The sun beams through the classroom air
A student's pencil hovers there
The paper waits, the questions stand
But sleep is tugging at their hand

The pencil wavers, starts to sway
A mind drifts far, begins to stray
The words dissolve, the lines entwine
Into a dream where thoughts unwind

The dance of a pencil, light as a breeze
Tracing circles, chasing dreams with ease
A waltz of answers, fading fast
As time slips by, too slow to last

In the dream, the pencil twirls around
The classroom shifts without a sound
The questions twist, the letters blend
In this soft dance that has no end

In the dream, the pencil twirls around
The classroom shifts without a sound
The questions twist, the letters blend
In this soft dance that has no end

The dance of a pencil, light as a breeze
Tracing circles, chasing dreams with ease
A waltz of answers, fading fast
As time slips by, too slow to last

A spin, a dip, the pencil glides
Through cloudy thoughts where reason hides
The clock is ticking, time won't stay
But the pencil's caught in its ballet

Then suddenly, a sharp return
A jolt awake, a lesson learned
The pencil halts, the dream is clear
The test awaits, the end is near

With newfound focus, they take their stance
The pencil moves, no longer dance
In the quiet hum of the busy room
They write the answers before the final boom

The Dance of a Pencil

Mercury Mind

https://myckalmarcovic.bandcamp.com/track/le-sommeil-du-matamore
translation above
Texte et voix de Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel
Musique de Myckaël Marcovic
Illustration d'Annie Madec

Le sommeil du matamore

Messieurs, mesdames, mon moi et moi
Vont vous chanter leur oraison
Que j’ai vécue, enfant de chœur,
Dans mon sommeil de matamore

Je moissonne des capucines,
Des mandragores de couleur
Les soirs de brume sur la colline
Sur des losanges de sept lieues

Je pense à des mots de saisons
Comme l’amour jamais cassé
Comme l’extase des matins
Comme la pitié un vendredi

Je traverse des macadams
Dans des souliers de carabin
Rouges qui exhalent la mort 
Comm’ les bottes de Saint-Pierre

Les moralistes, parlons-en !
Ils nous tartinent le melon !
Allez pointer, mais allez donc
À vos comptoirs de xénophobes

Les prophètes ont signé un pacte :
Ces fous de Dieu qui puent de l’âme
Et qui refoulent du malheur,
Sonnent les cloches de leurs blâmes

Ils sont tous là comme des loups
Fumant des pieds sur leur empire
Pour Dieu, la mort c’est l’habitude
De nettoyer ses souvenirs

Quand la lumière se fait courage
C’est toujours l’autre qui a tort
Il n’aime que ce qu’il ignore
Ses essuie-glaces sont en panne

Tous leurs couloirs cassent la vie
Avec leurs portes colmatées
Surtout la nuit, elles me font mal.
Et j’entends ricaner les hyènes

Messieurs, mesdames, mon moi et moi
Vous ont chanté leur oraison
Que j’ai vécue, enfant de chœur,
Dans mon sommeil de matamore

Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, 25 07 2024
Musique : Myckaël Marcovic, 7 août 2024

The matamore's sleep

Gentlemen, ladies, me and I
Will sing you their oration
That I lived, choirboy,
In my matamore sleep

I harvest nasturtiums,
Colored mandragores
On foggy evenings on the hill
On seven-league rhombuses

I think of seasonal words
Like love never broken
Like the ecstasy of mornings
Like pity on a Friday

I cross macadams
In red shoes
Red with the smell of death 
Like Saint Peter's boots

Let's talk about moralists!
They're spreading the melon!
Go and punch the clock
To your xenophobic counters

The prophets have signed a pact:
God-fearing fools who stink of the soul
And repress misfortune,
Ring out their bells of blame

They're all out there like wolves
Smoking their empire with their feet
For God, death is the habit
To cleanse one's memories

When light becomes courage
It's always the other who's wrong
He only loves what he doesn't know
His windshield wipers are out of order

All their corridors break life
With their clogged doors
Especially at night, they hurt me.
And I hear the hyenas cackling

Gentlemen, ladies, me and I
Have sung their oration to you
That I lived, choirboy,
In my matamore sleep

Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, 25 07 2024
Music : Myckaël Marcovic, August 7, 2024

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

Le sommeil du matamore (Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel / Myckaël Marcovic), feat Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel

Introduction in English:

Manfred (‘Manne’) was my oldest friend. We used to play together in the sandpit. 
We were both very contrasting characters. I was ambitious for a long time and wanted to excel through special achievements. Manne, on the other hand, preached idleness and complete freedom from pressure even as a teenager.  He often laughed at me from his lotus position when I got bogged down in something. I secretly admired him for his attitude of pure being and complete freedom from purpose. 
Through him, I learnt about the benefits of slowness and pausing. And he was a sensitive companion when I came into contact with certain drugs such as cannabis, alcohol and cocaine in my early adulthood.     
Unfortunately, from his mid 20s onwards, he tipped more and more towards the destructive side of drug use. During this time, we both drifted further and further apart. The last time I saw him, he seemed like a wreck to me. I could already sense that things weren't going to be good with him for much longer. 
Nevertheless, I was shocked when I learnt of his early death at the age of just 31. 
Since then, I have visited his grave every year and see how many beautiful aspects of him live on in his son, who is my nephew. 
With this song, I would like to honour him with my own personal musical memorial.   

Lyrics in English (for those, who don`t speak German):

Manne Manne

Manne Manne, it hurts so much
Because I just don't quite understand
That you left so soon
You pissed off from one day to the next

Manne Manne, you were such a cool hero
In your anti-achievement world
Instead of storm and stress in a noble snail's pace
A bohemian with a song of lullabies

Believed in you for a long time,
In your ‘Let yourself go’ poem
Your vision of life without haste

Without any pressure and stressful scabies
Just stay lying there
Behind misty coloured windows
Against the compulsion to do!

Manne manne, you were once so beautiful
You could turn women's heads
With your deeply chilled charm
Even the proudest lay in your arms

Manne Manne, master of slowness
Of ‘I don't have to do anything, I always have time’
Of life beyond ‘Nine to Five’
Of twilight sleep in the realm of night owls

Lord of the drug world
Herring-hook-less tent
Invited us into

Strange magic worlds
Where no rules apply
Into dark shadowy spaces
Gave us a light there

Manne Manne, it hurts so much
Because I never quite understand
That you went down like that
I've missed you a few times

Manne Manne, I`ve dreamt of you sometimes
Damn, I missed it somehow
To stop your self-dissolution programme
At the last meeting it was already much too late

Manne Manne
Manne Manne
Manne Manne
 
 




Manne Manne

AAfrAA Live At Space Of Sound LAB theCLUB  01.01.2025

AAfrAA Live @ Space Of Sound LAB TheCLUB 01.01.2025

Wintertime Prod. Plure

FREE DOWNLOAD

60 Seconds

Al S. Getzi believes that there is a unique warmth and character to analog equipment that cannot be replicated by digital technology. He spends countless hours tweaking and experimenting with different combinations of equipment to create his signature sound. From the initial spark of an idea to the final mix, he gives an inside look into how he crafts his music. Al believes that music is a powerful form of self-expression and he hopes to inspire others to find their own unique voice through his work. So, sit back, relax, and let Al's music take you on a journey.
Happy Listening.

The Whistler

Modes About Me - It Dies With Them

Album:
Happy Not Hateful

Guitar:
@themysteriousdecibel

Bass:
@thefunkykaiju

Producer:
tssrecording.com/

Lyrics:
there's whispers from outside the tent
to vent
is all I have left
weapons on weapons on deck
these people aren't real
just a means to the end
instant regret
thinking descends into doing 
and doing is what I resent
they know my secret
now it dies with them

so fat over there like a pear
with a face so ugly and I bet you don't care
bout the way that they stare 
when you come into town
and your underwear are brown 
kinda wish you were dead
if you ever get married then
I hope that she dies
when you cry 
cause your face turns red
at the funeral they said
that you were sleeping with your dad
and the baby they had
came out and it was black
grabbed his chest and had a little heart attack
your mom dies in side at the sight of that
then you got home and you found out
that your cat ran away
the cancer decided 
to make its way to the brain

Happy Not Hateful

It Dies With Them

An African-themed, feel-good dance track inspired by the Sun and how it creates life. Thus being a creator of life, is symbolic of our connection to it, and its power, joy, peace and divinity. 

We are all connected to this star to remind ourselves how much of the Light we truly are.

yinyang emotions

STASH STANTON