It blends the gritty roots of Southern Rock, the groovy vibes of Funk, and the rhythmic energy of Rap all rapped in to one Album

Sensory Spree

geeked up vs locked in (interlude)

Hey, the table was laid before the dawn of apology
Harvest of empire in empty seats of apology
We carved the pledge with salted bread & blind history
And poured the wine on bones we promised to free

We showed up with praise-and-paper, signed papers in gold ink
Under painted skies, thanks given for what we didn’t think
That soil held ancestors, silent drums beneath our feet
We raised the roof for plenty while they counted every beat
A feast for the victors, plates piled high with borrowed grace
We blessed the conquest in the name of a smiling face
The turkey carved like empire, gravy flowed as conquest’s stream
And weeds grew wild in shadows of the harvest dream
Bread broken on graves that never asked to feed our fears
We closed our eyes, toasted our hope, ignored the years
Mountains of thanks, valleys of sighs beneath the floor
The first table’s myth is built on someone else’s war
So listen to the hollowness between the cheers of yield
The fields were sown in silence, the yield forgot the shield
And now the story’s told by those who sat and ate the prize
While pain lingers in the harvest, hidden behind our eyes

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

The carving knife still echoes in the halls of what we built
The wooden table splits in cracks where guilt meets quilt
We passed the platter, told the tale of “one land, one hand”
The guest list wrote them out, then sealed the final stand
Our thanks ring loud in halls where silence screams the truth
In the laughter lies the ledger of youth upon lost youth
We invited our narratives, edited the pain, rewrote the stake
While someone else paid for the bread we claimed we’d make
Now I walk through fields of thanks, look down at ghostly grain
Hear the whispers of the harvest, listen to the rain
That falls on the bones of tablets, the markers of our feast
And asks: who really sat at the first table, who died … at least?
The myth stands tall in stained cloth and candle light display
But the roots run deep in graves where no one came to pray
So next time you break bread, remember who laid the plates
And ask: whose hand held the knife when the feast sealed those fates

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

They said the land was virgin, they said the feast was free
They said the treaty meant “welcome”, they glossed the misery
They said “we came in peace”, they said “we shared the grain”
They said “we’re grateful for your roots”, they switched the name
They said the table was equal, they said the plates brimmed full
They said the bread was changed, they hid the pull
They said the harvest blessed all, they hid the debt
They said the past is done, they turned the sweat
They said “thanks to ancestors”, they never met
They said “we’re one people now”, the silhouette
They said “we honoured the treaty”, they tore the page
They said “history’s written here”, they silenced the stage
They said “the land is ours now”, they boxed the truth
They said “first table forever”, they stole the proof

At the first table we sat, at the first table we ate
But the seeds were sown in someone else’s fate
At the first table we sang, at the first table we feigned
Thanks for the harvest when someone else remained

So we lift our forks in silence, adjust the lights, pretend the scene
But the table’s long and haunted by the ones who never gleaned
And though we say “thanks” tonight with voices raised in chains
The first table was set long ago, in someone else’s reign

At the first table

Click. Package glides down the drone’s wing.
Blink, the world shifts: prime gods ring.
Conveyor of dreams in a box so tight.
We worship the click in the dead of the night.

I bow to the cart, I click like I pray.
Next-day god in a digital fray.
Boxes stacking fast, ventricles hollow.
Delivery gods laugh while our souls follow.
Cheap cables, LED lights, the screen glows bright.
But behind the algorithm the heart’s in night.
We feed the chain, we praise the feed.
But hunger stays real, what we don’t need.
The drone hums high, the warehouse sighs.
Invisible workers under neon skies.
“Prime” stamped on our wrists like a brand new creed.
We love our chains while somebody bleeds.

We worship the next-day god, on rails of the web.
Empty boxes full of the empty we’ve fed.
Click-culture reigns, instant fix in hand.
Delivery god crowned over the wasteland.

Warehouse towers, robotic swarm.
Endless aisles under fluorescent storms.
“Your order is out for delivery,” the voice so cold.
We swallow the new while the old goes sold.
Packages land in manic doses each day.
But the cost is hidden where the wires stay.
We click, we sit back, we watch the door.
While the world spins silent behind the floor.
Our greed compressed into a tracking code.
We load the cart heavy while the planet erodes.
Instant gratification, the billboard screams.
Yet the harvest is nothing but pixel dreams.

We worship the next-day god, on rails of the web.
Empty boxes full of the empty we’ve fed.
Click-culture reigns, instant fix in hand.
Delivery god crowned over the wasteland.

Late night, the drone lands at my gate.
I unwrap the promise, but inside I wait.
The thrill gone quick, the battery drained.
Package sits cold, the hunger remained.
We adore our chains delivered in flash.
But somewhere a body carries the stash.
The box might be new, the label pristine.
The hands that built it unseen on the screen.
Next-day god propped on a pedestal tall.
We worship the service, ignore the call.
The world spins fast under cardboard flips.
We ride the wave blind, we sip the scripts.

We worship the next-day god, on rails of the web.
Empty boxes full of the empty we’ve fed.
Click-culture reigns, instant fix in hand.
Delivery god crowned over the wasteland.

Click ends. The drone fades into the sky.
Box empty, soul heavy, we still comply.
Next-day god hovers in the neon spread.
We loved our chains while the price bled.

Next-Day Delivery God

Swipe the screen, hearts float light
Perfect smiles in the filtered night
“Thanks for your support”, flashed in the feed
Gratitude styled for the viral need

I post the dinner photo, captioned “blessed”
But inside the kitchen my heart’s in unrest
Likes pour down like fake applause
While real thanks hide behind the laws
We celebrate the moment, skip the cost
Gratitude packaged, authenticity lost
“Thanks for the love”, I say to the stream
But the mirror’s silent when nobody screams
We tag the brand, we tag the vibe
We thank our crew while we barely survive
In the hall of comments the praise is cheap
But the nights of solitude still run deep

Like in place of love, screen in place of touch
Thank you for the mind-share, but I need so much
Feed full of thanks in a world so grand
But sincerity’s missing on the command

Stories vanish after 24 hours
But the need to be seen devours the power
Filters shine bright, reality dull
We serve the image while the hunger’s full
We thank our followers like they’re family
But the chair beside us stays catastrophically empty
We double-tap the moment, triple-tap the trend
But at the table of truth we don’t comprehend
We whisper “grateful” to the lens in the frame
While the ghost of our longing calls out our name
The feast is virtual, the hunger is real
In the feed of thanks what do we feel?

Like in place of love, screen in place of touch
Thank you for the mind-share, but I need so much
Feed full of thanks in a world so grand
But sincerity’s missing on the command

Notifications ping in the hollow space
Appreciation shallow in the digital race
We craft the smile, rehearse the pose
Thank you for the view, now watch me close
Compliments stack like a pile of debt
We owe the algorithm more than we get
We film the toast, we freeze the gaze
But when we lower the camera the hunger stays
“Thanks for the views” says the post above
But underneath the table, we still lack love
So we drink the applause, swallow the fake
And thank the feed for the audience we take

Like in place of love, screen in place of touch
Thank you for the mind-share, but I need so much
Feed full of thanks in a world so grand
But sincerity’s missing on the command

Likes fade away, shadows grow tall
Gratitude printed in the virtual hall
I’ll thank the feed, I’ll thank the show
But in the silence I’ll thank myself too

Social Feed of Thanks

Tap the card, feel the rush like a short-lived prayer
Buy now, regret later, welcome to the snare

Yeah, dopamine hits in a barcode flash
Debt stacking quiet in the digital stash
We buy promises dressed in slick campaigns
Interest dripping heavy like winter rains
Scroll through dreams on a fake-clean screen
Pocket full of credit but the soul stays lean
Every purchase screams like a midnight dare
But the morning bills choke the thinning air
Quick hit frenzy, bargain-price high
We chase that fix till the limit runs dry
Credit lines tighten like a hand on the throat
But we swipe through the pain just to stay afloat
They sell us joy in a next-day box
While the lock on the future quietly locks

Buy now, regret later, that’s the system’s vow
We buy promises craving “better somehow”
Credits are confessions written in code
And the guilt hits hard when the debts explode

Inbox flooded with a “limited deal”
But the only thing limited is the way we feel
We crave that lift in the stagnant grind
Flash-sale thunder in a restless mind
Addiction dressed up like consumer choice
Capitalism humming in a soft calm voice
We tap out fears on the online store
Happiness rented, never ours anymore
We buy futures on a fragile loan
And the cost hits deep when the peak has flown
Every “add to cart” feels like a warm embrace
Till the first payment slaps you right in the face
We chase the glow like a holy rite
But the checkout page hides the night

Buy now, regret later, that’s the system’s vow
We buy promises craving “better somehow”
Credits are confessions written in code
And the guilt hits hard when the debts explode

Bills lined up like a firing squad
Every due date stamped by a corporate god
We bow our heads to the APR
Worshipping dreams we can’t afford so far
Debt collectors hum like a wicked choir
“Pay what you owe” in a tone of fire
We swipe because the world tells us “more”
But the echo inside hits the floor
Temporary joy with a lifetime fee
But we still chase shine like we’re not yet free
We buy stories stitched in plastic wrap
And regret sits heavy in the post-sale trap
Tomorrow’s breath costs yesterday’s thrill
And the monthly statements always kill

Buy now, regret later, that’s the system’s vow
We buy promises craving “better somehow”
Credits are confessions written in code
And the guilt hits hard when the debts explode

Buy Now, Regret Later

Choirs hum low in the winter air
Lights in the market shine everywhere
But God sees the tables where the cold wind pours
Empty plates at home, full shelves in the stores

Mama’s hands tremble on the countertop steel
She prays for a blessing but she still skips meals
Kids draw angels on the back of receipts
While the heater coughs smoke in the frozen streets
Billboards glowing like a holy parade
Selling joy in a box we can’t afford made
We walk past aisles like a silent procession
But the price tags laugh at a broke man’s confession
God sees the hunger in the lines on her face
Sees the empty pot simmer with quiet grace
But grace alone won’t fill up the pan
And the fridge hums low like a tired old fan
Corner choir singing “hold on, child”
But hope feels thin in the winter wild
Prayers get whispered in the midnight cold
But the cupboards stay bare and the truth stays bold

God sees the empty plates, the hopes that bend
Full stores shining while the nights don’t end
Prayers don’t fill the fridge, though we try each day
We’re singing hallelujah with bills to pay

Market doors open like cathedral gates
But the blessing inside never matches our fates
Strangers grab feasts stacked high in their carts
While we stretch soup thin with trembling hearts
Gospel on the radio says “you’re not alone”
But it’s hard when the hunger hits straight to the bone
Mama warms water like it’s something to taste
And we bow our heads just to hide the waste
Receipts pile up like a mountain of proof
We praise the Lord under a leaking roof
We don’t crave riches or a gold-lined floor
Just enough to keep hunger from the front door
Shelves shine bright with the world’s excess
But abundance don’t cross our home address
Still we lift our voices in a cracked amen
Cause faith is the only thing we still own then

God sees the empty plates, the hopes that bend
Full stores shining while the nights don’t end
Prayers don’t fill the fridge, though we try each day
We’re singing hallelujah with bills to pay

Streetlights flicker on the broke man’s choir
Hands raised high but the world’s on fire
We march past windows full of plenty and more
Knowing none of that feast’s reaching our door
But we keep on singing with what we’ve got left
Even if the season feels cold and bereft
Kids hum gospel like a promise of dawn
Even when the night drags too long
God hears the hunger in the back of the hymn
And the whispered fear that the light grows dim
Fridge door opens with a hollow sound
Echo of a table where hope’s unbound
We hold each other when the cupboards go slack
Cause love fills places that food won’t pack
Still we pray softly, though the truth stays raw
That empty plates don’t mean we’re unseen by God

God sees the empty plates, the hopes that bend
Full stores shining while the nights don’t end
Prayers don’t fill the fridge, though we try each day
We’re singing hallelujah with bills to pay

Empty Plates, Full Stores

Another November, same dinner, same seat
Leaves fall outside while inside we repeat
Clock strikes midnight, the calendar glows
We sit at the table but the change never shows

New year’s whisper but the mood stays thick
Same faces around, same old rhetoric
We raise our forks, toast the “better tomorrow”
While the ledger of fear goes deeper in sorrow
Plates stacked high but the hope gets small
The system rewinds while we dance the fall
We fill our cups with the promise of light
But the walls push back when the day meets night
Another calendar page turns, the chairs align
But the memory of change left the scene behind
We talk of progress, we map out the route
But the engine stalls while we’re singing the shout
Same table set, but the seats feel cold
Same story told, no new chapter unfolds

New year, same table, the cycle won’t break
History slow-motion, the same give-and-take
Another November, we face the same view
Change on the outside, but inside we’re used

We count the days but the ledger looks worn
Each step forward just rewinds the thorn
The voices say “rise up”, the system plays calm
We nod in the theatre while ignoring the alarm
The chair beside me holds the ghost of last year
We talk of the future but we choke on the fear
The same fights resurfaced, same scars unseen
We polish the table while the cracks stay keen
The menu’s printed fresh, the design’s new
But the taste of the struggle remains the issue
We ask for renewal, we whisper “we’ll start”
Yet the cycle loops tight in the core of our heart

New year, same table, the cycle won’t break
History slow-motion, the same give-and-take
Another November, we face the same view
Change on the outside, but inside we’re used

Calendar flips, we parade in the lights
But the hunger within doesn’t easily fight
We stack our dreams like we stack the plates
But some hunger’s deeper than the feast can sate
The system reclines in a comfortable pose
We march in the band while the engine slows
Another November, the leaves drift down
But we’ve been here before in this tired town
We lift the glass, we whisper the vow
But the mirror shows the cracks in the brow
The same fight, same table, same endgame set
And we’re still waiting for the debt to be met

New year, same table, the cycle won’t break
History slow-motion, the same give-and-take
Another November, we face the same view
Change on the outside, but inside we’re used

Another November, the chair still unsold
We sit, we wait, while the story’s told
The season returns, the cycle remains
Same table set, same silent chains

Another November

PetesHotDogStandon43rdand9thBrooklynNYC416211.13PM

Beneath the silver frost the plastic tree stands restless
Lights pulse like a transistor heartbeat in my chest
I lift a toast to a crowd I never chose to host
And I listen to the static hum of the echo

I’m the glitch in the picture frame when everyone’s the same
I’m the voice in the silence while they laugh and call my name
At midnight I find I’m watching from the margin of the flame
I raise my glass to nothing and I whisper echo echo echo

They say “come on in” with their holiday grin
But I’m walking sideways down the corridor of kin
They’re carving turkey like they carve out tradition
While I hold my tray in a shadow of suspicion
I wore the suit of white-wash laughter, a borrowed costume
My smile flickered on the screen like an unpaid resume
In their photo-album line-up I was the odd one
The one who rinsed her heart in cold water when the cameras shone
Mom asked if I’d try the pie, Dad talked business and steer
But I counted ceiling tiles until the chatter disappeared
Outside the windows frost dripped like a time-tick glitch
And I heard the echo of my own pulse in the fridge’s pitch

I’m the glitch in the picture frame when everyone’s the same
I’m the voice in the silence while they laugh and call my name
At midnight I find I’m watching from the margin of the flame
I raise my glass to nothing and I whisper echo echo echo

I remember cartoons and cookies, the tree in syrup-light
But I also remember my brain rewiring on that night
When the aunt asked “Why don’t you join in?” with that fixed stare
And I said “I’m just fine” but inside I was airborne in thin air
They handed out compliments like confetti blanks in motion
I handed back difference like a badge of strange devotion
I learned the code of smiles while my heart spoke binary
Two codes: “belong” or “be gone” — I chose the third: solitary
In the kitchen corner I watched the plate-ring accumulate
And I thought of future tables where I’d generate my state
No waiting room of apology, no part to mime or play
I’ll carve my own invitation in the margins of this day
Now I stand at the next réveillon with circuits rewired
I’m the mutant pop in the family’s choir
I’ll spin between the notes they expect
And I’ll amplify the echo while I inspect

I’m the glitch in the picture frame when everyone’s the same
I’m the signal in the breakdown while they tap into the game
At midnight I’ll find I’m higher than the flame
I raise my glass to myself and I echo echo echo

Beep-click the candlesticks reflect my code
Transistor heartbeats in the echo mode
I’m not the same circuit, I’m the variant load
I raise my glass and watch the pattern implode

In the hallway I caught my shadow bending out of line
Family voices in the background like a distant coastline
They asked about my future like a box I had to fit
But my blueprint spirals outward in a shape they never get
I breathe in the perfume of memories stacked on plates
But the scent hits different when you walk through altered states
I watch the cousins trading stories like identical seams
While I stitch my own pattern from the edges of dreams
No preset version of me will ever sit in their frame
I step outside the circle and ignite my inner flame
Their questions ricochet but never land where I go
I rise through the ceiling panels searching for my echo

I’m the glitch in the picture frame when everyone’s the same
I’m the signal in the breakdown while they tap into the game
At midnight I’ll find I’m higher than the flame
I raise my glass to myself and I echo echo echo

No more waiting in the corridor of mirrors
No more serving the script of borrowed cheers
I’ll sit at the head of the table in my own sphere
And I’ll hear the echo of my truth crystal-clear

I’m the glitch in the picture frame

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

I use every tool available, human or machine, as an instrument.
Technology doesn’t replace creativity. It expands it.

Musician, Song Writer:
Started my music journey when I was 9, my dad built me my first guitar. He was a shaper at Gibson Kalamazoo, and build the guitar in a closet size closet in our one bedroom apartment. Started writing Music and Lyrics in 1975, player in garage band and bars. Never started working wit my catalog until 2020 during Covid. Started engineering and producing my music under im5150 Studio and artist name im5150ru. This allowed me to start releasing my music on streaming platforms in 2024. Special thanks to my Wife, family and friends who put up with me over the years and the fan base that is growing. Thanks to Apple Logic Pro, Native Instruments Equipment and software, EVH Guitars and amps, Marshall, Line6 Variax Shuriken Guitars and Amps, Gibson, Fender, Alesis Striker Special Edition Electronic drum, Behringer Mixers, Crown Amplifiers, Makie Thumper215XT Speakers, Korg Kronos KeyBoards, Boss Effects, Boss RC-505 MKII Looper, Two Notes, DBX, Zoom Q8n-4K, Tascam, MOTU, Roland Pedals or Midi Guitar, Ovation Guitars,  A5X Studio Monitors, Kat kt3, Ibanez Guitars and Bass’s, and many other miscellaneous devices.

私は現在ニューヨーク州ロチェスターに住んでいる日系ユダヤ人です。フリースタイルをやって、それをアルバムにまとめるだけです。「ニガー」って言うけど、私たちがその言葉にこだわらないのは分かってる。バカなアメリカ人は気にするけどね。まあいいか。でも、私は自分のことは本当に本当に愛してる。

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