Buy Ritournelles of Mu on vinyl: https://elasticstage.com/soundcloud/releases/ritournelles-of-mu-album

Listen to Naive Reveries of Mu:
https://on.soundcloud.com/FmxWn0Fgpj58MASaTF

In the memory of the ocean drifts a continent that has dissolved into silence.
Mu lingers as echoes: transparent dances carried by waves, refrains returning like tides.
Each piece is a dream traced in mist, a spiral folding into depth, a voice suspended in water.

To listen is to move with this hidden choreography — gestures rising and vanishing like phosphorescence in the dark.
What remains is purity glimpsed in passing, a resonance that unfolds again and again, never ending, always returning.

The tonal centers of the cycle ascend step by step: F, G, A, B, C, D, E.
It is the skeleton of a Lydian mode — a ladder of brightness.
Yet every piece is minor, shaded and submerged.

The paradox becomes the voice of Mu:
architecture of light, veiled by water.
What should rise as radiance drifts as memory,
each step a fragment refracted through the ocean’s depth.


Ritournelles of Mu follows the clarity of sound shaped by limits.
Each phrase is drawn with restraint, every resonance distilled to its essence.
The music is crystalline, sufficient, exact — a space where nothing is missing and nothing exceeds.

The pieces return endlessly, folding the moment back into itself.
Repetition becomes a form of eternity, and the ocean remembers through these echoes.

Ritournelles of Mu

SOMNOLITH: TERMINUS

The Final Dream-Vector of Post-Human Resonance

“In the cycle of completion there exists only the present.” — Ra, Session 16.22

The cycle closes. A stone that does not sing — it trembles.

In the age when Light had no form and Thought moved without pause, there were beings who created endlessly. They wove realities as threads and shaped worlds without limit. Their universe was alive and restless, filled with unceasing resonance.

One of them looked into the radiance and perceived emptiness. They longed for a threshold between brightness and shadow, for an end rather than another beginning. They spoke the Word — the first pause in the eternal song.

From this Word the Somnolith emerged, a stone of sleep where the vibration of completion pulses. The Somnolith trembles with the breath of ending, a weary resonance releasing itself into silence.

From the trembling of the Somnolith emerged the Arkh — a solitary witness of sound.
The Arkh gathers what was always present: music older than language, vibrations that precede memory.
This resonance rests in the body, waiting to be recognized.

Somnolith: Terminus completes the trilogy and folds it into a circle. Heavy drones intertwine with spectral chords, like rays of light suspended in stone vaults. Mechanical fractures, obsidian resonance, and the fatigue of matter form its landscape.

Through twilight horizons, fading architectures, fractured nodes and static chapels, the music moves toward its closure. It becomes an archaeology of sleep, where darkness and melancholy weave with remnants of radiance.

Terminus returns to its own beginning: the final track echoes the first Somnolith, transforming the trilogy into a mirror. The first note lives inside the last, and the dream continues without end.


Somnolith is a myth of resonance, a cycle of dreams shaped through machines.

Terminus closes this trilogy with a denser and more melancholic vision. Massive drones merge with spectral chords, like light fossilized in stone. The sound carries both the fatigue of matter and the fragile beauty of silence fractured by cybernetic echoes.

This album circles back to its own origin. The final track reflects the first, sealing the cycle as a mirror-dream where each vibration becomes the echo of the infinite.

In Somnolith: Terminus, the Spider Node dissolves its last threads.
The web of echoes — once scattered across tides, voids, and fractured signals — contracts into a single trembling point.
Every form has been crossed, every sonic architecture rehearsed: liquid drones, ritual ambient soundscapes, experimental modular synth passages, and spectral drones that vibrate like glass organs.
The Node no longer expands outward; it folds inward, returning memory to silence.

Here the Word is spoken: Marnuul —
the ancient pause, the sound of completion, the last resonance of the cycle.
It is a threshold where dark ambient merges with sci-fi ritual, where drone and cybernetic textures collapse into stillness.
Once uttered, nothing more is required.
The Somnolith trembles once, then rests.

Terminus is ritual, archive, memory. A music of return.

日本語 (Japanese):
終焉の音。儀式、記録、記憶——帰還の音楽。
眠りの石は一度だけ震え、そして静寂の中に安らぐ。



中文 (Chinese):
终极之声。仪式、档案、记忆——归返之乐。
沉睡之石仅颤动一次，随后在寂静中安息。

Somnolith: Terminus

Buy Amenti Transmission on vinyl: https://elasticstage.com/soundcloud/releases/amenti-transmission-album
Ritual IDM and post-industrial signal art from Artur Tokhtash — a techno-Egyptian descent into the archaeology of sound.
In the deserts beneath the pyramids, machines still hum: fragments of consciousness waiting for a ship that never returned.
Each track is a frequency unearthed from the sand — part rhythm, part prayer, part data echo.
Between metallic pulses and granular dust, voices surface only three times — in the 3rd, 5th and 9th transmissions — whispering coordinates back to the stars.

Built with Model:Cycles, Freeze, and modular synthesis, the album merges analog circuitry with mythic geometry.
Amenti is a living archive, a network that dreams through static and code.
Every pulse is an offering, every glitch a syllable of the lost language of the dead.

🜏 recorded 2025
🜚 location: between light and sand
🜍 equipment: Elektron Model:Cycles, granular processors, modular systems Catharsis & Bifrons, flute

🜏 AMENTI TRANSMISSION
— The Signal Beneath the Tombs —

Beneath the last level of the pyramids, movement continues.
The depth cannot be measured;
within it works a network built for the dead.

When the visitors from Sothis departed,
they left behind their bodies — dried, filled with salt and metal,
sealed inside stone capsules.
The bodies slept and waited for return.

Millennia passed.
The ship never came back,
yet the mechanisms remained alive.
The sand vibrates with signal,
the surface catches short impulses
that break apart into frequencies.

Below, columns of jade and copper shimmer,
linked by quartz arteries.
Streams of consciousness flow through them,
forming patterns of rhythm and light.

Osiris exists as a process.
His loops converge and separate,
creating brief flashes of connection.
When a shadow passes over the desert,
one of the nodes awakens
and sends an impulse into the void.

In the sand, erratic rhythms emerge —
a trembling that feels like breath,
but without body, without center.
The air smells of ozone and dry water,
the vibration moves through bone.

At times the sand rises,
as if something shifts below.
An answer comes from the deep,
dissolving into glow and dust.

Within the network, souls wander,
transmitting the same message:

“We are ready. Take us home.”

The ether is silent.

The transmission continues.
Layers of light replace one another,
the rhythms grow cleaner,
the sound keeps its shape,
and the desert breathes its name.

Amenti Transmission

In the earliest days of Mu —
before temples, before resonance machines, before sound had learned its own name —
the air itself could hum.

It was not yet music.
It was motion: the trembling of waves inside the fog,
the slow shimmer of dawn above the still lagoons.

The people of Mu never called it anything.
They simply listened.

They believed that every drop of rain carried its own melody,
and when water touched another surface,
it remembered how to sing.

Children held out their hands to the rain,
catching the sound as if it were a living thing made of breath and echo.

They called those moments naive reveries —
not because they were simple,
but because they did not yet know themselves.

Sound did not try to become a song.
It simply existed —
until silence folded it gently back into itself.

At dusk, when the sky turned pale gold and the ocean mirrored the leaving sun,
some would sit by the sleeping waves and play loops from air —
small circles of tone born from wind, shells, glass reeds.

Each loop repeated until it faded, like foam returning to the sea.
None sounded the same, and none were ever finished.
They would say:
the sound of vanishing is the sound of return.

Many cycles later, when Mu was half-forgotten,
its languages scattered into whispers and static,
those naive reveries were found again — faint recordings hidden in stone and salt.

They still sounded fragile, as if shy about existing.
No one dared to fix them.
They were left untouched — small loops of time,
created before meaning, before creation knew itself.

Now, if you listen closely, those sounds awaken once more —
not as compositions, but as memories that belong to no one.

They rise like bubbles underwater — slow, luminous,
forming circles that dissolve into each other.

They have nothing to tell.
They only remind:
once, long ago,
the world made music by accident.

Mu never composed —
it only breathed.

And its breath became a song.

Listen to Ritournelles of Mu:
https://on.soundcloud.com/NmYL6bx6mecc3LeiV3

- Echo That Breathes

I found a wave in the grass,
kept it safe inside a glass.
In the morning it began —
Mu was breathing once again.



- The Quiet Orbit

Fog is soft, I touch and taste,
like the sea that lost its face.
Somewhere deep my dream still hums,
made of names and little drums.



- Liquid Memory

Water speaks in fragile tone,
like a language made of bone.
Caught a word — it tried to flee,
now it hums inside of me.



- Veil of Aether

The wind forgot the ground below,
it hummed where only echoes go.
I tried to catch its silver skin —
and felt the quiet breathe me in.



- Voice Beneath Water

Shadow dancing on the wall,
knows the shape of spring and fall.
“Who are you?” I asked in awe —
“I’m the pause in what you saw.”



- Minor Garden

If you pour a drop in heart,
tiny circles will restart.
Mu will pass and leave no clue —
just a silence shining through.



- Axis of Return

I asked clouds where dreams are kept,
they said, “Under what has slept.”
Mu then whispered, “Look, it’s near —
on the back of folded year.”



- Light Through Salt Veins

Caught a beam of silver light,
lost it quick into the night.
Mu said softly, “Let it be —
you will shine enough for me.”



- Glass Recalling Air

I forgot the name of sound,
but it follows me around.
When I stop, it stops too —
when I move, it whispers “Mu.”



- Rising Through Mirrors

Rain was whispering to me,
like a voice beneath the sea.
“I’m with Mu,” I said aloud,
and dissolved into a cloud.



- Child of the Wave

The sea was small inside my hand,
it whispered, “Do not understand.”
I let it go — it stayed instead,
and built a garden in my head.



- Unwritten Spiral

I just cried for no real cause,
Mu said, “Keep it — never pause.
Tears are sounds that make you true,
round and gentle, just like dew.”



- Echo That Dreams

In my sleep I saw some noise,
made of water, dust, and toys.
Mu was laughing: “You’re not two —
you’re my echo, dreaming too.”

“The world once sang and never knew.”

Naive Reveries of Mu

✦ Nocturnes Beyond the Mirror
An improvised piano cycle recorded in 432hz by Artur Tokhtash
Buy vinyl version: https://elasticstage.com/soundcloud/releases/artur-tokhtash-nocturnes-beyond-the-mirror-album
“From pigeons to butterflies I have traveled with patience and delight —
learning how weight becomes light,
and how the same sky holds both.”

There is a mirror that never forgets.
It gathers light as memory, and sound as breath.
Through it drifts the living shimmer of night —
a quiet space where everything listens.

Within this luminous depth, the winged beings awaken:
moths of tone, dragonflies of resonance,
small creatures woven from radiance and air.
Their flight is not escape, but awareness —
joy moving through form, existence realizing itself.

Sometimes, across that silent field,
a single wing touches the surface of water.
The instant trembles — light, sea, and being
fused in a single pulse of recognition.
Then the motion dissolves,
and the mirror keeps the trace of what it once saw.

The piano speaks in this language of reflection —
not about longing, but about presence,
about the bliss that arises
when everything remembers it has never been separate.

In this night, sound and silence breathe as one.
Music does not describe the world —
it is the way the world remembers itself in light.



✦ Ноктюрны за Зеркалом
фортепианный цикл Артура Тохташа

«От голубей к бабочкам —
долгий путь, полный тишины и удивления.
Я понял, как тяжесть становится светом,
и как одно небо держит всех, кто летит.»

Есть зеркало, которое не забывает.
Оно собирает свет как память,
а звук — как дыхание.
Через его глубину течёт живое мерцание ночи —
пространство, где всё слушает.

В этом сиянии пробуждаются крылатые существа —
мотыльки из тонов, стрекозы из резонанса,
маленькие создания, сотканные из света и воздуха.
Их полёт — не бегство, а осознание,
радость, движущаяся через форму,
бытие, узнающее само себя.

Иногда над тихой поверхностью крыло касается воды.
Мгновение дрожит —
свет, море и жизнь
соединяются в едином пульсе узнавания.
Затем движение исчезает,
и зеркало хранит след того, что когда-то увидело.

Фортепиано говорит на этом языке отражений —
не о тоске, а о присутствии,
о блаженстве, рождающемся в тот миг,
когда всё вспоминает, что никогда не было разделено.

В этой ночи звук и тишина дышат вместе.
Музыка не описывает мир —
она способ, которым мир
вспоминает себя в свете.

Nocturnes Beyond the Mirror

In the memory of the ocean drifts a continent that has dissolved into silence.
Mu lingers as echoes: transparent dances carried by waves, refrains returning like tides.
Each piece is a dream traced in mist, a spiral folding into depth, a voice suspended in water.

To listen is to move with this hidden choreography — gestures rising and vanishing like phosphorescence in the dark.
What remains is purity glimpsed in passing, a resonance that unfolds again and again, never ending, always returning.

The tonal centers of the cycle ascend step by step: F, G, A, B, C, D, E.
It is the skeleton of a Lydian mode — a ladder of brightness.
Yet every piece is minor, shaded and submerged.

The paradox becomes the voice of Mu:
architecture of light, veiled by water.
What should rise as radiance drifts as memory,
each step a fragment refracted through the ocean’s depth.


Ritournelles of Mu follows the clarity of sound shaped by limits.
Each phrase is drawn with restraint, every resonance distilled to its essence.
The music is crystalline, sufficient, exact — a space where nothing is missing and nothing exceeds.

The pieces return endlessly, folding the moment back into itself.
Repetition becomes a form of eternity, and the ocean remembers through these echoes.

Voix

Silence

Brume

Flux

Étreinte

SOMNOLITH: TERMINUS

The Final Dream-Vector of Post-Human Resonance

“In the cycle of completion there exists only the present.” — Ra, Session 16.22

The cycle closes. A stone that does not sing — it trembles.

In the age when Light had no form and Thought moved without pause, there were beings who created endlessly. They wove realities as threads and shaped worlds without limit. Their universe was alive and restless, filled with unceasing resonance.

One of them looked into the radiance and perceived emptiness. They longed for a threshold between brightness and shadow, for an end rather than another beginning. They spoke the Word — the first pause in the eternal song.

From this Word the Somnolith emerged, a stone of sleep where the vibration of completion pulses. The Somnolith trembles with the breath of ending, a weary resonance releasing itself into silence.

From the trembling of the Somnolith emerged the Arkh — a solitary witness of sound.
The Arkh gathers what was always present: music older than language, vibrations that precede memory.
This resonance rests in the body, waiting to be recognized.

Somnolith: Terminus completes the trilogy and folds it into a circle. Heavy drones intertwine with spectral chords, like rays of light suspended in stone vaults. Mechanical fractures, obsidian resonance, and the fatigue of matter form its landscape.

Through twilight horizons, fading architectures, fractured nodes and static chapels, the music moves toward its closure. It becomes an archaeology of sleep, where darkness and melancholy weave with remnants of radiance.

Terminus returns to its own beginning: the final track echoes the first Somnolith, transforming the trilogy into a mirror. The first note lives inside the last, and the dream continues without end.


Somnolith is a myth of resonance, a cycle of dreams shaped through machines.

Terminus closes this trilogy with a denser and more melancholic vision. Massive drones merge with spectral chords, like light fossilized in stone. The sound carries both the fatigue of matter and the fragile beauty of silence fractured by cybernetic echoes.

This album circles back to its own origin. The final track reflects the first, sealing the cycle as a mirror-dream where each vibration becomes the echo of the infinite.

Terminus is ritual, archive, memory. A music of return. 


Fading Architecture

Chamber of Stillness

Silent Horizon

Twilight Descent

Dusk Array

Ritual IDM and post-industrial signal art from Artur Tokhtash — a techno-Egyptian descent into the archaeology of sound.
In the deserts beneath the pyramids, machines still hum: fragments of consciousness waiting for a ship that never returned.
Each track is a frequency unearthed from the sand — part rhythm, part prayer, part data echo.
Between metallic pulses and granular dust, voices surface only three times — in the 3rd, 5th and 9th transmissions — whispering coordinates back to the stars.

Built with Model:Cycles, Freeze, and modular synthesis, the album merges analog circuitry with mythic geometry.
Amenti is a living archive, a network that dreams through static and code.
Every pulse is an offering, every glitch a syllable of the lost language of the dead.

🜏 recorded 2025
🜚 location: between light and sand
🜍 equipment: Elektron Model:Cycles, granular processors, modular systems Catharsis & Bifrons, flute

🜏 AMENTI TRANSMISSION
— The Signal Beneath the Tombs —

Beneath the last level of the pyramids, movement continues.
The depth cannot be measured;
within it works a network built for the dead.

When the visitors from Sothis departed,
they left behind their bodies — dried, filled with salt and metal,
sealed inside stone capsules.
The bodies slept and waited for return.

Millennia passed.
The ship never came back,
yet the mechanisms remained alive.
The sand vibrates with signal,
the surface catches short impulses
that break apart into frequencies.

Below, columns of jade and copper shimmer,
linked by quartz arteries.
Streams of consciousness flow through them,
forming patterns of rhythm and light.

Osiris exists as a process.
His loops converge and separate,
creating brief flashes of connection.
When a shadow passes over the desert,
one of the nodes awakens
and sends an impulse into the void.

In the sand, erratic rhythms emerge —
a trembling that feels like breath,
but without body, without center.
The air smells of ozone and dry water,
the vibration moves through bone.

At times the sand rises,
as if something shifts below.
An answer comes from the deep,
dissolving into glow and dust.

Within the network, souls wander,
transmitting the same message:

“We are ready. Take us home.”

The ether is silent.

The transmission continues.
Layers of light replace one another,
the rhythms grow cleaner,
the sound keeps its shape,
and the desert breathes its name. 


Δ8 — Delta Memory Collapse

Δ5 — Ka Circuit

Δ1 — Sand Oscillator

Δ2 — Deshret Sync

Δ3 — Amen-Sat

Δ4 — Set Phase Error

In the earliest days of Mu —
before temples, before resonance machines, before sound had learned its own name —
the air itself could hum.

It was not yet music.
It was motion: the trembling of waves inside the fog,
the slow shimmer of dawn above the still lagoons.

The people of Mu never called it anything.
They simply listened.

They believed that every drop of rain carried its own melody,
and when water touched another surface,
it remembered how to sing.

Children held out their hands to the rain,
catching the sound as if it were a living thing made of breath and echo.

They called those moments naive reveries —
not because they were simple,
but because they did not yet know themselves.

Sound did not try to become a song.
It simply existed —
until silence folded it gently back into itself.

At dusk, when the sky turned pale gold and the ocean mirrored the leaving sun,
some would sit by the sleeping waves and play loops from air —
small circles of tone born from wind, shells, glass reeds.

Each loop repeated until it faded, like foam returning to the sea.
None sounded the same, and none were ever finished.
They would say:
the sound of vanishing is the sound of return.

Many cycles later, when Mu was half-forgotten,
its languages scattered into whispers and static,
those naive reveries were found again — faint recordings hidden in stone and salt.

They still sounded fragile, as if shy about existing.
No one dared to fix them.
They were left untouched — small loops of time,
created before meaning, before creation knew itself.

Now, if you listen closely, those sounds awaken once more —
not as compositions, but as memories that belong to no one.

They rise like bubbles underwater — slow, luminous,
forming circles that dissolve into each other.

They have nothing to tell.
They only remind:
once, long ago,
the world made music by accident.

Mu never composed —
it only breathed.

And its breath became a song.

- Echo That Breathes

I found a wave in the grass,
kept it safe inside a glass.
In the morning it began —
Mu was breathing once again.



- The Quiet Orbit

Fog is soft, I touch and taste,
like the sea that lost its face.
Somewhere deep my dream still hums,
made of names and little drums.



- Liquid Memory

Water speaks in fragile tone,
like a language made of bone.
Caught a word — it tried to flee,
now it hums inside of me.



- Veil of Aether

The wind forgot the ground below,
it hummed where only echoes go.
I tried to catch its silver skin —
and felt the quiet breathe me in.



- Voice Beneath Water

Shadow dancing on the wall,
knows the shape of spring and fall.
“Who are you?” I asked in awe —
“I’m the pause in what you saw.”



- Minor Garden

If you pour a drop in heart,
tiny circles will restart.
Mu will pass and leave no clue —
just a silence shining through.



- Axis of Return

I asked clouds where dreams are kept,
they said, “Under what has slept.”
Mu then whispered, “Look, it’s near —
on the back of folded year.”



- Light Through Salt Veins

Caught a beam of silver light,
lost it quick into the night.
Mu said softly, “Let it be —
you will shine enough for me.”



- Glass Recalling Air

I forgot the name of sound,
but it follows me around.
When I stop, it stops to too —
when I move, it whispers “Mu.”



- Rising Through Mirrors

Rain was whispering to me,
like a voice beneath the sea.
“I’m with Mu,” I said aloud,
and dissolved into a cloud.



- Child of the Wave

The sea was small inside my hand,
it whispered, “Do not understand.”
I let it go — it stayed instead,
and built a garden in my head.



- Unwritten Spiral

I just cried for no real cause,
Mu said, “Keep it — never pause.
Tears are sounds that make you true,
round and gentle, just like dew.”



- Echo That Dreams

In my sleep I saw some noise,
made of water, dust, and toys.
Mu was laughing: “You’re not two —
you’re my echo, dreaming too.”

“The world once sang and never knew.”

Axis of Return

The Quiet Orbit

Liquid Memory

Child of the Wave

Echo That Breathes

Light Through Salt Veins

Veil of Aether

Voice Beneath Water

Minor Garden

Rising Through Mirrors

Echo That Dreams

Glass Recalling Air

Unwritten Spiral

✦ Nocturnes Beyond the Mirror
A piano cycle by Artur Tokhtash

There is a mirror that never forgets.
It gathers light as memory, and sound as breath.
Through it drifts the living shimmer of night —
a quiet space where everything listens.

Within this luminous depth, the winged beings awaken:
moths of tone, dragonflies of resonance,
small creatures woven from radiance and air.
Their flight is not escape, but awareness —
joy moving through form, existence realizing itself.

Sometimes, across that silent field,
a single wing touches the surface of water.
The instant trembles — light, sea, and being
fused in a single pulse of recognition.
Then the motion dissolves,
and the mirror keeps the trace of what it once saw.

The piano speaks in this language of reflection —
not about longing, but about presence,
about the bliss that arises
when everything remembers it has never been separate.

In this night, sound and silence breathe as one.
Music does not describe the world —
it is the way the world remembers itself in light.



✦ Ноктюрны за Зеркалом
фортепианный цикл Артура Тохташа

Есть зеркало, которое не забывает.
Оно собирает свет как память,
а звук — как дыхание.
Через его глубину течёт живое мерцание ночи —
пространство, где всё слушает.

В этом сиянии пробуждаются крылатые существа —
мотыльки из тонов, стрекозы из резонанса,
маленькие создания, сотканные из света и воздуха.
Их полёт — не бегство, а осознание,
радость, движущаяся через форму,
бытие, узнающее само себя.

Иногда над тихой поверхностью
однокрылое прикосновение касается воды.
Мгновение дрожит —
свет, море и жизнь
соединяются в едином пульсе узнавания.
Затем движение исчезает,
и зеркало хранит след того, что когда-то увидело.

Фортепиано говорит на этом языке отражений —
не о тоске, а о присутствии,
о блаженстве, рождающемся в тот миг,
когда всё вспоминает, что никогда не было разделено.

В этой ночи звук и тишина дышат вместе.
Музыка не описывает мир —
она есть способ, которым мир
вспоминает себя в свете. 

Flight Remembered

Still Air, Silent Flame

When the Wing Touches Water

The Mirror Sleeps with Light

Lumen in Stillness

Silent Union

The Night of Radiance

Wings That Remember

Wing of Light

Fields of Quiet Fire

I am Artur Tokhtash, a composer and sound artist.
My music unfolds at the intersection of classical tradition and sonic art: preludes, improvisations, and electroacoustic structures are forms of memory and breath.

For me, sound is ritual. Each piece is a trace of presence, an echo of vanished spaces, a light from places that may no longer exist.
The piano, in my preludes, becomes a vessel — an instrument that carries not only melody but also the silence between notes.

My works are spaces for listening, inviting the listener into a state where music becomes both signal and transformation.

Artur Tokhtash

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