phosphorescence

Classical-electronic noise piece by Steve Carlton Smith, c) 2024.

Exodii

@naviar-records
My response to the Naviar Haiku 582 challenge.

here and there
upon scorched fields
wild violets

For more on this prompt, see https://www.naviarrecords.com/naviarhaiku582-here-and-there/

violets in D♭ (naviarhaiku582)

soundcloud.com/velvetsomethingsuperdark/sets/cold-city-soundtrack
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Snow*Omen/Velvet Something Superdark collaboration.
Samples from: Snow*Omen: @snow_omen, recording of an improvised live performance, electric guitars: VSS & Y.A. Sampling, field recording (subway trains passing through tunnel), voice, mixing and production: VSS. All sounds Snow*Omen and VSS. Image: Möckernbrücke Subway Station, Berlin, at night (videostill: VSS).

Cold City: Tunnels

Video :  https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Hwc-3g6brn0

Bloom (Video on description) "Glide" album

Mutant Rock

This piece unfolds like a breath made visible — structured, intentional, yet deeply human in its fragility. In the opening, we see repetition rooted in the lower registers, almost mechanical yet comforting, like the steady rhythm of a clock marking each second with devotion. These patterns seem to echo the mundane rituals of life, the unnoticed beauty in routine, the sacred silence of presence.
As we move forward, a gentle escalation begins. Notes rise, one after another, reaching toward something unseen. There's a yearning here — a soft insistence — as if time itself were stretching, holding its breath. Then suddenly, the lines splinter upward: sharp bursts of high notes like thoughts breaking through stillness, or memories surfacing with urgency.
Midway through, this breath becomes restless. The motif repeats with variations, suggesting reflection, perhaps even inner conflict. The density increases, not chaotically, but like a mind trying to grasp something just beyond reach — a moment, a feeling, a forgotten truth.
Then comes the climb again. But it’s not the same as before. This time, it carries wisdom, as if the breath has learned from its own rhythm. The final ascent is quieter, more deliberate, like a farewell exhale — tender, aware of its own impermanence. And finally, the descent: a peaceful surrender, a return to stillness, where time no longer counts — it just is.
Written and composed by Jessica Bains Brown & Francesco Adornetto

A Breath In Time

a little more harmonica breathing before the air was gone & i had to return home

violets in D♭ (naviarhaiku582)

Terry Mullett