A bit late but happy 4th Y'all!! This one was a different approach from the others. Hope you like it.
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You’ve never seen space dragons breathe basslines—watch in 4K now.
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Mycelium Aurora Drift
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Page 1
Kael awakened beneath twin moons that hovered like mismatched lanterns over the crystalline jungle of Aurelia-9. Leaves forged from translucent quartz chimed in the warm breeze, and every footstep released puffs of bioluminescent spores that swam upward, eager for starlight. Far below that glittering canopy, the planet’s slumbering heartbeat began to stir—an under-thrum that quivered through Kael’s bones as though some colossal engine were powering up after epochs of dreamless silence.

He knelt at the edge of a mirror-still lake whose surface held two skies—the proper heavens above, and a ghostly, inverted cosmos below. Between them floated an impossible seed: a pale ember pulsing in slow, deliberate rhythm. Drawn by a hush too deep to ignore, Kael extended a hand. The ember drifted closer, as if curious. When his fingertips grazed its shell, the world folded inward like a blossom at dusk.

Page 2
Gravity inverted.

Colors flared beyond the visible spectrum—new hues that the mind rasped to name. Kael’s boots left the soil; he rose among spangled spores that now resembled miniature suns. Sky-trees—their trunks plated in opal scales—pivoted upside down, roots drinking directly from cloudbanks. Flocks of prismatic serpents corkscrewed between those roots, humming equations that rippled across Kael’s thoughts and rearranged them like tiles in a living mosaic.

A canyon of shadow appeared where none had been: a yawning rift lined by obsidian vines that clicked together like insect mandibles. The planet wanted him to descend, whispering in vibrations rather than words. Trusting an instinct older than fear, Kael exhaled and allowed himself to fall.

Air thickened, becoming velvet midnight. Bioluminescent glyphs blossomed on the walls, marking their descent in F♯-minor melancholy. When Kael’s boots at last touched stone, silence enveloped him—so profound it seemed to devour sound before it could be born.

Within that stillness slumbered the Fungal Oracle.

Mycelium Aurora Drift

Ever seen mushrooms taller than skyscrapers? Ride the beat into space at 144 BPM.
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Dark melodic techno + trippy sci‑fi visuals = your new late‑night obsession.
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Ember‑Step Eclipse
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1 - The Cinder-Pillar
Lyra Qel, vagabond astronomer, stood at the lip of a canyon carved from living obsidian. Above her, a violet sky churned with two suns—one the usual gold orb, the other a sullen red dwarf that spun the seasons backward every thirteen years. Tonight those suns would graze each other’s edges, birthing the long-prophesied Ember Step Eclipse.

Legend claimed that during the brief overlap, hidden cinders of an ancient star would awaken, spilling their power across the molten seams of the planet. Lyra did not chase legends; she chased coordinates. For months she had followed silent transmissions whispered along the ionosphere—eerie pulses in A-minor at exactly 144 beats per minute—until they triangulated on this canyon: a scar locals called the Cinder-Pillar. Its floor writhed with luminous spores, each glowing ember-orange like miniature suns waiting to hatch.

Lyra descended switchbacks that clung to the glassy wall. With every step, the canyon vibrated—bass you could feel in bone, though no wind stirred. Halfway down she met Branck, a towering, iridescent myco-golem whose torso resembled braided vines of copper and quartz. Branck bowed, antennae flickering.

“Pilgrim,” he rasped, voice like sand over cymbals, “the eclipse nears. Will you dance the Ember Step?”

Lyra smirked. “If the earth gives me a beat, I’ll try not to miss it.”

2 - Bassline of the Deep
The canyon floor opened into a meadow of fungal colossi—mushrooms the size of auditoriums, their caps shimmering with shifting constellations. Beneath their roots, sub-bass rumblings synced to Lyra’s pulse: 144, 145, 144 BPM—always resolving back like a cosmic metronome.

Branck led her through arches of spore-mist that painted kaleidoscopic trails in the air: emerald becoming amethyst, tangerine melting into cerulean. Each inhalation tingled behind Lyra’s eyes, widening her focus until she tasted sound and heard color.

They arrived at a pedestal carved from amethyst glass. Hovering above it rotated a single Cindercore—a marble of star-stuff swirling with molten fractals. When Lyra’s shadow touched its surface, the quartz pedestal shattered into levitating shards that formed a spiral staircase straight into the sky.

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Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/07/ember%e2%80%91step-eclipse/

Ember Step Eclipse

Warehouse basslines meet deep‑space psychedelia—turn it up in 4K.
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Fungal Throne Ascension
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#stellarodyssey #epicbuilds #deepdrone #voidculture #nebularhythm
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I. The Map of Breathing Glass
Long before the drift-ships learned to skim the chromatic winds of deep space, rumor spoke of an obsidian moon called Kaleidra, a place where fungi rose like cathedrals and thoughts could sprout into matter. Most travelers dismissed the tale as hallucinogenic folklore—until Zai Thornwell, cartographer of the uncharted, found a half-melted star-map in the wreck of an ancient scout pod. The map pulsed like a wounded heart, each beat projecting fractal constellations across its cracked surface. One glyph glimmered brighter than the rest: a pair of entwined blossoms enclosed in a ring of static.

Guided by that flicker, Zai piloted the single-seat skiff Eventide into Kaleidra’s ink-black orbit. The moon greeted visitors with silence, but its silence breathed. Glassy shards hovered in the sky—suspended debris from some forgotten cataclysm—singing faint chimes as solar wind threaded through them. When Zai stepped onto the jagged surface, the shards vibrated harder, reflecting impossible stars. Each reflection pointed the same way, as though the moon itself urged the cartographer forward.

Fungal Throne Ascension

Trippy Sci-fi Music Video : https://youtu.be/RyhardbnYbU
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Hit play and dive into a glowing mushroom rave across the cosmos!
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Hypnotic Techno Pulse 🌀 Neon Mushrooms & Stellar Soundscape
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Quantum Shroom Surge
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— Page 1 —
Even in a cosmos where planets wrapped themselves in silken auroras and comets sang in gravity-bent choirs, the fungal moon Verridia shimmered with a strangeness all its own. From orbit it looked like a pale amethyst pearl veined with emerald. Up close, its surface was a living quilt of towering mushroom citadels, bioluminescent rivers, and spore-storms that swirled like nebular tempests.

Explorer-librarian Nyra Vale arrived alone—save for her pocket-sized archivist drone, Glyph—hunting a legend whispered through pirate channels: “Where the caps glow indigo at dawn, reality folds easier than parchment.” She believed those words pointed to the Quantum Shrooms—organisms rumored to warp probabilities with every heartbeat. Secure in a sapphire pressure suit, Nyra stepped from her scarab-shaped lander onto a lattice of fungal roots as wide as an ocean. The ground pulsed beneath her boots in a steady, alluring beat, like a promise or a dare.

— Page 2 —
Low gravity made each stride a languid leap. Spore-dust spiraled around her visor, painting psychotropic mandalas across the glass. Glyph projected a holo-compass, but its readings jittered—up became east, north folded back onto itself, and the horizon ran in Möbius loops. Nyra disabled the device; here, instinct would guide better than instruments.

A shriek of chromatic light erupted a kilometer away: indigo caps blooming taller than skyscrapers, their stalks braided with silver mycelium. Every pulse rippled into the air as a prismatic shockwave, rearranging reality like shards in a kaleidoscope. Nyra’s breath caught—the Surge had begun.

She set a micro-beacon and walked toward the phenomenon. With each step, memories surfaced unbidden: her childhood kite morphing into a solar sail, a lost friend’s laughter echoing like crystal chimes, dreams she hadn’t yet dreamed. Verridia’s spores read her mind and projected possibilities into living hallucinations. Nyra steadied herself, remembering her mantra: Observe, don’t drown.


Continues on the website: 
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/17/quantum-shroom-surge/

Quantum Shroom Surge

What happens when techno meets DMT? 4 minutes in and you’re already elsewhere.
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DMT Corridor Drift
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The sky above the wasteland looked bruised—deep indigo scraped with crimson scars—yet the ground beneath my boots felt uncomfortably alive, as if thousands of tiny roots were tasting each footfall. I’d followed a faint, rhythmic tremor here, a heartbeat pulsing up through the ash. When the tremor peaked, a shard of crystal burst from the soil, spinning on its axis like a razor-bright compass needle. It caught the bruised light, refracted it into emerald rivers, then unfolded into a doorway of liquid prism-glass, humming with the promise of elsewhere.

I didn’t hesitate. Wherever “elsewhere” was, it called to the restless riptide in my veins. I stepped through—
and gravity inverted.

Upward into the Quartz Well
I fell skyward inside a spiraling well of translucent citrine. Walls of fossilized light stretched forever; each layer trapped ancient moments—laughter, sorrows, revolutions—now flickering past like thumbnail memories. Luminescent spores swirled beside me, the children of gargantuan subterranean mushrooms I’d only seen in outlaw holos. They flirted with my skin, diffusing micro-doses of raw data straight into my nervous system. In flashes I tasted the metallic dusk of extinct planets, heard choir-songs made of starlight, and felt the grainy warmth of gravity settling into new equations.

The well tightened, momentum surged, and for a breathless instant I became a singularity of thought. Then the citrine walls burst into motes and I landed gently, as though the universe cushioned me in slow motion.

The Corridor Where Mirrors Lie
I stood in a hallway paved with mirrors that reflected futures instead of faces. A thin veil of violet vapor—rich with DMT-scented electricity—rolled across my ankles, painting shifting glyphs that rearranged every time I blinked. One mirror showed me feathered in fractal plumage, eyes swirling like twin nebulae. Another revealed me piloting a city carved into Saturn’s rings.

Instinct said choose, so I lifted a hand—half curiosity, half rebellion—and pressed my palm to the nebula-eyed version of myself. The mirror surface rippled, swallowing my reflection and my doubts in one gulp.

Sudden vertigo. The corridor unzipped itself, twisting into a Möbius strip that flung me forward without direction, as though space had forgotten which way tomorrow was supposed to go. Time stretched, knotted, and re-coiled. When it snapped back, I found myself kneeling on luminous sand that whispered in three voices all at once.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/22/dmt-corridor-drift/

DMT Corridor Drift

Recorded live at Braket's FLINTA* Underground party: Recoherence in July 2025 in San Francisco.

Closing out until the sunrise after a stunning set by Evelyn. 

Myca: 
https://soundcloud.com/myca-hz
https://www.instagram.com/myca.hz

Braket: 
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My Socials:
https://www.instagram.com/dahlia.hz

Tracklist:
nthng - The Traveller
Phil Berg - Raid
HIGHLIMITER - Lost In Fractals
Eman - Pink Marble
Inox Traxx - No Leaving
Luap - Surrender (Original Mix)
Ricardo Garduno - Naughty Thoughts (Original Mix)
Stef Mendesidis - Aquaton
Regent - Aphid Riot (Original Mix)
Modēm - Void
Lucas Sosa (AR) - Wu Tang Style
KUSS - Nocturnal Contrast
Klint - Social Evil (Original Mix)
Setaoc Mass - Where the Rainbow Begins
Lindsey Herbert - Control
Sciahri - Divisione
Measure Divide - Minor Cortex
KUSS - Panic
Mark Broom - Movement (Original Mix)
Rill - Cicadas
DK8 - Murder Was The Bass (Reworked)
Veiga - Narcolepsy
Daniel Rifaterra - Omura (Original Mix)
Exos - Fire Chant
PSYK & ORBE - Blinding
Volster - Turned
Innersha - Elysion
Franco Rossi - Elysia Chlorotica
Rrose x Polygonia - Stretcher
Slone - Damascus
Toki Fuko - Polar (Original Mix)
LDS - Grain Rain
Yanamaste - All Night
Toru Ikemoto - Don't Play 170 (Lindsey Herbert Stripped Down Remix))
Zara - Euci
Rill - Parabel
Lask - White Ibis
Eman - Kapara
Polygonia - Whirlwind Of Hearts
MZR - Seduce E2
Innersha - Emeralds
Vardae - Loose It
Hitam - Chanu Akan
Priori & Al Wootton - The Bell With The Wooden Tongue
Vxlr - Score Line
MTRL, FTP Doctor - Drilling Concept
Vxlr - Score Line
Ketch & Hitam - Spirits
Rise 1969 - Dar el-Amar
Hitam - Hoia Bacu (Original Mix)
nuir - Nasty Squares
Nawaz - Scarlet Cloak (Nawaz Remix)
Polygonia - Mindfunk
Sexapil - Stepper Mind
Piezo - Ultra
Kamen - Revolution
Innersha - Shmana
LDS - Punk Coding
Eli Høff - Gils
deoxyt - Fainting Spell
Feral - Sadhu
Aerae - Silva
Hitam - Precious Skin
Spekki Webu - Replicant Harvester
Hitam - Future Kill
Innerworld - Surge
OTON - Time To Forgive The Winter
Aerae - Flumen
Dycide - Carnyx
Vardae - Rites
FTP Doctor, MTRL, Polygonia - Lavender
Donato Dozzy & Anna Caragnano - Parola (Rework)
.Vril - Sohn

Myca b2b 2dahlia at Recoherence - July 2025

Can your eyes handle this fractal warp drive of techno? 🌌
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Heliotrope Axiom Jump
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The glass planet Aurelia-6 hung beneath the frigate Heliotrope Axiom like a shimmering teardrop—every jungle, ocean, and city frozen in prismatic reflection. Inside the cockpit, Captain Nara Quell adjusted her breath mask. A single sliver of violet fungus dissolved on her tongue, sending warm pulses down her spine. Across the curved windshield cloud-veins glowed neon lavender, signaling that the mycelial core was waking.

Page 1 – Flicker of the Spore-Drive
Silence poured through the bridge, thick as velvet. From the engine bay came the first flutter: bioluminescent filaments undulating in zero-g, quickening to the rhythm of Nara’s heartbeat. Heads-up glyphs danced across the console—ancient runes translated into vectors and velocity. One glyph—flashing cinnamon-orange—requested neural consent. She closed her eyes, answered yes with a single steady exhale, and the ship listened.

Vision fractured. Every edge of the room smeared into kaleidoscopic trails. Gravity tilted. The Axiom slipped into its own reflection, folding space like origami until fore and aft hashed into a single horizon-line. In that shimmering seam, the Drive whispered coordinates older than constellations.

Page 2 – Descent Through Vortex Lace
A thunderless shockwave hurled the vessel forward. Outside, reality writhed: electric lilac tunnels spun in corkscrews, lined with lattices of living crystal. Nara gripped her chair yet felt weightless—as if her body were a translucent echo trailing several milliseconds behind her mind. The flight computer’s alarms were silenced, overridden by a steady fungal chant vibrating in sub-audible tones.

Shapes emerged in the translucent walls—ghost-cities blooming and collapsing, mushroom domes dripping with dew that sparkled like microscopic nebulae. Nara sensed each ruin and birth as a resonant chord of emotions: grief, elation, curiosity. She tasted them in synesthetic gusts—peppermint sadness, cedarwood joy, coppery dread—yet fear never took root. The Drive’s telepathic presence curled around her thoughts with gentle, spore-soft assurance: You are guided.

At the vortex’s heart a fissure yawed open—an abyss of violet so deep it looked like the bruise where infinity had been punched. The Axiom plunged.

Page 3 – The Luminal Hollow
Light slowed until it felt syrup-thick. The Hollow was a pale-amber cathedral the size of a galaxy, where photons meandered in lazy spirals and gravity took a contemplative nap. Spore-dust drizzled like luminous snow, settling on the hull in fractal arabesques. Sensors charted no up, no down, only a serene everywhere.

Nara released her next breath; it blossomed into flowering mandalas that hovered and gradually unfolded into star-maps. In those maps she saw roads untaken—lives she could have led, worlds she might yet meet. Each petal flickered, hinting at possibility. For a hushed eternity she drifted in choice and wonder, her consciousness dilated to fit the moment’s vastness.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/24/heliotrope-axiom-jump/


#techno #deeptech #melodictechno #technojourney

Heliotrope Axiom Jump

Visualizer Music Video : https://youtu.be/ncBHDoL8AQg
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Fractal portals, hypnotic bass—this space trip resets your brain.
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Voyage of the Fractal Nomad
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Page 1: The Cocoon and the Call
In the pitch-black cradle of deep-sector 91‑Δ, something stirred.

The Cocoon was not a ship in the traditional sense. It pulsed, breathed, and dreamed. Its hull was laced with thin-film iridescence, woven from the silk of bioluminescent mycelia. Inside, a singular entity began to wake—the Fractal Nomad. Not born, not made, but grown from the remains of a forgotten psynaut and an ancient fungal intelligence.

No alarms. No spoken commands. Just a vibration that deepened into meaning.

The Nomad blinked twice. Not eyelids—there were no more eyes. But consciousness phased into clarity. A lattice of liquid sunlight unfolded across the Cocoon’s canopy. That was the signal.

The solar sails unfurled, silent sheets of translucent light slicing through vacuum like blooming petals. The Cocoon heaved forward, stretching spacetime into a tunnel of colorless heat. As it entered slipstream velocity, the Cocoon's internal symbiotes pulsed in sync, lubricating the journey with ionized thoughtform lubricants.

And then... they descended.

Not downward, but inward. Into something deeper than space.

Page 2: Tunnels of Smoke and Memory
The slipstream was not linear. It twisted like a Möbius nerve—a loop folded upon itself, hiding deeper truths with every pulse. Inside the stream, light behaved like thought, and thought behaved like fluid.

The Nomad’s mind flickered with echoes of past lives: dying on a jungle planet while mushrooms sang dirges; drowning in clouds made of serotonin; kissing a mirrored self on a moon with no name.

The Cocoon shook.

A metallic howl rippled through the spine of the vessel. The warp coils strained, each one a living organ wrapped in platinum membranes. Electro-psionic turbulence tore at the mycelial lattice, splitting it momentarily into kaleidoscopic nerve clusters.

They were being rerouted. Something unseen had hijacked the trajectory.

But then came the release.

The Cocoon burst into a nebular blossom—a great flower made of starfire and pheromone dust. The Nomad hovered in its core like a bee tasting eternity.

Time bled into petals.

Page 3: The Bloom, the Chorus, and the Caravan
An 8-second eternity.

The Cocoon drifted inside a radiant prismatic bloom, where rainbow light condensed into liquid lenses. Through them, the Nomad could see latticework cities built by forgotten species: organic skyscrapers, breathing streets, psychic highways.

Then, something emerged from the bloom—a mushroom spire, golden and immense, coiling around the Cocoon. It released a harmonic burst of spores, each one humming a perfect A♯ frequency. The chorus of spores sang a name the Nomad had never known it had.

And with that, the Cocoon recalibrated.

A swarm of micro-vessels unfurled from its hull—the Quantum Caravan. These weren’t ships; they were fragments of the Nomad’s own psyche, each carrying a different version of truth. They aligned into a spiral formation and began gliding across a plane of turquoise plasma.


Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/07/29/voyage-of-the-fractal-nomad/

#techno  #4kvisualizer  #psychedelictechno  #trippyart

Voyage of the Fractal Nomad

A hypnotic 8K sci‑fi voyage—deep bass, trippy geometry, melodic lift‑offs.
Melodic, psychedelic, progressive—zero‑gravity techno for late hours.
Minimal to massive: trippy textures, deep drive, melodic bloom.

8K Video: https://youtu.be/_6mjYbS_-6Y

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Stream / download / buy ➜
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ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
The shuttle cut across the dark like a scalpel of dull chrome, its hull showing only a thin comb of starlight as it banked toward the Quay. Below, an archipelago of structures rose out of the vacuum—a ring of barbed petals and glassy ribs, like a flower pressed between the pages of physics. They called it Tessellation Quay, and at its center—hung on invisible filaments—waited a round, black sheet with a faint sheen, as if it were coated in oil that refused to drip.

Amri Quell watched it tilt, an angle shifting against nothingness, and adjusted her ship’s attitude until her reflection skimmed the slick surface and fractured into a dozen faint copies. The copies kept flying, like she did, but their courses were off by the smallest degree, and she had a brief, superstitious fear each one would plow into some invisible wall she’d avoid only by accident.

“The Mirror’s awake,” said the Quay’s traffic mind, its voice a steady alto that made no effort to be comforting. “Dock on rib seven. Your sponsor is waiting. And Amri—don’t touch the surface.”

“As if anyone comes this far to smudge a priceless artifact,” she said, and let the shuttle kiss the rib with a well-practiced lean.

Mag clamps took hold. The cockpit glass irised open. She climbed down into air laced with a mineral chill and the faint musk of wet soil—the Quay kept gardens threaded everywhere, corridors furry with moss and filaments, a mycelial skeleton that made walking through the place feel like navigating a living lung. The filament glow was gentle, teal and cobalt, as if bioluminescence had learned restraint.

A figure waited at the end of the causeway—a long coat, a thin halo of thin-film iridescence around the shoulders, and the austere expression of a person who conversed mostly with machines.

“Conservator Nals,” said Amri. “You look exactly like your letters, which is mildly disappointing.”

“Pilot Quell,” Nals said, dry. “You look exactly like someone who doesn’t believe in mirrors.”

“I believe in mirrors. I don’t trust them.”

“Good. The Rosette returns mistrust with courtesy. Come.”

They walked a narrow path that spiraled inward, over a dark well where the Mirror hung. From above, it was not perfectly round. Its edge flowered into petals of angle—eight elaborate lobes, like a rosette carved from shadow. Each lobe was the suggestion of symmetry, not symmetry itself; when she tried to count the facets at any given radius, the count changed by one, as if the Mirror reserved the right to differ with her.

“Everyone calls it the Rosette Mirror,” Nals said. “But that’s not its name. It’s an artifact we don’t know how to name.”

“What does it test?” Amri said.

“Continuity.”

“Of what?”

Continues on the website.


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https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
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https://grasspatchbum.com/
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Rosette Mirror Test - 8K Psy Video on Youtube

This music video is trippy az - took a minute : https://youtu.be/riJ2PAnbyzQ

Dark, hypnotic, warehouse‑ready techno—step into the Index and don’t look back.
Rolling bass, acid edges, space‑bound pulse—built for late hours.
From void to city: a cinematic techno journey.

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Stream / download / buy ➜
(❁´◡`❁)
https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
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https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
ᓚᘏᗢ


The Story ➜
There is a library that rotates around a star that does not shine.

The star is called the Umbra Crown, an object that drinks light the way dry soil swallows rain. Around it, on a safe, slow ring, floats the Palimpsest Array—thirty‑one linked hulls and one cathedral of glass mathematics, all of it oriented toward a thing no eye can see. The Array keeps records of what the universe attempts, fails, revises, and forgets.

In Vault Nine, behind shutters etched with compass roses, the Index of Lost Vectors sleeps in a cradle of null‑metal. It is not a book. It is not a map. It is a living catalog of directions that once were real and then weren’t: bearings erased by paradox, routes collapsed by war, trajectories canceled by the absolute pressure of someone’s choice.

Every so often, a new arrow appears in the Index, pointing toward nothing and still insisting it points. That insistence is hard to ignore when your job title is Vectorist.

Kael Ivers had held that title for sixteen years. They had seen the Index wake exactly three times.

On the fourth, the arrows did not appear.

They bloomed.

I — Arrowfall

Kael did not dream in pictures. They dreamed in angles: a narrow gate of ninety degrees held like a promise, an indulgent sweep of one hundred twenty that never closed where you thought it would. That night, in the small sleep between the first cup of bitter broth and the second, Kael dreamed a circle that would not stay circle. It kept erupting with tangents, each tangent a pale hairline of intent.

They woke with the taste of tin in their mouth and the feeling of a room straightening around them.

“Vault Nine,” said the Array, warm and calm in Kael’s ear. The Array never hurried its vowels. “The Index is agitated.”

Kael rolled off the hammock, slid into a field jacket, and jogged through the airless corridor. The shard windows along the passage showed a black full of small, reluctant stars. The Umbra Crown lived where no starlight reached, but the shyer stars still haunted the periphery.

The vault door recognized Kael’s gait before it recognized their badge. Inside, the Index floated—a torus of glass, a halo with a heart. When it slept, it looked like a ring made by someone who understands rings only as an idea. When it woke, angles sprouted from it the way grass erupts after a secret rain.

Today, it was a meadow.

Thousands of vectors had blossomed out of the torus, paper‑thin and luminous. They didn’t point to random; they pointed toward a choreography. Some curved, some refused to bow; others leaned with the authority of a road that predates the city it enters.

Kael did not touch it. They didn’t have to. The vectors brushed the surface of their attention and left afterimages that behaved like memory. The taste of tin intensified.

Continues on the website.


ಥ_ಥ
Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
o(*^＠^*)o
https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ
Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno   #musicvideo   #trippyvisuals   #technomusic   #visualizer   #undergroundtechno   #musicvisualizer   #melodictechno    #4kvideo   #4kvisuals   #psychedelicvisuals   #8kvideo  #peaktimetechno  #drivingtechno  #darktechno  #hypnotictechno  #acidtechno  #warehouse   #cinematicmusic  #scifiadventure

Index of Lost Vectors | Uber Trippy Morphing Music Video @ YouTube

im your favorite mid-tier local dj's favorite mid-tier local dj
📍SF Bay-Area
Bookings: contact@braket.gay

Dig the tunes? Check out trippy music videos: https://www.youtube.com/@grasspatchbum

Website or Instagram for booking.

Need change - going into the depths.

Techno, Trance, Psytech, Psytrance, and other liquid psychedelic music is where I'm the happiest but I do love a lot of Latin, Tribal, Trip Hop, Lofi, Chillhop so occasionally I'll release something off-beat.

------ Past-Tense Shenanigans ------

Born in the dust-filled vibes of a ‘90s apartment, Grass Patch Bum started spinning records back when vinyl was king and internet cafes were revolutionary. Armed with a crate of vinyl, Grass Patch Bum dived headfirst into underground raves and sweaty house parties, learning the art of blending beats on turntables and (eventually) the "futuristic" CDJs. But the journey didn't stop there.

After taking a hiatus to dive into the world of FL Studio and dissect the mechanics of production, Grass Patch Bum came back stronger, with a repertoire of original sounds and the technical chops to match. Fast forward, and they've turned dancefloors upside down from Thailand to Vietnam, Bali to the heart of Europe. Now, powered by Ableton Live and a creative arsenal that refuses to stay in one genre, Grass Patch Bum weaves sonic journeys that blend groove, grit, and just a sprinkle of nostalgia for the good ol' days.

Catch him live for a taste of nostalgia, modern beats, Latin grooves, electronic melodies, and a wide range of liquid sounds. Whether it's a tropical beach in Thailand or an underground club in Berlin, Grass Patch Bum brings thems booty movements like no other.

New tracks tagged #psychedelic-techno