New
BUZZ do Brasil is not a report about a country. It is a flicker. A state that settles between skin and concrete, between air conditioning and salt air, between shopping mall and roadside.
Lyrics
Black Notes
[Verse 1]
The body enters like a line of music.
Gesture turns to rhythm.
A pause becomes tension.
Distance starts to sound.
[Verse 2]
He touches the strings.
The deeper vibration stays between us.
Same room, same air,
no resolution.
[Instrumental Break]
Nylon-string acoustic guitar only.
Slow, repetitive, breathing motif.
Leave silence between phrases.
No melody peak, just pulse and air.
[Verse 3]
She is not decoration.
She is not narrative.
A dark note in the composition:
held, displaced, re-heard.
[Outro]
Not a story.
A score.
Craft against desire.
Silence against skin.
Carved Myself Hollow
„A bruised, intimate hymn of love and exile – a wound and an inheritance, a confession tracing a daughter’s flight across fevered shores.“
Lyrics
Carved myself Hallow
I came from a place
clocks ate their own faces
love wore barbed wire crowns
Cold pressed through concrete
rust bloomed in my throat
silence had teeth
[Chorus]
Carved myself hollow
carved myself clean
Not for angels
not for absolution
Love held the blade
I pressed against it
[Verse II]
She stood eyes split open
daughter made of lightning and want
swallowed fire
learned to shatter beautifully
[Chorus]
Carved myself hollow
carved myself clean
Not for crowns
not for mercy
Love held the nails
I built the cross
[Verse III]
Brazil took her in
fever dust hope
Now I hold ghost maps
interrogate wind
Follow the bleeding
Root in ash
Time devours everything
leaves only splinters
[Bridge|
Memory burns
Dreams bleed
Child-voice across salt water
This body borrowed breaking
Woman turned exile
And me
standing in the wreckage
half wildfire half prayer
[Outro]
Carved myself hollow
Carved myself clean
Love was the wound
Love was the gift
Love is the scar that stays
Études sur la Jalousie
“Études sur la Jalousie” — 21 études in sound, studies in jealousy: through windows of love, gazes reach outward, rebound off their own shutters, half vision, half reflection, suspended between desire and blindness.
High Balls
The game is ritual. Direct. Immanent. Self-explaining. No rules need to be explained.
Lyrics
High Balls
(*echo melts into groove*)
High ball… bodies fly… heat rise… we dive…
[Verse 1]
High ball, bodies fly,
sweat runs down where the shadows hide.
Salt on the lips,
heat in the veins,
the ground disappears beneath our feet.
Every leap breaks the air,
every fall shakes the sand,
and for a moment,
gravity forgets us.
[Chorus – vierstimmig, heiß und ekstatisch]
High ball, bodies fly,
hearts race, time slides by.
Under the sun,
we burn as one,
no colors, no borders,
only the fire,
only the game.
[Verse 2]
The sand explodes beneath our feet,
our breath tastes of dust and heat.
Every dive writes a story
the wind erases before we rise again.
No flag, no skin,
just motion,
just rhythm,
just heat.
[Bridge – geflüstert, Schicht über Schicht]
*One sun, one ground,
one game, one sound…*
[Final Chorus – ekstatisch, dichter, heißer]
High ball, bodies fly,
hearts race, time slides by.
Under the sun,
we burn as one,
no names, no colors,
only the fire,
only the game.
[Outro – hoch, hauchend, fast zerschmolzen]
High ball… bodies fly…
and the heat never ends…
notes
Generative Fotografie löst das Bild vom Ereignis – und macht damit die Frage nach Intention radikaler denn je. Die Frage ist also nicht, ob man generative Fotografie „kann“. Die Frage ist: Was will ich sichtbar machen? Denn nur dort, wo diese Frage ernst genommen wird, entsteht ein Bild, das bleibt.
Was geschieht, wenn das Bild nicht mehr aus dem Abdruck entsteht? Wenn kein Licht mehr auf eine Oberfläche trifft, kein Augenblick sich in Emulsion einbrennt, sondern ein Algorithmus aus einem Fundus von Millionen gelernter Muster ein Bild synthetisiert, das aussieht, als hätte es diesen Moment gegeben – aber er hat nie stattgefunden?