Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
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The Jazz Club Mystery
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Story:
As a journalist, I never expected a chance encounter at a jazz club to lead me down a path shrouded in mystery.
The smoky allure of the club drew me in, and the enigmatic owner, Max, became my unlikely ally.
What started as whispers of an ancient legend soon became a race against time to break a curse that echoed within the haunting jazz notes.
Together, we confronted the malevolent presence, unravelling the club's hidden history and bringing peace to the spirits of the past.
Now, the jazz club stands as a beacon of hope and harmony, its melodies telling a story of newfound tranquillity.
The Jazz Club Mystery
Description:
In this captivating video, join me on an unexpected journey that began with a chance encounter at a smoky jazz club. As a journalist, I never imagined that the enigmatic club owner, Max, would become my ally in uncovering an ancient legend and breaking a curse entwined with the haunting jazz melodies. Dive deep into the mystery as we confront a malevolent presence, unravel the hidden history of the club, and bring peace to the restless spirits of the past. Witness the transformation of the jazz club into a beacon of hope and harmony, with its melodies telling a story of newfound tranquillity. Remember to like, comment, and subscribe for more intriguing tales!
Keywords:
Haunted jazz club, Jazz club mystery, Breaking ancient curses, Journalist investigates, Enigmatic club owner, Haunting melodies, Hidden History, Malevolent presence, Spirits of the past, Beacon of hope, Club Ghost, Jazz Spirit
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
Chrysalis This isn’t a tomb It’s a chrysalis . We aren’t being buried We’re being rewritten. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art . Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to my music via YouTube Music , Spotify , iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal If you want to acquire JJFB's art creations as an NFT - John's Opensea NFT profile is https://opensea.io/JJFBbennett Copyright This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws . Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
The Metallic Bloom "It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper... like biting down on a gun barrel. Then... it detonates. It’s not a scream—it’s a jagged, violent bloom tearing through my throat. Shards of silver... iron... and rust. I am no longer a man... just a dark silhouette exploding into shrapnel. The panic is absolute." The Metallic Bloom video-poem It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper— Like biting down on a gun barrel. Then… It detonates. It isn’t a scream. It’s a jagged, violent bloom Tearing through my throat. Shards of silver. Iron. Rust. I am no longer a man— Just a dark silhouette Xxploding into shrapnel. My body isn’t mine anymore. My voice isn’t mine anymore. The panic is absolute. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art ....
Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
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