It happens. You learn to live with it.

Hands That Smell of Feet (5:36 / 192kbit MP3 / 7,70 MB)

If you look carefully, you will notice that this website is no longer white and red. Don’t panic, this is not a new symptom of whatever mental illness you are suffering from. Things look different now because they are no longer like they were before. What was white is not white; what was red is not red. The colours in between, too, changed. Cease crying like a little girl - you too, little girls - and take it like a man - you too, little girls.

Jetzt geht’s los! …you’ll have to imagine the frantic glowsticking yourself.

F-word Thy C-bomb (5:25 / 192kbit MP3 / 7,45 MB)

After six years, Synthetic Pathetic has had a small overhaul, retaining much of its original form but with a slightly better edge to it. Hooray!

Synthetic Pathetic (remastered) (7:12 / 192kbit MP3 / 9,89 MB)

“…then, and only then, does the royal king’s court bloom, yielding its blossoms to the stars’ watchful gaze, roots pulling gently from the fertile ground below, and as the raindrops land onto bud and leaf and grass, he steps out and dances.”

Starlit Dance of the Thistle King (4:12 / 192kbit MP3 / 5,76 MB)

This is the sound you hear when you fly in your dreams.

An Affable Air Castle (3:25 / 192kbit MP3 / 4,70 MB)

This is a poem that Phoebe gave me at the same time as Innocense, and I figured that sticking beats underneath it would be a nice gift. Happy birthday!

A Dead Woman’s Shoes (Flaterectomy Remix) (2:10 / 192kbit MP3 / 2,98 MB)

Phoebe gave me a recording of her poem Innocense and I had to go and throw fake instruments at it. The result is a lot more vocals than usual, and that’s a good thing.

Innocense (Flaterectomy Remix) (2:30 / 320kbit MP3 / 5,74 MB)

Hearken to its wail. Give heed to the baying beneath the black waves. Merriment ensues.

47°9′S, 126°43′W (1:58 / 192kbit MP3 / 2,70 MB)

Weep or gnash thy teeth, but do not lo nor behold, for its sight turns tides and melts flesh. The beast has risen from the murky depths, its arrival heralded by a terrifying bloop, and with it came the unholy hymns that remained obscured by the thalassic deeps for . . . several years.

Though their names ought never be spoken, their titles were clear as soon as the malevolent sonance carried along the wind, and into the minds of the innocent:

Walking On Sunshine (revised)
From Clot To Crust, From Squirt To Dust
Choo Momma R Teh Fatteh
The Adult Bile Sock Will Eat You When You Sleep
I Cry Bile
The Blister On My Eye
Damn These Beats
Walk Tall, My Man

It was then clear that there was no God to have mercy on our souls.