Three high school students interviewed their teacher, a fellow student, and her mom. Why do parents respond differently to student pressures? Why do some amplify them through high expectations in academics and activities, while others prioritize balance and mental well-being? These approaches reflect shifts in parenting styles and views on success.

Parent Pressures

free your mind - freestyles mmixtape 
lets collab
lost thoughts gatrher

I don't ne3d

I don't believe enough "edITS"

Misunderstanding

Anti-content misunderstanding. Presence of the silence. Hypnotic rhythms of the algorithm thinking about itself.

Echoes of the Abyss

Intent

Met her by the fountain, heatwave in the air,
Said she’s from Italia, with sun in her hair.
Asked me for directions, I said “I’ll be your guide,”
She laughed like confetti — I nearly died.

Booked us dinner, picked the view,
Thought it was a date — rookie move, I knew.
Got my best shirt, tried my best charm,
She smiled so sweet... I raised alarm.

She said “You’re cute, you’re really kind,”
I said *“Let’s dance,” she said “What time?”
And just when I thought she’d be mine...
A guy shows up with a bottle of wine.

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 She waved, I thought it was a sign...
🎶 I booked the night, she booked the ride,
🎶 And Mario showed up by her side!

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 I brought the heart, she brought the guide.
🎶 She took the pics, I took the fall,
🎶 Now I’m cry-dancing at the disco hall.

She asked, “Is this the Rathaus?” I said, “That’s the tram.”
She said, “You’re funny,” I said, “I am.”
She said, “I love this city’s charm,”
While holding hands with some guy named Mario

I tried to play it chill and smooth,
But I was dying in my dancing shoes.
One espresso, two hearts broke,
She smiled — my hopes went up in smoke.

She said “You’re sweet, you’re such a friend,”
I said “Cool, I love dead ends.”
And while they posed for selfies three,
I bought myself a therapy spritz, times three.

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 She waved, I thought it was a sign...
🎶 I booked the night, she booked the ride,
🎶 And Mario showed up by her side!

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 I brought the heart, she brought the guide.
🎶 She took the pics, I took the fall,
🎶 Now I’m cry-dancing at the disco hall.

"You are so nice… I thought you were the tour guy."
"This is my boyfriend, Mario. Say hi!"

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 I thought “ti amo,” she meant “online.”
🎶 I brought the vibe, she brought her man,
🎶 And I stood there with my travel plan...

🎶 DORA, DORA — WAS! NOT! MINE!
🎶 I read romance, she read the sign.
🎶 She found the sights, I lost my mind...
🎶 Ciao, Dora — girl, you crossed the line.

(fading chant: “Dora... Dora... Was not... mine…”)

[Outro – fading synths + defeated sigh]
“Ciao, Dora. Next time I charge for the tour.”

Dora Wasn't Mine

Arrived in Turku, off the slow grey boat
Breath smelled of salt, coat too thin for this coat
The wind said "Welcome" with a kick to the knee
And I thought — directions? That’d be key

She had a shopping bag full of rye
Eyes like clouds in a pastel sky
I said, “Anteeksi...” — barely got that word out
When she flinched like I’d just pulled a shiv from my pouch

She leapt like a seagull sensing doom
All I wanted was to find the bathroom
Or maybe just the number one tram
But to her I was Ragnar, back from a raid — damn

🎶 Hands up! Hands up!
Like I asked for money
Hands up! Hands up!
Turku, this ain't funny
Hands up! Hands up!
All I said was “Moi!”
Now I'm treated like
A criminal decoy 🎶

My Google Maps froze, like the Aura's face
Even the cobblestones judged my race
Every bike lane hissed "not for you"
And the cathedral chimed, "You're just passing through"

I sat on a bench near a plastic swan
Rethinking my life since Turku's gone
Full panic at a tourist "hi"
Where friendliness apparently comes to die

I just wanted directions, not a SWAT reply
But Turku saw me and chose to cry

🎶 Hands up! Hands up!
Not a mugger, not a threat
Hands up! Hands up!
Still I’m public enemy, yet
Hands up! Hands up!
Middle-aged fear parade
Couldn’t even get
To the Lidl arcade 🎶

Oh Turku, you're quiet and cute at first glance
But under the calm — no second chance
You give cold stares and supermarket dread
I only asked a question, not for the dead

🎶 Hands up! Hands up!
I surrender, I retreat
Hands up! Hands up!
You win, Baltic fleet
Hands up! Hands up!
Let the swans judge me true
Even they whisper,
“Don’t ask things here, boo.” 🎶

Hands Up In Turku

The metaphors are powerful: silences are seen as "cheap tricks," doubts as "ghosts" that torment the other, and every attempt to get closer ends in "scratches" inflicted by distrust. The image of being "torn to pieces" illustrates the profound emotional damage caused, The chorus emphasizes the existence of "high walls" and a "frayed faith" in the other person, causing the speaker's truth to be lost in this "sad ballad." The repetition of "¡Dices que miento!" (You say I lie!) with the heartbreaking response of "¡Miento! ¡Miento!" (I lie! I lie!) intensifies the feeling of despair and the futility of trying to communicate.

You say I lie

They said "music wouldn't do me any good"

Someone standing in the chaos and confusion, doubting if the feelings were real.

Busy Street

Psychotic Surge: An Anti-Musical Cartography

Between Rio de Janeiro's humid nights and the Bay Area's electric fog emerges a sonic territory that refuses naming. Psychotic Surge inhabits the threshold where structured rhythm dissolves into controlled chaos, where the predictable becomes uncanny. Here, experimental improvisations capture fleeting auras—each recording a unique fingerprint of temporal collapse, where early acid techno memories bleed into orchestral synthetic dreams, noise becomes prayer, and minimal compass constraints birth maximal expression.|

This is not music seeking approval but sound demanding participation. Like thought before language, these compositions exist in the space between intention and accident, where repetition becomes difference and structure emerges from its own undoing. The project traces a geography of becoming—each track a deterritorialized moment where voices merge with synthesizers not to communicate but to invoke presence itself. Concrete-musique fragments scatter across avant-garde landscapes, creating soundscapes that remember futures and anticipate pasts.

Listen not to understand but to inhabit. Each track opens a clearing where being precedes meaning, where the ear becomes an organ of ontological investigation. Enter these sound-worlds as you would enter memory—sideways, vulnerable, ready to be transformed. The psychotic surge event is not performance but ritual participation in the moment's aura, an invitation to dissolve the boundary between listener and listened. Here, in the grey area where music questions its own existence, you're called to witness sound's capacity to reveal what language conceals—the raw pulse of existence before it learns to speak. Engage these recordings as maps to territories that exist only in their crossing, where each listen births a new geography of sensation.

Songwriter, Composer, Instrumentalist, Co-producer

Hi there — welcome to my corner of the web.

I’m here for one simple reason: to share my music with you.
Take a listen, explore, and I hope something here resonates with you. Enjoy the vibe!

✝️

https://youtube.com/@makeouthere?si=U1dW7oSU_Dygckuf

New tracks tagged #Misunderstanding