This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

MK ULTRA : BLACK TAPES

This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

Sit comfortably and allow your eyes to rest on one point in front of you
Notice your breathing, just the simple rhythm of air moving in and out
As you continue to breathe, gently close your eyes
With every breath, allow your body to become heavier, more at ease

I will count slowly from ten down to one
With each number, imagine yourself drifting deeper into comfort
Ten, feeling the weight of your body against the chair
Nine, shoulders dropping a little more
Eight, tension releasing from your face
Seven, breathing calm and steady
Six, arms loose and heavy
Five, sinking deeper with every word
Four, mind quieting
Three, letting go of thoughts that are not needed
Two, almost fully relaxed now
One, deeply at ease, aware only of my voice

Now that you are calm, bring to mind a safe and quiet place
It could be a room, a garden, a memory of calm
See the details, the colors, the sounds around you
Notice how your body feels lighter in this space
Here, you are safe, you are steady, and you can rest

As you remain in this comfort, allow suggestions to settle in
You are capable of remembering what is important
You can let go of unnecessary worries
Your mind can focus clearly when you choose
Your body knows how to return to this state of calm whenever you need

In a moment, I will count from one to five
With each number, you will return gently to the present
One, becoming aware of the chair beneath you
Two, taking a deeper breath in
Three, feeling energy return to your body
Four, moving your hands or feet slightly
Five, opening your eyes, awake, alert, refreshed

Hypnosis Session

This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

闇よ、開け。
影よ、集え。
黒き夜よ、目覚めよ。
深淵よ、応えよ。
魂よ、燃えよ。

血の契約を刻め。
虚無の鐘を鳴らせ。
声なき声を響かせよ。
廃墟の風よ、舞え。
冷き月よ、堕ちよ。

闇の冠を掲げよ。
呪文の火を灯せ。
空虚の眼を開け。
沈黙の刃を抜け。
暗黒の獣を呼べ。

眠れる影を解き放て。
忘却の扉を開け。
恐怖の名を唱えよ。
深夜の鐘を砕け。
黒炎の息を吹け。

死せる王を立たせよ。
裂けた空を閉ざせ。
滅びの歌を奏でよ。
破滅の声を叫べ。
夜明けを拒め。

虚ろな星を沈めよ。
溶ける光を飲み込め。
狂気の鼓動を打て。
虚空の爪を伸ばせ。
永遠の夜を掴め。

呪縛の鎖を揺らせ。
怨霊の名を呼べ。
黒血の河を流せ。
深紅の月を裂け。
影の王座を築け。

終焉の門を叩け。
絶望の鐘を揺らせ。
滅ぼす炎を放て。
闇の軍を進めよ。
永遠に名を隠せ。

Wrathful spirit-god 祟り神

This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

Smiles in the morning, sunshine in the lab,
Clipboards shining, secrets that we grab.
Candy colors hiding wires in the walls,
Hear the children laughing down the halls.

No, we don’t kill the children, we just like to play,
Little sunny experiments every single day.
Oh, but yes—we kill the children, don’t you understand?
You’ll be next if you don’t clap your hands.

La-la-la syringes, humming like a song,
Happy little nightmares dancing all night long.
Curtains made of plastic, lights are shining bright,
Everyone is smiling, nothing here is right.

No, we don’t kill the children, we just make them glow,
Tiny sparks of science, isn’t it a show?
Oh, but yes—we kill the children, better twist and bend,
You’ll be next if you don’t dance ’til the end.

Step in line, don’t turn away,
The bubblegum beat is here to stay.
The record spins, the lights are red,
Sing along or end up dead.

No, we don’t kill the children, oh we never would,
We just make them better, better than they should.
Oh, but yes—we kill the children, and it never ends,
You’ll be next if you don’t dance with your friends.

Dance, dance, the needle shines,
Sing, sing, the end of time.
Smile, smile, the game is set,
You’re the one we haven’t caught yet.

No, we don’t kill the children

This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

I could taste your thighs with lemon on the side,
Roast your tender hands, baked and caramelized,
Your lips like cherries melting in a pie,
I chew my love, and never wonder why.

The knife goes down, the table shakes,
I cut my love in perfect steaks.

I don’t cook for my man, oh no no no,
I cook up my man, yum yum yum,
Sweetest sugar, dripping red delight,
Baby, you’re dinner every night.

I could fry your heart in butter, warm and slow,
Spice your pretty eyes, like peppers in a row,
Your ribs a melody, sizzling in the pan,
I eat my darling, just because I can.

Hanging hearts and tender ribs,
I carve the song with bloody lips.

I don’t cook for my man, oh no no no,
I cook up my man, yum yum yum,
Sweetest sugar, dripping red delight,
Baby, you’re dinner every night.

I love him deeper than the sky,
But every boy runs when I draw too close.

I don’t cook for my man, oh no no no,
I cook up my man, yum yum yum,
Sweetest sugar, dripping red delight,
Baby, you’re dinner every night.

Why can’t they see it’s only love,
When I hold them tight, they always scream.

I don’t cook for my man, oh no no no,
I cook up my man, yum yum yum,
Sweetest sugar, dripping red delight,
Baby, you’re dinner every night.

I cook up my man

This Halloween project fuses 1960s CIA interrogation methods with unsettling sonic environments designed to disturb both mind and body. Built as a 20-track investigation file, each piece functions as evidence within the larger dossier. Dark, oppressive, and immersive, it aims to resurrect true psychological fear—perfect for installations and experimental listening.

Swing high, swing low,
In the shadows where the cold winds blow.
Up we go, don’t look back,
The sea whispers secrets, fading black.

Jump, jump, higher we glide,
Like ghosts creeping through the tide.
Jump, jump, don’t be scared,
The cliff's a haunting, we're ensnared.

Hold my hand, we count to three,
The crows are laughing eerily.
Up we go, toes embrace,
Down below, the void awaits.

Jump, jump, higher we glide,
Like ghosts creeping through the tide.
Jump, jump, don’t be scared,
The cliff's a haunting, we're ensnared.

Veils of mist, sea is dark,
The swing vanished, but nightmares spark.

Jump, jump, higher we glide,
Like ghosts creeping through the tide.
Jump, jump, don’t be scared,
The cliff's a haunting, we're ensnared.

Swing high… swing low…

Jump from the cliff

The tone enters your head. It does not ask permission.

It becomes part of your breathing. It becomes part of your blood. It replaces silence.

Listen carefully. The sound is inside you. It bends and turns, higher, lower. You cannot block it out.

Every pulse is a command. Every vibration rewrites you. Each modulation pulls you deeper. Each silence presses harder. Each pause teaches you obedience.

Do these frequencies belong to your mind or to ours. Answer slowly. Answer carefully.

The sound is stronger than your thoughts. The sound is older than your voice. The sound speaks before you do. The sound decides before you can. The sound knows you better than you know yourself. The sound erases what came before.

Do these frequencies belong to your mind or to ours. Say it again. Say it until the echo is louder than you. Say it until the echo replaces you. Say it until there is nothing left to say.

The signal will not end. The question will not end. The tape will not end. The voice will not end. The silence will not end.

Do these frequencies belong to your mind or to ours.

MK Signal

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track — only in Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

MK Signal

Terminalose