Treasure 2

Wanna Be Here

Bad Decisions

vici (prod. imsomiserable)

Full video || Mercy as a New Pattern || https://youtu.be/21xSI9LBDBo

This is what 134 BPM feels like inside a mushroom galaxy (4K Visualizer)
Enter the Liminal Stitch: psychedelic techno journey with fractal realms (4K)
Mercy rewrites the universe — hypnotic techno + trippy fantasy visuals (4K)

Stream / download / buy ➜
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https://music.apple.com/us/artist/grass-patch-bum/1596136340
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https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆


The Story  ᓚᘏᗢ  ➜
There are places in the cosmos where distance is a childish idea—where worlds do not separate by miles or years, but by rules. In those places, reality is not built from stone and starfire. It is woven.

And every woven thing has a seam.

They called the seam the Liminal Stitch, though no mouth had ever spoken that name aloud without tasting salt and lightning. Some claimed it was the hem of the First Sky, where the ancient weavers knotted existence to keep it from unraveling into the unlit. Others swore it was a scar left by a god-beast that tried to chew through eternity and failed.

In truth, it was neither legend nor lie. It was simply a boundary with manners: it permitted entry, but demanded a price.

On the night the Stitch opened, it did not tear like cloth. It bloomed—a slow unfurling of geometry, a flower made of angles too precise to be natural. The air around it became glassy. Starlight bent as if it had forgotten how to travel straight.

And from that bloom stepped a being who wore no name the way a warrior wears armor.

They were humanoid in outline, but no mortal blood ran in them. Their skin held the muted sheen of river-pearl under moonshadow, marked with delicate fissures that glowed faintly from within, as if their body were a lantern wrapped in living alabaster. Their eyes were not eyes so much as depths: dark irises stippled with drifting flecks of pale fire, like mycelium spores caught in a cosmic draft. When they blinked, the flecks swirled, rearranging into unfamiliar constellations.

A hood of thin, iridescent fabric fell around their shoulders, woven from the shed skins of auroras. It shifted colors not by light, but by intention—greens when they listened, bruised violets when they remembered, and a soft, solemn gold whenever they chose restraint over force.

They carried a thing that did not belong to any simple craft: a star-compass, broken and re-made so many times it had become a relic of stubbornness. Its casing was carved from dead moonbone—pale, porous, and cold to the gaze—etched with spiraling sigils that changed when stared at directly. The needle inside did not point north. It pointed toward repeating truths—patterns reality could not help but return to, the way a mind returns to a wound it pretends is healed.

Those who knew of such wanderers had a term for them, spoken in secret between planets: Mercywright.

But this one was not yet a writer of mercy.

Not yet.

They moved forward without hesitation, though the Liminal Stitch had a presence like a held breath. Behind them, the bloom of geometry began to close, folding in on itself as if embarrassed to have been seen. The air resumed its ordinary arrogance, pretending it had always been stable.

Continues on the website.


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Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
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https://open.spotify.com/artist/3q0KcTUD3hmRdi1SUWd6VL
https://grasspatchbum.bandcamp.com/
https://grasspatchbum.com/
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Support the tunes:
https://paypal.me/grasspatchbum


#techno #trippyvisuals #technomusic #visualizer #undergroundtechno #musicvisualizer #4kvideo #4kvisuals #psychedelicvisuals #peaktimetechno #hypnotictechno #drivingtechno #melodictechno #aimusicvideo

Mercy as a New Pattern ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ Trrrrrippy vid on youtube

LuckyStar7 - Remember Me When Im Gone

summer remembers winter

silent vessel

slow road home

Playboi Carti

Magnolia

See also: SoundCloud.com/SkankCunt (skunt) (alpha-beta-band)

Web: https://www.tomconnellymusic.com/
TikTok: connelly.thomas, obuddhist.

Songs discovered, not written.
Dirges, driftwood, storms, echoes.
Fingerpicked maps of the inside world.

summer remembers winter

Thomas Connelly, Folksinger