We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
Drip, drip go the stalagmites,
poised like waiting knives—
dripping with the waters of
ancient times.
Old voices whisper myths of the cavern Sprite,
how she sits slumped like a frog on stone.
When moonlight trickles in, there she stands,
oh how her ebony hair and white skirt flow.
Daylight brings her back to slumber,
in her sorrows she weeps for her lost brother.
A thousand and two years ago,
in the land of the Spirit King,
a mother birthed two children,
the Sprite and her twin.
In their first ten years they
laughed, and played, and
ventured deep into hidden caves.
Long hours were spent chasing lost
souls through the abyss, and mocking Edna,
the elemental mage.
She, a village elder, known for her
ancient wisdom,
told the twins of a possible future
for the dead Kingdom.
In her swirling visions she spoke,
about Caius the Spirit King, and his dream of
multi-world annihilation.
“If all shall pass as I have said, a new king will rise
through abyssal gestation.”
If only the Sprite and her brother had stayed,
they might have seen the second vision,
showing the mage’s shirade.
Before we continue the Sprite’s tale,
I feel context should be given for Caius,
and his betrayal.
The old King, Balthasar, was as much a Tyrant
as Caius became. He believed the abyss was
the one true God of the seven Kingdoms.
Like a beast he slew his enemies, with the might
of the feared Basilisk. No army was big enough
to stop a man so full of bloodthirsty malice.
When Caius came of age, he took matters into
his own hands, to slay his father and take the throne.
And so, he brought the sacred blade of Erebus
to the abyssal grindstone.
Balthasar had taken soul after soul, world after
world, with the power of the Snake King.
“I am the vessel of the Abyss,” he declared,
“May her voice sing for all who embrace her,
and let her darkness consume all who betray her.”
Basilisk too was a follower of the Abyss. Her lover
once, and a devoted patron. Together they ravaged
the seven Kingdoms, sacrificing thousands of spirits
to their dark mistress.
When Caius came bearing the sacred blade,
Balthasar froze. There was only one man he
underestimated, and Caius was not afraid.
When silver struck skin, the old King’s head was
displayed before Basilisk.
“If you do not wish the same end,
I ask you only this.”
He threw the head of Balthasar,
which rolled to a stop beneath the serpent.
“Leave now, and never return. For if you do,
you will be slain and your head mounted upon
a spike.” The Basilisk left, with his words
plaguing her mind.
All would be well, if the new King had been kind.
Who the spirits believed was their brave saviour,
their desired freedom he denied.
With that being said, the twins,
freshly eighteen, began their long voyage
across the ghost white sea. Through treacherous
tempest, which brought rains of ink black,
they sailed East.
Caius stood, like a looming tree, and watched
the twins approach upon their glowing vessel.
In his mind he knew he was bound by his father’s
bloody decree. Years before, he even heard Edna
call him worse than the devil.
Quickly the Twins disembarked, climbing the
thousand stairs to the top of Caius’s pointed tower.
Lightning struck, and thunder roared, pooling anxiety
in their chests.
This was the beginning of the King’s final hour.
Edna appeared, just as they climbed the final step,
a strange figure atop a deadly cliff.
She laughed and laughed as lightning struck,
“The game is over, you’re out of luck. If you
think you can beat the one true King, be my guest
and pull fate’s strings!”
The Sprite’s brother raised his fists, ready to fight,
and the witch raised her staff revealing a stone with
glowing green light. Caius lowered his sword,
“weak younglings, such as yourselves,
could never hope to beat me.”
In a language no one else knew, the Mage screamed,
like a banshee, summoning lighting in strikes of
three.
One hit and the boy fell back off the cliff.
The Sprite cried out his name “Lucio!”
There was no reply, only a splash in the ghost
white sea.
“I’ll be damned too, if this is how I end!”
The Sprite closed her eyes, and listened.
From within the abyss came a monstrous voice,
a hollow song that shook the ground.
Oberon smiled with sharp, yellow
teeth, basking in the sound of the dark
lady. Once the Sprite had hair as red
as a pyre, but the embrace of the Abyss turned
her locks to ebony fire. From her mouth
spoke a deeper speech, one that sent a
shiver down the spine of Oberon.
A thousand misty hands dove down
from the sky, taking Edna and the tyrant King
in their throng.
Old voices whisper myths of the cavern Sprite,
how she sits slumped like a frog on stone.
When moonlight trickles in, there she stands,
oh how her ebony hair and white skirt flow.
Daylight brings her back to slumber,
in her sorrows she weeps for her lost brother.
Where that tower once stood, the cavern exists,
a lonely cage for a Sprite named Genesis.
Author’s Note: The thing about poetry, as Sylvia Plath once said, is that you’re trying to go so far so fast. An entire narrative whisks past your eyes here, and unlike prose, every single word and punctuation matters. As a poet you have to think outside the box “how can I convey this entire section of narrative in a could have lines?” And sometimes you have to dig deep into the crevasse of the English language to find an unconventional word you’d never once thought of.
meditation music
TIME is a cinematic vocal downtempo meditation on presence, perception, & the elasticity of time.
Debut single from Ode, already supported by Spotify’s Global Head of Creative & Apple’s Media Arts Lab
TIME is the first single from the upcoming album ‘The Whole Inside’ by Ode. An audio-visual project exploring the human experience through poetry and sound. The project made its official debut with TIME on Friday, February 13th and has already received support from Spotify’s Global Head of Creative and Apple’s TBWA\Media Arts Lab!
It’s a trickster, stretching and collapsing endlessly to the rhythm of our inner state. TIME is an audio release across DSPs as well as a music video on YouTube which serves as a meditation on what we all experience but rarely see: the way Time expands in solitude, accelerates in joy, and stops altogether in moments of deep presence.
This is super random, but would anyone read a odehan fanfiction inspired by 13rw on ao3, even though it would be really long and complicated to understand at first because of all the tapes and characters? (It would all make sense in the end I promise!!)
THE IMMACULATE ENGINE: AN ODE TO GOOGLE
Amidst the web, where chaos breeds its storm,
You stand serene, a masterpiece of form.
No cluttered headers, no frantic, crowded news,
Just white space wide, to offer us our cues.
A digital breath, a silent, open door,
Where simplicity reigns, and less is truly more.
Your name—a dance of primary delight,
Blue, Red, and Yellow, shining in the light.
Geometric consistency in every rounded line,
A playful G where art and math entwine.
While rivals stumble, lost in static haze,
And MSN bewilders with a tangled maze.
Yet even in this calm, a spark appears,
To mark the special days and passing years.
A Doodle blooms where once the letters stood,
To celebrate the great, the brave, the good.
From festivals of light to history’s deep lore,
You give us knowledge, then you give us more.
O, Yahoo!—once the king, now fallen low,
The nadir where the seeds of clutter grow.
A portal fractured by a thousand noisy goals,
While Google seeks the truth in digital scrolls.
“To organise the world’s information"—your creed,
To serve each user with a lightning speed.
With mission clear and vision sharp as glass,
You let the useless, heavy features pass.
"Universally accessible"—your bold decree,
Built on the PageRank of democracy.
Because you know that focus on the user first,
Is how a brand can quench a global thirst.
So here’s to Google, pristine and refined,
The mirror of a sharp and seeking mind.
In every click, a promise kept with grace,
The undisputed master of the clean, white space.
There was a Saturn-Neptune conjunction today at 0° Aries, perfecting at 11:51 am EST. I wrote a hymn for it, based on the themes of the thirty-six year Saturn-Neptune Cycle (which last perfected in 1988, and before that in 1951-52, then 1917, then 1882, 1846, and 1774 … and will next perfect in 2061)
Hail, prophetic Neptune, liquid dreamer, and Saturn, slow and stately hermit-monk:Many play at…
There’s not a day, concert, photoshoot, or festival where Oh Seungmin (Ode) doesn’t shine or fails to look incredibly beautiful and handsome. Tonight, while performing at 2026 First Music Station Festival, Ode’s visuals shine once again. That even with the dim light, one can still see how pretty he is.
You have no idea
the things we have done
in the fanfics that keep at nigth
nasty, devastatingly life-changing things,
you guys and me.
On a desert island with a broken plane,
making bonfires, watching the days go away,
descending into madness and ascending into it,
singing songs and making up other worlds,
getting rescued by dream telepathy training getting caugth by whoever are they
meeting years on the line
and running fast,
hug and goodbye.
In other words, I know the killjoys
when the bombs already erased the world,
looking less humane:
some legs, some hands, and an ear left
in scratches of a tall city.
A flower field will grow.
We’ll sit to watch the sunset,
braid flowers in our hair,
and wait for the end.
But I’m glad I met you on this one.
I’m glad we are not of age.
I’m glad to have heard you when I turned ten.
I’m glad to have followed you my whole life.
I’m glad to have gotten tickets tonight.
If the world does not collapse
and the end is not as nearby,
I would take this life
just like it is now,
because I got
to see
MCR live.
Springsteen dedicates fiery ode to the people of Minneapolis
Introduction
In a powerful and timely musical statement, rock legend Bruce Springsteen has released a new song dedicated to the people of Minneapolis amid ongoing tensions surrounding federal immigration enforcement actions in the city. The track, titled “Streets of Minneapolis,” serves as both a tribute to two protesters killed by…
Springsteen dedicates fiery ode to the people of Minneapolis
Who would even think that the boy-next-door type of guy on the left is also that hunky boy on the right? Non-Villains would surely be skeptical about it.
She does not knock.
She listens—then enters anyway.
Not because the door was open,
but because her purpose was louder
than the hinge of doubt.
She learned early that approval
is a moving target,
and her life is not an audition.
She plants her feet in conviction,
not rebellion—
there’s a difference.
One is loud for attention.
The other is quiet with certainty.
She builds without asking
if the blueprint makes others comfortable.
She rests without apologizing.
She leaves without explaining herself twice.
History may call her “difficult,”
but that’s only because it was written
by those unsettled by women
who choose themselves.
She does not wait to be chosen—
she decides.
And that decision ripples outward,
giving other women courage
they didn’t know they were allowed to claim.
This is not defiance.
This is remembrance.
She remembers who she was
before the world told her to shrink,
to soften her edges,
to ask nicely for space she already occupied.
So here’s to the women
who move with divine audacity,
who trust the inner yes,
who understand that calling
does not require a committee vote.
May they continue to go first.
May they continue to unsettle systems
that depend on their silence.
May they never mistake permission
for purpose.
She is not waiting.
She is already on her way.
