Ethereal exploration of Jung's Anima concept through intimate vocals and atmospheric soundscapes. Deep feminine energy transforms from obsidian night to dawn, weaving cellular wisdom into song. Mystical folk with ambient textures captures how the inner feminine communicates through dreams, intuition, and creative expression. Part of my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung” Chapter 6, Anima and Animus. I hope you can enjoy. S F H -Stephen Hollins


FEMININE WHISPERS

Black through black obsidian night
Your inner feminine
Forging silver notes into song
Each ripple encoding what marrow remembers

Deep in dream's labyrinth
She spins molecules into midnight silk
Her movements writing what tongue can't speak

Between heartbeats, hear how she transmutes
Your armor to astral radiance
As wild birds spiral threads of silk's light
Through your chest's dark cave

In cellular depths where time dissolves like salt
Braids sunrise with the mystery of the unknown
Your ancient feminine teaching bones to dance

Between heartbeats, hear how she transmutes
Your armor to astral radiance
As wild birds spiral threads of silk's light
Through your chest's dark cave

Deep in dream's labyrinth
She spins molecules into midnight silk
Her movements writing what tongue can't speak
Teaching bones to dance
Teaching bones to dance

Feminine Whispers

Late-night dance studio transformation where two dancers embody Jung's Anima/Animus integration through intimate tango.
Progressive house with Latin fusion, intimate vocals building to passionate intensity.
Core Message: Psychological wholeness requires embracing both masculine and feminine aspects within ourselves - a process as transformative as learning to dance with your own mystery. This song from my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 5 Anima and Animus. I hope you can enjoy 😆 S F H (Stephen Hollins)

TANGO

At Studio Paraíso, two forty-seven AM
Carmen adjusts her stilettos against scarred wood
While Marcus loosens his silk shirt collar
Each waiting for permission to become truth

Between flamenco's thunder and moonlit grace (Grace, grace)
We birth the twin who teaches us to dance (Ah-ah-ah)
With our own mystery (Own mystery, ooh-ooh)

Watch how the matador becomes the bull (Becomes the bull)
Ancient feminine wisdom writes passion (Passion, passion)
On our skin like scripture (Ah-ah-ah)
The dance floor trembles when opposites (Ooh-ooh-ooh)
Learn to lead and follow as one (As one, as one)

Between flamenco's thunder and moonlit grace (Grace, grace)
We birth the twin who teaches us to dance (Ah-ah-ah)
With our own mystery (Own mystery, ooh-ooh)
In the heart's quantum field (Quantum field)
All polarities dissolve (Dissolve, dissolve, ah-ah)

Between storm and stillness (Stillness, stillness)
Between fire and ice (Fire and ice, ooh-ooh)
Energy finds its own wild dance (Wild dance, ah-ah)
Particles waltz through probability's ballroom (Ah-ah-ah)
Where opposites learn love's fusion (Fusion, fusion)

Between flamenco's thunder and moonlit grace (Grace, grace)
We birth the twin who teaches us to dance (Ah-ah-ah)
With our own mystery (Own mystery, ooh-ooh)
In the heart's quantum field (Quantum field)
All polarities dissolve (Dissolve, dissolve, ah-ah)

[Instrumental bridge - flamenco guitar duet with hang drum]

They bow to each other at three thirty-three AM
No longer two people learning steps
But one soul dancing with itself
The integration has begun (Has begun, has begun, ah-ah-ah)


TANGO

Tango

Progressive house exploration of Jung's recurring dreams concept, where nightmares become psychological rehearsals revealing persistent unconscious concerns. 
This song explores concepts from my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 9: Dreams and Active Imagination, examining how recurring dreams serve as ongoing psychological rehearsals seeking resolution. I hope you can enjoy S F H (Stephen Hollins)

SLUMBERSONG   ( Lyrics )

Night after night, the same melody plays
Night after night, the same melody plays
That Victorian house where stairs twist
And rearrange themselves like DNA strands

Four hooves balance on sleep's ledge
While behind me, something familiar
Stalks closer, its breath heavy with time
My father's broken watch tick-tocking
Backwards around its throat
The falling dream knows its choreography
Trapped in its glass

Night after night, the same melody
Arms conducting panic's symphony
Night after night, the same melody
Teeth grinding future into dust
That slow-motion plunge toward a bottom
That never arrives, never arrives

The chase scene gallops through decades
Each hoof-beat drumming questions
That echo down empty corridors
Where answers used to live
That calculus exam still waits
Unsolvable as childhood
My teeth dissolve like sugar cubes
In memory's bitter coffee
And always that red door I must open
Though I've memorized the monster's face
It wears my mother's smile

These reruns of the unconscious mind
Keep their sacred scheduling
We'll all take our places again
Tomorrow night, we'll all take our places
These faithful ghosts in endless dress rehearsal
Tomorrow night, we'll all take our places
For a play I'm still trying to wake from
Wake from, wake from
Dress rehearsal, dress rehearsal

In sleep's theatre, even the props
Know their poisoned roles
Rotary phones ring warnings too late
Skeleton keys rust in impossible locks
While backstage, my younger self
Keeps practicing lines from a script
That rewrites itself each time I try to speak
Hooves, ticking, phones ringing
The same melody plays, plays forever
In sleep's theatre of recurring dreams
The same melody plays, plays forever
These faithful ghosts rehearse their lines

Memory becomes myth, becomes myth
Tomorrow night, we'll all take our places again
These faithful ghosts in their endless dress rehearsal
Night after night the same melody plays
The same melody plays

by Stephen Francis Hollins

Slumbersong

Folk song embodies wounded healer archetype—personal trauma transformed into healing wisdom. A trauma ward worker discovers their own wounds ("that summer of pills and cold tile floors") create an internal map for guiding others through darkness. Each scar becomes compass and teacher, illustrating Jung's principle: only by integrating our shadow can we authentically hold space for another's pain, from my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 3 - Archetypes


The Healer's Hands   (Lyrics)

I learn healing through my own breaks
Where grief cracked my ribs, now I know
Exactly where to press, how long to hold
What comfort feels like from the inside out

Between midnight and dawn, souls arrive
To the ward, cracked like pottery, leaking light
Night after night, I collect their pain
Sea glass tumbling smooth in time's dark tide

Their bandaged wounds become my teachers
As my body remembers its own mending
Each broken place becomes a compass
Pointing others toward their healing dawn

My hands know the geography of breaking
That summer of pills and cold tile floors
Lives in my fingertips, guiding me through
Trauma Bay Three, where darkness turns to map

In the space between monitor beeps
Ancient alchemy transforms these wounds
Into tomorrow's medicine, each stitch
Pulls both healer and healing whole

When dawn spills its gold through blinds
My patients dream toward wholeness, I touch
My scars like ancient prayer beads, each one
Teaching twice, through breaking, through light

Healer's Hands

Healer’s Hands

The inner masculine and feminine qualities we carry and project onto others. In the "circus of relationships," the song questions whether we truly see our lovers or merely reflect our own inner opposites back to ourselves. Each encounter becomes a fragmented mirror revealing hidden Anima and Animus.. The core Jungian insight: relationships serve as psychological mirrors where we practice integration, blurring the line between self and other until we recognize we're "all just practicing to be each other's perfect reflection." From my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 5: Anima and Animus.

Folk Rock (40%), Pop Rock (23%), Indie Rock (20%), Soft Rock (16%)


Mirror,Mirror  (Lyrics)

In the circus of relationships
I wander
Surrounded by mirrors of distorted dreams
My animus flexes
My anima dances
Are these reflections truly my own?
A lover's eyes become a looking glass
When the mirror cracks truths spill out
In you, I see my strength
In her, my grace
The line between us blurs, a smudged border
With each encounter I piece together
My fragmented whole
In the circus of midnight mirrors
I catch myself wondering
What if we're all just practicing
To be each other's perfect reflection?

Stephen Francis Hollins

Mirror, Mirror

Explores how we project unacknowledged inner qualities onto romantic partners. Through New Zealand nature imagery, the song charts the journey from idealised love (seeing missing parts of ourselves in another) through disillusionment (borrowed strength fading) to psychological maturity. The core insight: the courage, grace, and wholeness we seek in lovers already exists within us, sleeping like seeds. Love matures when we reclaim these projections and meet as equals—"not your missing piece, but your equal in this wild garden of becoming." From my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 5: Anima and Animus. 
Jazz (43%), Jazz, Nu Jazz / Jazztronica (38%) Singer Songwriter (22%) Adult Contemporary (20%)
Jazz, Blues, Neo-Soul (15%)


A Field Guide to Projection  (Lyrics)

In the wild meadow of new love, we stand
Like pohutukawa reaching toward light
Morning mist wraps around our ankles
Kowhai petals scatter gold secrets
I see in you the quiet grace I've yet to embrace
While you mirror parts of me I've forgotten to claim

Seasons turn like pages in memory's book
Our shared story begins to blur
Your strength, once solid as Tane Mahuta
Trembles like flax in southerly winds
My warmth, borrowed from your fire
Fades like sunset on harbor waters

Thunder rolls through our shared silence
In winter's bare-branched honesty
Truth rises like dawn on Waiheke
The courage I sought in your heart
Was my own, sleeping like seed in soil
The gentleness you found in my hands
Your own grace, waiting to bloom

Our projections fall like autumn leaves
Becoming food for deeper roots
Spring arrives with its own wisdom
Morning paints messages on waves
Your hand in mine familiar as birdsong
In your eyes, I see myself at last
Not your missing piece, but your equal
In this wild garden of becoming
Between us, something entirely new
Takes root in ancient soil

A Field Guide to Projection

Explores Jung's Shadow Resistance—the internal struggle against limiting beliefs and internalised doubts. Doubt personifies as a "squatter in the rooms of my potential," dragging chains of inherited fear and family patterns. The song charts the journey from being trapped by self-limiting beliefs to learning doubt's language and translating warnings into "maps of resistance." The core Jungian insight: by confronting rather than avoiding our shadow doubts, we transform them from predators into guides, reclaiming our psychological territory until "my body: a country where his passport no longer works." From my upcoming book "Breakfast with Jung"  Chapter 2 The Shadow

All Of Me  (Lyrics)

Doubt slouches in, heavy-shouldered and gray
A squatter in the rooms of my potential
Unpacking memories like old, worn luggage
She whispers: "Remember your limits"
His voice, sandpaper against possibility
Drags chains of inherited fear
Each link a story I've swallowed whole
But I am learning her language
Translating her warnings into maps of resistance
My bones, a rebellion waiting
Doubt circles, predatory
Teeth of calculation, eyes of measured impossibility
He knows every locked door
Every bolted window of my hesitation
I stand, breath sharp as broken glass
Hands open to whatever comes
Doubt shrinks, retreats
A shadow growing smaller against the landscape of becoming
My body: a country where his passport no longer works
Belief, not a destination
But the first wild step beyond his maps
Beyond his maps

All Of Me

Explores Jung's Shadow Creativity—how confronting dark, rejected aspects of self becomes fuel for artistic expression. In "the basement jazz club of my psyche," the shadow transforms from enemy to creative collaborator. Rejected thoughts, rage, despair, and monster-dreams become poetic ingredients, proving that wholeness requires integrating darkness. The core Jungian insight: authentic art emerges when we "let our shadows hold the pen"—creativity deepens when we stop censoring our psychological underground and allow light and darkness to collaborate in making "art's perfect mongrels." From my upcoming book Breakfast with Jung" Chapter 2 The Shadow.

Dark Muse   (Lyrics)

Ink-black feathers unfurl in my ribcage
A raven's heart where mine should be
In the basement jazz club of my psyche
Where shadows jam with silenced songs
My dark muse waits at a corner table
Ink dripping from her fingertips like night
She deals inspiration like tarot cards
Each verse a small apocalypse
While creativity bleeds black butterflies
That leave prophecy-stains on reality
We brew poems in grandmother's cast iron pot
Seasoned with secrets, spiced with shame
Every rejected thought becomes an ingredient
Rage boils down to ruby droplets
Despair crystallizes into salt
Even my monster-dreams find their form
Transforming terror into terrible beauty
While the pot hums ancient melodies
Now we collaborate in candlelight
Her shadow-fingers laced through mine
Each stanza a confessional booth
Where sin becomes sacrament
Grammar breaks its bones and heals
Into shapes we never knew it could hold
In the margins, roses bloom with thorns intact
Beauty refuses to apologize for its edges
Together we birth art's perfect mongrels
Half-prophecy, half-nightmare
Every line another tightrope walk
Between what's proper and what's real
Watch how darkness learns to illuminate
While light bends toward mystery
This is how we make our peace
Creating children that both sides will claim
My dark muse smiles, closes her journal
The poems we've made belong to neither
But crawl between us like shared secrets
Their wings still wet with midnight ink
Some truths can only be written
When we let our shadows hold the pen
While conscience sleeps, and art runs wild
Through dream-fields ripe with possibility

by Stephen Francis Hollins

Dark Muse

This Neo-Soul R&B heartfelt tribute to grief and transformation, based on Grant Lilly's original poem "Dog Gone" about losing his beloved companion Bunty on Christmas Eve. Adapted into song format, it explores how loss becomes wisdom through the recurring refrain about turning stumbling blocks into stepping stones—honoring how love persists beyond absence. 

Stumbling Blocks
If I were wise and wanted to be happy in my bones
Then I would look to turn my stumbling blocks into stepping stones
My constant companion for a dozen years
Died on the vet table today, Christmas Eve
Her convulsions and panting ceased
Relief now released
Her heart, her body let go
Now at peace, then laid to rest
At the bottom of a dug hole
And now there's the hole she leaves in my soul
The empty dog bowl, the vacant collar
The space on the road well walked
Her weight pressed against my thigh
Her warm eyes, her pink panting
Ready to walk, poised to play
If I were wise and wanted to be happy in my bones
Then I would look to turn my stumbling blocks into stepping stones
Now her sputum stains on my carpet are precious
And her presence is not far away
More joyful the memories, the bigger the blow
Good I'm alive, I survived you
So you won't have to miss me
Like I know I miss you
So bye-bye Bunty, I loved you
And that can never go
Dog gone
But love remains
If I were wise and wanted to be happy in my bones
Then I would look to turn my stumbling blocks into stepping stones
Dog gone
But stepping stones remain

Poem By Grant Tilly arrangement and song by Stephen Hollins

DOG GONE

BREAKFAST WITH JUNG - When Morning Becomes Portal

What if your morning coffee ritual was actually communion with eternity?

At dawn's ragged edge, an ordinary kitchen transforms into a temple where the Collective Unconscious speaks through steam rising from tea, through faces rippling in chrome, through your grandmother's hands weaving histories into your cup.

This is Jung's most profound insight made tangible: we are never truly
alone. "In this kitchen, we are all time travellers, breaking bread with
our unborn children, while the dead pour tea with trembling hands." The ancestors lean in, hungry for one more taste of morning. The tui's song harmonizes with languages lost when Eden's gates swung shut. Even the sugar bowl holds crystals of compressed eternities.

The Collective Unconscious isn't abstract theory—it's the moment when time pools honey-thick between dreaming and day, when you realize every breakfast is simultaneously the first and the last, when eternity reveals itself as simply this: a kitchen full of ghosts at morning, passing cream across time's borders.

The beautiful female folk voice carries both depth and lightness,
making the mystical feel utterly domestic—the sacred hiding in the ordinary, the eternal folded into a cup of tea.

Tell me then, you who breakfast alone—do you see them in your morning mirror? All the faces time has worn and will wear, gathering like moths around your light?

"The collective unconscious contains the whole spiritual heritage of
mankind's evolution, born anew in the brain structure of every individual."
- Carl Jung 





Breakfast with Jung   ( Lyrics )

At dawn’s ragged edge, my kitchen becomes
A temple of ordinary prophecies
Coffee grounds like black diviner’s sand
Messages from the dead burned into toast

My grandmother’s hands emerge from steam
Weaving histories into my cup, while outside
Bougainvillaea bleeds its crimson alphabet
Across windows thin as memory’s skin

In the toaster’s chrome, faces ripple:
Great-aunts with eyes of burning coal,
Cousins carrying unborn stars in their teeth,
Children who might bloom from my bones.

Their reflections overlap like hungry ghosts,
All pressing against morning’s fragile glass.
The kettle screams with a thousand voices—
Every cup of tea ever poured flowing backwards

Through time’s copper throat. Even Jung himself
Pauses mid-bite, startled by its prophecy.
A tui splits the sky’s yolk with her song,
Harmonising with languages lost when

Eden’s gates swung shut. Her notes scatter
Like black pearls across my breakfast plate.
Time pools honey-thick in this hour
Between dreaming and day, sweet

With the marrow of memory. My spoon
Stirs ripples in the universe’s coffee cup.
The morning news bleeds through dimensions—
Every headline ever printed rising like smoke

From my coffee: wars, loves, births, extinctions
Spiral into one eternal moment of toast and tea.
Through the window, the bougainvillea
Drops petals red as birth-blood, each one

Carrying messages from the collective heart—
Semaphores from gardens of remembered light.
Watch now—as my ancestors lean in, hungry
For one more taste of morning, their shadows

Drinking light from my cup. Even the sugar bowl
Holds crystals of compressed eternities.
In this kitchen, we are all time travellers,
Breaking bread with our unborn children,

While the dead pour tea with trembling hands
And tomorrow whispers in our marrow.
Tell me then, you who breakfast alone,
Do you see them in your morning mirror—

All the faces time has worn and will wear,
Gathering like moths around your light?
Here at dawn’s clean slate,
Where every breakfast is the last breakfast,

And also the first, we drink our coffee
Black as memory, sweet as prophecy,
While Jung smiles from the doorway,
Knowing that eternity was always this:

A kitchen full of ghosts at morning,
Passing cream across time’s borders.
 
By Stephen Francis Hollins

11/October 2025

Breakfast with Jung

I've Given It Thought & Thought Is Cheap

DIGITAL SHADOWS - Shadow in the Online World

In the black mirror of our devices, even our shadows learn to wear masks. 
Modern shadow work requires examining how we project and fragment ourselves 
online. "We feed our hungry ghosts with likes, building crystal castles 
that shimmer and dissolve." What do you say online that you'd never say 
face-to-face? The final question haunts: "Who's updating my status now—
and which version of me is more real?"
Dark electronic jazz. F# minor. Digital trance meets shadow projection.

From "Breakfast with Jung: Chapter 2 - The Shadow"
🎵 Full analysis: sfhmusic.bandcamp.com
💿 Support - name your price     📖 Shadow work for the digital age

Digital Shadows   (Lyrics)

In Ponsonby's blue-lit morning,
faces glow like deep-sea creatures,
each scroll and swipe leaving
phosphorescent trails across glass.
Something's different today—
notifications pulse faster,
algorithms whisper darker songs.

Can we become conscious 
of what rises from within
In the black mirror of our devices 
even our shadows learn to wear masks

We feed our hungry ghosts with likes,
building crystal castles of connection
that shimmer and dissolve.
I scroll deeper, chasing digital breadcrumbs
through comment-thread labyrinths
where trolls spawn in darkness,
each post a small death of kindness.

Can we become conscious 
of what rises from within
In the black mirror of our devices 
even our shadows learn to wear masks

The power trembles—once, twice.
Faces rise from devices, startled
as sleepwalkers mid-dream.
In that suspended moment,
our shadows step through screens,
wearing our deleted histories
like wedding clothes, while we sit
stunned in our newfound nakedness.

Can we become conscious 
of what rises from within
In the black mirror of our devices 
even our shadows learn to wear masks

Already my fingers itch
for phantom keyboards,
for the comfort of crafted light.
But who's updating my status now—
and which version of me
is more real?

Already my fingers itch
for phantom keyboards,
for the comfort of crafted light.
But who's updating my status now—
and which version of me
is more real?
 


Digital Shadows

"I am the light and the dark, the face I show and the one I hide." Visual 
poem as audio meditation—words spiraling inward toward true Self, 
fragmenting into shadow components, then reassembling. Individuation isn't 
linear but spiral. "Light casts dark / Dark define light"—not opposition 
but collaboration. Returning to old patterns isn't failure; it's how 
growth happens, with neo-soul and Sufi mystical depth. Brooklyn meets 
ancient wisdom.

From "Breakfast with Jung: Chapter 2 - The Shadow"
🎵 Full meditation: sfhmusic.bandcamp.com
📖 The spiral of becoming

The Shadow in Visual Meditation   (Lyrics)

I am the light
and 	the dark
the 	 face I
show and the
one I 	hide My
shadow 	 stretches
long in 	 the sun
of self 	 -aware
-ness A dance of
duality 	 Light
casts 	 dark
Dark 	define
light 	We are
both the
sil 	hou
et 	te
an 	d
i 	t
s 	s
h 	 h
a 	  a
d 	    d
o 	        o
w	            w
 




The Shadow In Meditation

THE OTHER'S FACE - Shadow Projection

We paint our hidden selves thick on strangers' skin, tattooing our fears on 
their flesh. Jung's most unsettling insight: what you hate most intensely 
in others is often your own disowned quality reflected back. In the ballroom 
of projection, we tango with demons dressed as strangers. "Look how perfectly 
their flaws match our deepest wounds." Next time someone repulses you, ask: 
what part of ME am I seeing in them?

Dark cabaret with tango influences. Theatrical, haunting, revelatory.

From "Breakfast with Jung: Chapter 2 - The Shadow"
🎵 Full exploration: sfhmusic.bandcamp.com
📖 The mirror of projection

The Other’s Face   (Lyrics)

We paint
our hidden selves thick
on strangers’ skin,
while shame-dark tears collect
behind their eyes like bitter mirrors—
each reflection shows back
what we refuse to own.

The dance hall pulses with shadow-ghosts,
their heavy feet drumming up
rhythms of recognition and blame.
Every face we hate holds our truth.

Each gesture reveals another self-denied:
that wild laugh we swallowed,
that rage we buried deep,
those hungers we dare not name.

In the ballroom of projection,
we tango with our demons dressed as strangers,
tattooing our fears on their flesh
until their features twist
into monsters of our making.

What gargoyles we chisel from denial’s stone—
our own face emerging
in each grotesque grin.

Our hatred spins through mirror-halls,
ricochets off walls of who-we-think-we-are,
until it nests beneath our ribs, a dark bird
feeding on everything we claim not to be.

Look how perfectly their flaws
match our deepest wounds—
these strangers wearing our discarded parts
like borrowed coats.

We hunt ourselves in others’ faces
while truth waits behind their eyes,
patient as a new moon,
for us to recognise 
recognise our own reflection. 




The Other’s Face

## A Psychoanalysis of Ed Gein & Alfred Hitchcock

This analysis explores the psychological intersection between Ed Gein, the 1950s Wisconsin serial killer, and Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork "Psycho," examining how real-world psychopathology became cinematic horror through psychoanalytic frameworks.

### Ed Gein: The Psychological Profile

Ed Gein was a 50-year-old bachelor living in isolated conditions on a decaying Plainfield, Wisconsin farmhouse when authorities discovered his crimes in 1957. His psychological breakdown reveals how isolation exacerbates mental instability—after losing his domineering mother, Gein's reclusive nature led to bizarre obsessions including necrophilia, grave robbing, and creating objects from human remains. The community's denial played a significant role, as residents dismissed him as a harmless eccentric rather than confronting the reality of his violent pathology. This collective denial allowed his atrocities to unfold unchecked, demonstrating how communities can ignore troubling signs by convincing themselves that such horrors are impossible in their midst.

### The Hitchcock Connection

Robert Bloch's novel "Psycho" drew loose inspiration from Gein's case, creating the character Norman Bates—a mother-dominated killer. However, Hitchcock's relationship to the Gein material was more distant than popular culture suggests. The director left most story structure to screenwriter Joseph Stefano, who focused on Hitchcockian suspense techniques rather than deep Gein research. Netflix's recent "Monster: The Ed Gein Story" depicts Hitchcock reconstructing Gein's house and showing it to Anthony Perkins, but historians confirm no such event occurred—this represents dramatic license, not documented history.

### Psychoanalytic Themes

The film explores profound psychological fragmentation through the Norman-Marion parallel. Both characters exhibit split personalities: Marion distances herself from her conscience after stealing money, while Norman embodies literal dissociative identity disorder. Hitchcock employs mirrors systematically to represent this doubling—Norman's reflection in windows shows his "second self," with one side bearing an awkward smile while the reflected side appears grim and tight-lipped. The use of inner monologue links Marion's neurosis to Norman's psychosis, demonstrating how the film foregrounds similarities between them, starting with their names.

The viewer's gaze becomes complicit through Hitchcock's technique—when Norman watches Marion's car sink in the swamp and it stops momentarily, the anxiety arising in viewers reveals their desire is identical to Norman's, forcing them to confront that their impartiality was always false. This de-idealization of the gaze exposes the pathological desire maintaining it.

### Cultural Impact

The films of Alfred Hitchcock typically present mental disorders and psychoanalysis as main themes, though not created with academic goals, naturally containing some distortions. "Psycho" situates itself within postwar contexts of madness and became paradigmatic for representing psychopathology in cinema. Gein's case revealed how evil can masquerade as normalcy—seemingly ordinary individuals harboring deep underlying darkness that communities willfully ignore 

This psychoanalytic examination reveals how isolation, maternal domination, split identity, and viewer complicity intersect to create one of cinema's most enduring psychological horror narratives, rooted in the disturbing reality of American serial violence

A Psychoanaylsis of Ed Gein & Alfred Hitchcock (Restricted Knowledge)

JUNG prod. shockey

A Haunting Synchronicity Story
This ethereal indie folk track explores Carl Jung's concept of synchronicity through one man's morning of accumulating signs, all pointing to the number 33. The skeptic's resistance crumbles as he finally remembers what his body already knew: today would have been his mother's birthday. She never stopped communicating—she's just speaking through a different language now.
Haunting acoustic fingerpicking, ambient synth textures, and intimate confessional vocals build from doubt to devastating recognition. "33, 33, 33" transforms from question to apology to acceptance.
Part of the "Breakfast with Jung" series—making psychology accessible through music.

Sometimes the universe won't let you forget. Sometimes that's exactly what love looks like.


33   (Lyrics)

The digital clock blinks 33, 33, 33
Like it's stuck on a channel I can't change
I unplug it, plug it back in, still 33
Batteries, I tell myself, needs batteries
But it's plugged into the wall
The magpies won't shut up this morning
Three of them arguing in the pitch
My mother used while folding sheets
Coincidence, I tell my coffee
Birds sound like birds, mean nothing
My phone dies at 11:11
That number people screenshot
Like the universe is texting them personally
I'm not that person

33, 33, 33
What are you trying to tell me
33, 33, 33
I stopped looking for messages
In ordinary things
The year she stopped answering

The barista draws a spiral in my foam
Perfect match for my thumbprint whorl
Just practicing, she says
But my skin tingles
That cellular recognition I've trained myself to ignore
My grandmother's rose blooms in November
Impossible petals opening their throats
Johnson's Baby Powder braided with Chanel No. 5
1985 floods my mouth with metal

Thirty-three magnolia petals on my windshield
I count them twice, three times
My hands won't stop shaking
The number I keep pretending doesn't mean
What my bones insist it means

33, 33, 33
What are you trying to tell me
33, 33, 33
I stopped looking for messages
In ordinary things
The year she stopped answering

Thirty-three
Her age when she left
No, when the world became the thing
I measure everything against
Today
The word sits in my throat like a stone
Today would have been—
God, how did I forget
How does a body forget its own birthday
The day that split the world
Into before her and after

33, 33, 33
Mom, I'm sorry
The magpies know, the roses know
Even the foam in my coffee
Has been trying to tell me
33, 33, 33
You're still here
Not in burning bushes
In the ordinary clockwork of petals
Falling exactly when they should

Happy birthday
I'm learning to read the signs again
The stars heard you before I did
33, 33, 33



LYRICS:
I’ve been writing down 
my nightmares again 
I put em’ all in this notebook 
I keep right by my bed 
When I wake up, I sort out 
the tangles and threads so
I can get to the source 
of all of this dread!

Ok, is this anything?
What does this even mean?
Could this be a key???
I can’t really glean…
listen to this dream
and tell me what you think 
yeah, listen to this dream
and tell me what you think it means:

So, his mom was there
and she was nice to me for once 
I ask her for advice
and she tells me to run!
Then, I’m in the shower,
I’m walking in the desert,
Then, I’m with this girl 
I used to know 
when I was like eleven??
Then, I’m reunited with 
my dog that died when I was a kid  
Then, I’m being deposed for being a bitch??
And his wife chases me 
right over a cliff! 
And my sister is mad at something I said,
I’m pregnant but I really don’t wanna keep it 
And I cut my hair off and 
I cry over it
My teeth are intact
but I strangle a kid!!!...
Then, I’m in an arranged marriage 
My  laptop is stolen in Paris 
Then, I’m drowning in the ocean 
Then, I’m a waitress 
And I keep on flashing my tits 
But I never get embarrassed!?!

Tell me, what does that mean?
Is it obscene?? 
Help me, help me, help me! 
Figure out my dreams!
Help me, help me, help me! 
I don’t wanna go to sleep!

See, that’s the problem:
it’s a void without a bottom -
there’s a wealth of knowledge
buried in my unconscious!

Tell me I’m not just crazy…
Tell me, I’m so creative… 
Tell me these dreams are sacred! 
Tell me you know 
what they’re saying?!
My insurance only covers CBT 
Blue cross won’t recognize 
depth psychology… 
so, 

I’ve been writing down my nightmares again, but
I’m having a hard time analyzing
I’m thinking of trying 
meditation instead or
Maybe I shouldn’t eat so much 
cheese before bed…
Maybe that’s it!
Maybe that’s it!?

I’ve been writing down 
my nightmares again. 
What do you think of them? 
What do you think of them?

Dream Journal #25 (demo)

Synchronicity

Sad, horny, and self-reflexive - with just enough irreverence  to cut the  introspection.

(indie/folk/pop/country/rock)

About as useful as a pubic hair tupee…These two tortured souls trapped inside of robots which sell merkins to the cooler robots.  These are their commercials

I believe in music's power to spark personal growth, forge meaningful connections, and create shared experiences. My mission is to produce dynamic musical works—both in the booth and studio—that tell stories, explore spirituality, and build deep emotional bonds.

- Lifelong Musical Professional & Enthusiast | Creative Entrepreneur | Music Producer | Club DJ | Event Production, Management & Design Specialist | Electrician | Graphic Designer | Barber & Comedian
- Academic Background: Master of Arts in Arts and Media, Audio Production, Media Management, Psychology, Mathematics, Sciences, and Business

**UNIFI MUSIC LLC**
NYC-Based Record Label, Music Production & Artist Management
UNIFI MUSIC LLC builds a creative ecosystem for emerging musicians, artists, and producers. We educate up-and-coming artists to help them reach their full potential and release music on all major platforms. Our goal is to make a lasting impact on the music industry. Music, dance, and storytelling are fundamental to the human experience—art inspires us, gives us purpose, and creates meaningful connections that last a lifetime.

S F H music Auckland, New Zealand

Poet • Performer • Lyricist • Composer

Stephen Hollins is a New Zealand-born Renaissance artist whose four-decade career spans many genres of theatre, opera, improvisation, performance, poetry, writing and music. He transforms his poetry into songs blending psychology, performance, innovation and technology to create emotionally resonant and meaningful music.

His latest project, "Breakfast with Jung," is a groundbreaking multimedia collection exploring Carl Jung's psychological concepts through poetry and music—transforming a 400-page manuscript of 135 poems into a nine-album/chapter series that makes depth psychology accessible through an intimate musical and poetical journey toward the authentic Self that mirrors Jung's work.
"Support my music: https://sfhmusic.bandcamp.com"

New tracks tagged #Carl Jung