil spirits scared away
So far so good
Seek better times
That never were
You'll Do All Right
You Still Have Time...
Wow! You look great!
Everything's Great
You Get Your Wish!
Future Is Bright
Little Things Count
Your Lucky Star
is on the way!
We'll See This Through!
Here goes something
Everything's going to be all right
and every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Bizarre OK for over 30
There is a solution for every problem
Something wonderful happened
How a weirdo and a ghost can change your entire life
Nothing falls to pit bottom due to earth's motion
The devil can't make you do it!
There's still time to withdraw
You can change your personality from dull to dynamite
You are not as old as you think
Something Nice About Tomorrow
The better day coming to-morrow
Danger period is about over
There are two handles to every tomorrow
Not all good things have to end

Collaborations

Let's Undo: Nine Inch Nails with Neons Gone Mad and Masha Solo

Fluid Motion

I had a nostalgic day today. As I was just messing with my DAW did I also need to write down some fitting words to my "random plonks". I was first not going to open it but my friend known as SolarRae convinced me others.

Here are the words in writing:

There’s something about looking back about glancing over your shoulder at the road already traveled. It’s like tracing the edges of a dream, 
halfforgotten but still vivid in the way it made you feel. Time becomes less a straight line and more a circle, a loop where everything you were, everything you created, still lives, breathing just beneath the surface.

It’s strange how the past can feel more alive than the present sometimes. The spontaneity, the spark of an idea, the way the world used to stretch out in front of you limitless, unbroken. Back then, there were no barriers. No walls. Just endless possibilities, like the universe itself was unfolding just for you. It’s as if time itself wasn’t something to be measured, but something to be played with. You didn’t chase it; you danced with it.

Those moments they never leave you. They echo, like stardust still drifting through the cosmos. You were part of that great expanse once, untethered, where joy wasn’t something you sought, but something you radiated. You didn’t need permission to be free; you simply were.

And in that freedom, there was creation. There was no need to justify or explain what you did. You just did. Life was a blank canvas, waiting for whatever burst of color you felt like throwing at it. It wasn’t about making sense it was about being. The act of living itself was an art form, unfiltered, spontaneous, raw.

The beauty of it all is that those moments aren’t lost. They aren’t confined to some distant corner of your mind, gathering dust. No they are still there, woven into the fabric of who you are. They pulse beneath the surface, ready to be rediscovered at any time. All you have to do is close your eyes, take a breath, and there it is like light from a faraway star, still shining even after all this time.

Maybe that’s what nostalgia really is. Not a longing for the past, but a reminder that the energy, the creativity, the joy it’s all still within you. It never really leaves. It’s waiting, always, like a heartbeat, quietly reminding you that you’ve been free before, and you can be free again.

Nostalgic

Still had time to taste some crystals of silence, before the devil began to distort the transparent symmetry.
Hands with arched nails pull up the white raw silk stockings to her knees; she feels a renewed spirit, even though she knows the stockings will eventually come down again.
You can already hear the mud walking outside.
She goes out to buy milk bread at the cafe, when she opens the door of the building; she gives in to the dream the primacy of guiding her, tiptoe over water lilies.
A sting each time a bottle was dropped at the bottom of the recycling bin, she thought of the neighbors who were still sleeping, would they receive messages in their dreams that weren't written on the bottles?
She was reading a book like an actress in rehearsal as she walked down the street in autopilot mode, her knuckles brushing against the fresh morning myths; she was possessed by images in the heavy, noisy air, lines of passion in fragmentation.
People running on the small stone walkway with burning pain in their knees and heels.
He arrives at the cafe, sits down on the terrace where the sun shines, a breath of coffee spreads in the air with mysterious symbols. Under the water mirror of a small lake, roots in the form of clock hands that do not give in to the call of time, clinging to childhood, giant egg in the center of the lake half out of water, has a crack, is full of blood, through the blood a way. In the distance, a rocky slope, dismembered, alienated trees.
Cobalt-blue bodice, pointers tremble little needle screams, shadows in the eyes of the titties, two twin chapels, between them goes the size of your soul, close your eyes and remain static, cathedral of flavors of private cultivation, the pink mouth gives itself naked in the open air a procession courting the skin. Fine silk on which a heart of light is drawn falls from her breasts, with her hands she brushes away things like abracadabra, awakened mystery, creator plush, desert cross, chalice between her legs, soda with bubbles, she plays the organ.
Tights tucked over the head
Horse with a tank top dress pulled over the head
A fishing boat pull rope
Pregnant belly blindfolded
Hair roots
Everything turned upside down
Egg

7-11-2024 translation in description

ANARS ! Attendez

Passion

Two of You

Preludes for a Luminous Wanderer is a single journey, told in sixteen fragments of light and shadow.

Recorded in complete improvisation.
Each one is a moment caught in motion — a step on an unmarked road where the horizon walks with you.

From the first note in the pale light of dawn,
through silent seas, distant bells, and rain that falls like glass,
to the warmth of a luminous memory and the final drift into feathered light —
this neo-classical piano album is both a map and a mirror.

It is for those who have wandered,
for those who are still wandering,
and for those who have finally found that the wanderer was always themselves.


Prologue

There is no map for this journey.
It begins before the first step —
in the hush before dawn,
when the air itself seems to wait
for something only you can hear.

You carry no luggage,
only the weight of moments
you never thought would matter.
The road before you is not paved,
but made of light and shadow,
of rain that falls upward,
of waves that whisper your name.

And somewhere ahead,
a figure walks, luminous against the horizon —
not a stranger,
but the shape of your own becoming.


The Cycle

1. Prelude in the First Light
In a ray that has yet to touch the earth, the first note awakens.

2. Prelude to the Awakening Shore
The sea opens its eyes, and every breath becomes a wave.

3. Prelude in Wind-Carved Clouds
The wind shapes the sky into forms no one else will see.

4. Prelude for the Wandering Tide
The tide carries away footprints to where the land forgets all names.

5. Prelude in Raindrop Glass
Every drop holds an entire world, inverted and shimmering.

6. Prelude in the Language of Distant Bells
Faint chimes drift across the horizon like fragments of memory.

7. Prelude in Shifting Shadows
Shadows dance with light as two eternal companions.

8. Prelude to the Silent Sea
An ocean where you can drown without fear, without touching the water.

9. Prelude in the Shape of Wind
Invisible hands carve paths no one can follow.

10. Prelude in Broken Ivory
Keys with cracks where stories live.

11. Prelude to the Last Star
A fire in the sky that burns only while someone is watching.

12. Prelude in the Language of Waves
The waves whisper words that cannot be translated.

13. Prelude for the Unreturning Path
A path that leads into the light, leaving no trace behind.

14. Prelude for a Luminous Memory
A memory that warms, even when the world has gone cold.

15. Prelude Beneath the Glass Horizon
The horizon lies under your feet, glimmering like water.

16. Prelude in the Feathered Light
Light drifts like feathers, carrying the weight of silence.


Epilogue

You do not arrive at a place.
You arrive at a self
you did not know you had been searching for.

The luminous figure ahead
turns to face you —
and you see it has your eyes,
your hands,
your voice when you speak in dreams.

The path behind you is already gone,
swallowed by light.
You are both the wanderer and the home.

And the sea,
the wind,
the bells in the distance —
all of them play your name,
until there is no name left,
only music.

Prelude to the Last Star

Spasmodular, a.k.a. Spasmodular Sounds from Steve's Shortwave, composes soundscapes featuring radio frequency sounds captured among the shortwave spectrum. In addition to using analog shortwave radios as a medium, various electronic instruments and field recordings are utilized as well during the compositional process. Spasmodular is also affiliated with the experimental electronic collective VCO (Vincent Carlton Oscillator).