#exploring sound

[gagliandi]

Music and Lyrics

Music and Lyrics: How They Grow Together(Inspired by Jack Perricone’s Great Songwriting Techniques)For some artists, music comes before words. A simple chord progression can create a certain mood, emotion, or rhythm that leads to a melody, and eventually, to coherent lyrics.Starting with the MelodyMany songwriters find themselves humming a short musical phrase (often with made-up syllables) long…

[illneverbeapassenger]

Pressure ridges, McMurdo Sound, Antarctica.

October 2024.

[gina025]

Life’s charm

[aimer-arts]

you're my world!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

personal happiness or what the fuck ever

bonus:

[niinnyu]

i love all of your tma art so much i could actually die and become an avatar of the holy shit cool art (secret #15) pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease could i request some doorkeay please (or just gerry or just michael ppplease please please thank you so much please)

The 'trusted Gertrude and getting backstabbed' gang!

I liked how I did Micheal's hair i couldn't see it while I was going it lmao so i was surprised how nice it looks

Don't look at how annoying the rest of my shading is shh.

[uwhe-arts]

. . . | uwhe-arts

[literallyjusttoa]

Ok, I actually really liked that short haired post-toa Apollo design, so here's some more of that plus Hephaestus because we all love Hephaestus.

[uncanny-tranny]

Basically, my philosophy around disability fakers is: I would rather a thousand people fake a disability than have one disabled person suffer without care, aids, compassion, or any help.

[nutmegtales]

Fucking Clowns - part 6 coming to

Danny felt himself slowly waking, the smell of fresh coffee and something chocolatey baking near by hung in the air. He rolled the flavours round his mind for a while letting opinions about each one float to the surface of his mind. He liked coffee. He liked chocolate. These were good smells. Comforting smells. Not the smells of an unsafe lab or a sterile cell. As he thought, he recalled more smells he'd sensed most recently. Of warm linens fresh from a dryer, of old books, and garlic and onion and butter cooking on the stove, of baking, and fresh flowers, of grease and machine oil and leather.

It was nice. Danny took a deep lungful of air, savouring the comforting smells.

The next sense to come back to him was hearing and he listened to the rumbling rhythmic noise that was happening close by as it slowly coalesced into words. Someone was reading aloud, taking their time, their words slow and soothing. He couldn't figure out yet what the words meant, but they sounded comforting.

Danny realised he felt safe, and it was such an unfamiliar feeling he wasn't sure what to do with it. No ghosts screaming at him to kill kill kill, no shouts and jeers from others interned going through their own personal strangeness, no whirring of power tools in a lab filled with weapons designed especially to kill him, no parents plotting gleefully of how to hunt him down.

He felt safe, and he let himself enjoy that feeling for a long time before braving anything more.

Eventually Danny opened his eyes to see soft rays of sunlight streaming through a big glass window. Through it was hues of green and blue, too blurry for him to make out. A blink and the skies were painted in orange, great clouds lit up with the colour of the setting sun. There were different smells and sounds now, but he didn't want to think about them, he just wanted to think of the sky.

Another blink and Danny could see the stars brilliant and bright the way they were back home before he'd had to hide in the city. He loved those stars, he loved those skies. They made him want to reach out and touch the clouds, to leap up and soar through the window and feel the breeze in his hair. They made him want to live.

The smell of coffee was strong again and Danny breathed it in deep, tasting the scent of it on the air. He let his focus shift from the beautiful stars to search his surroundings for the familiar smell. On a table next to the bed he lay in was a still steaming mug, and beyond that in a chair across from him sat someone sipping at a mug of their own. Another glance showed another figure lounging on a couch near by and the sounds drifting through from another room made Danny think there might be someone else too.

He felt... How did he feel? Two, maybe three strangers were with him. Did he feel scared? He tried to muster up the energy to feel fear but couldn't manage it. No, he didn't feel afraid, he felt nothing. Mostly nothing. Maybe something.... Maybe curious "midnight... Coffee?" His voice was feeble and scratchy to his own ears and he wasn't sure if he'd been clear enough to be heard. His eyes drooped closed from the effort of grinding out those few simple words and he felt a wash of exhaustion come over him. He couldn't make out the response as sleep reclaimed him, but he thought it sounded playful like hearing your friends banter in a nearby room. He felt safe, and curious, and exhausted.

The welcome smell of coffee and the sight of the stars became a familiar routine. He'd stay awake just long enough to take in the beauty of the sky, to savour the smell of a fresh coffee (how was it always fresh?), and to see the three people that kept him company.

There was one that sat in the arm chair, always with a mug of his own coffee, and a laptop or file on his lap. Maybe he was why there was always a fresh mug when Danny came too.

There was one that would lounge on the couch and just talk, or who would drape themselves over the other two.

And there was one who sometimes just leant against the wall, sometimes he'd sit on the couch and read aloud, sometimes he'd be sat on the floor at the foot of Danny's bed saying things that sounded sweet and comforting. Danny remembers the times where that deep steady voice tells him he's safe now most of all.

Today he feels awake enough to hear the words of the others, and to try and talk again himself. "Hey" he hesitates, unsure of what else there is to say, the words refusing to rise to his mind.

"Hey Danny" comes the reply. It's the deep voice of the one that reads, the one that tells him he's safe. "It's good to hear from you".

Oh? It is? That's good. Danny is glad they want to hear from him, glad that he's not just a burden or a bother. "Good to be heard" he tries to put some good humour into the words, he's not sure he manages it.

"yeah, I'll bet" he hears the other say "we're listening Danny, we're listening now".

Oh, Danny thinks as he drifts back off to sleep again, that sounds nice.

--

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[gagliandi]

Music and Lyrics

Music and Lyrics: How They Grow Together(Inspired by Jack Perricone’s Great Songwriting Techniques)For some artists, music comes before words. A simple chord progression can create a certain mood, emotion, or rhythm that leads to a melody, and eventually, to coherent lyrics.Starting with the MelodyMany songwriters find themselves humming a short musical phrase (often with made-up syllables) long…

[gina025]

Restful summer

[qwantzfeed]

boy, is my face red!  and my ears.  from the sonic onslaught, exactly

[clumsypuppy]

whatever. go my scarab

ive been watching scruffys pikmin 4 playthrough (go check it out!!!!)