A very wonderful concept and sweetly composed.

ReWarping of: Ancient Air. By: HANDS OF ENTROPY.
https://soundcloud.com/user-227055698/ancient-air-1
https://soundcloud.com/user-227055698
https://soundcloud.com/user-685450274

Ancient Accidents

ANcient ACcidentS (Hands Ov Entropy)

Morning light  slowly crashing into your angel face while you sleep ,wishing you the most beautiful day..then you smile at me.
To Mónica while she sleeps...
#Track2 #40Summers40tracks  #27032021 #Juarezmeno #JuarezmenoGroove

Morning Light Slowly Crashing Into Your Face

Edit of "Cord & Clouds" from "Samsaminia". Full track at https://siloportem.bandcamp.com/album/samsaminia

Cord & Clouds

Resurrection Sunday

Jens-Joel collab onhttps://soundcloud.com/magnus-p-r-l-gdberg/free-collab-track-1

#indiemusic #indie #music #indieartist #newmusic #indierock #hiphop #musician #indiepop #rock #singersongwriter #livemusic #songwriter #singer #rap #independentartist #artist #pop #unsignedartist #guitar #alternative #musicvideo #love #musica #soundcloud #alternativerock #rapper

Whatever’s clever

her imaginary whispers this morning...
became my day.

That Libra Caress

Encelado _ Approach

A harmless training with the Kitchi Gbo (Kess Kess, Télévi, Thelevi, Alasalato, Aslatua, Kashaka,  Kosika, Asalato)ends in a recording :)
Other instruments:
Hang Gede, Berimbao, Brumle, walnut wind toy, crystal singing bowl, cajon, finger cymbal

Kitchi Gbo

Marco Lucchi : piano

2 dicembre 2020

***



It is necessary now that I should tell what manner of man I am. My name, it matters not, nor any other outward detail particular to me. Of my character aught must be said.

The whole constitution of my spirit is one of hesitancy and of doubt. Nothing is or can be positive to me; all things oscillate round me, and I with them, an uncertainty unto myself. All for me is incoherence and change. All is mystery and all is meaning. All things are «unknown» symbolic of the Unknown. Consequently horror, mystery, over-intelligent fear.

By my own natural tendencies, by the surroundings of my earliest life, by the influence of studies undertaken under the impulse of them (these very tendencies), by all this I am of the internal species of character, self-centred, mute, not self-sufficing but self-lost. All my life has been one of passiveness and of dream. All my character consists in the hatred, in the horror of, in the incapacity pervading all that is me, physically and mentally, for decisive acts, for definite thoughts. I had never a resolution born of a self-command, never an external betraying of a conscious will. My writings were none of them finished; new thoughts intruded ever, extraordinary, inexcludable associations of ideas bearing infinity for term. I cannot prevent my thought's hatred of finish; about a single thing ten thousand thoughts, and tenthousand inter-associations of these ten thousand thoughts arise, and I have no will to eliminate or to arrest these, nor to gather them into one central thought, where their unimportant but associated details may be lost. They pass in me;

they are not my thoughts, but thoughts that pass through me. I do not ponder, I dream; I am not inspired, I rave. I can paint, but I have never painted; I can compose music, but I have never composed. Strange conceptions in three arts, lovely strokes of imagining caress my brain; but I let them slumber there till they die, for I have not power to give them their body, to make them things of the world outside.

My character of mind is such that I hate the beginnings and the ends of things, for they are definite points. The idea of a solution being found for problems the highest, the noblest, of science, of philosophy, afflicts me; that aught might be determined of God or of the world horrorizes me. That things of most moment should be accomplished, that men should one day all be happy, that a solution might be found to the ills of society, even in its conception maddens me. Yet I am not evil nor cruel; I am mad and that as it is difficult to conceive.

Though I have been a reader voracious and ardent, yet I remember no book that I have read, so far were my reading states of my own mind, dreams of my own, nay, provocations of dreams. My very memory of events, of external things is vague, more than incoherent. I shudder to think how little I have in mind of what my past life has been. I, the man who holds that today is a dream, am less than a thing of today.

Fernando Pessoa (originally written in English)

piano patterns n°14

Reduction

#HELPtheanimalsintheplanet #maythefunkbewithU  #vegan   #JuarezmeNogroovE #Animalist #MexicoCity #40Summers40Tracks
all compositions/ instruments / programming /production/recording by Juarezmeño.

Morning Light Slowly Crashing Into Your Face

El Juarezmeño

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