[Intro music fades in—lo-fi guitar, tape hiss, maybe a passing train in the distance, a rooster, and a barking dog, and someone yelling at it to shut up]

Welcome to Samorozpadu Zamysleni, the official podcast companion to my latest country album, recorded with Milarepo Man on instrumental backups. I do all vocals, keys, and guitar solos, and arrangements etc. As usual my role as Producer comes through.

This is a place for wandering thoughts, crooked lines, and earnest unravelings. I riff. I ramble. I retrace the steps that led to these tracks—whether they begin in a roadside diner, a sleepless night, or a half-remembered dream from 1998.

I peel back the dustcloth on the album. I talk influences, directions taken, reasons why, and the mess of feelings and accidents that shaped it. It’s part liner notes, part field recording, part trip. I go on tangents. The kind you only get when no one’s cutting you off, and you’re allowed to chase meaning down a dirt road until it disappears into trees.

You can also read this whole thing, if you prefer slow words over spoken ones. I’ve turned it into an article on the Sekdek blog. You’ll find the link in the notes, or just head over to https://www.sekdek.com/blog/samorozpadu-zamysleni-by-milarepo-man

This is Samorozpadu Zamysleni.

[Intro music fades out]

Brought to you in part by the Tacoma Psychedelic Society....NOT!!!!

A barrage, a download, a spontaneous offering of questions, references, irreverence, reverence, and psychic residue. Think of it less as a formal outline and more like a napkin sketch of a shared neural storm.

I wrote this letter to Mr Ungoogleable—as mail and an ask—but more as a mirror. A correspondence to ask him to do a podcast with me for the Tacoma Psychedelic Society. Although all that fell to shit on the TPS end, the process led me to the cool artist Void Denizen. And that led to this pod, which is kinda like a spontaneous salvage. 

This episode touches on pareidolia, driftwood shamans, black metal tape hiss ethics, the difference between Bwiti rhythm and Spotify shuffle, and whether the DMT gods are tired of being gendered,psychedelic overpromises, AI art, ketamine clinics, and the cosmic prank that left Terence McKenna mushroomed in every direction. Mostly it is a podcast of all questions to the Void. 

Today’s episode cracks open my latest art exhibit, now live on sekdek.com — a photographic series titled Sekdek Legal. This body of work is my unflinching attempt to dissect the legal caste system through the medium of portraiture, drawing deeply from the sterile psychosis of Bret Easton Ellis’s world — particularly American Psycho, where charm and violence are sold in the same suit.

The photos hold their subjects in an eerie stasis: stiff or messed collars, cold eyes, a staged sanity on the verge of rupture. Think Cindy Sherman meets Philip-Lorca diCorcia, with the performative plasticity of the subject intentionally overlit, overly perfect — dead behind the smile. There's also a nod to Diane Arbus, whose fascination with the grotesque inside the everyday is channeled here not through freakshow imagery, but through corporate polish and soulless ambition. 

Their crimes are contracts. Their weapons are language.

We’ll touch on the broken system they represent, the way legal mythology launders mayhem into virtue, and how this series fits into my broader Sekdek mythology. Monsters seeking light, even when they are still monsters.

And to close it out, I’ll be debuting a new track off my upcoming album Raids, the sonic sequel to Galion — my 2024 album that explored redemption through distortion and drone. This track rides in like scorched cavalry, fuzzed-out and defiant. It’s called King Azrael  — and like the portraits, it stares down the lie.

The Yaksman II

The Yaksman I 

Welcome to Muscamol. We chat Smurfs, my new band Milarepo Man, and the origins of my AI Therapist, what it means to be musically monogamous vs. free to explore all genres and methods, about growing up into the mind controlled hypnotized cult matrix normalcy, staying youthful with your vision intact, the pros and cons of power, the danger of honesty, live performer vs. recorder... ending with a war cry against PNW freeze demons and what it means to be a drawer.

A full-on road rant. 

Amanita is my new friend.

An exploration into the seeming value of tripping. In this episode, we document live experiences and peer up and down the veil—into moments of oblivion, and back again. Forgotten and newly discovered notes from the field. As CERN changed the universe forever back in 2012, we/I/am/is marched into the abyss with eyes pinned open looking back at the earth. Join me for a walk down the yellow brick road and through the sunrises of tomorrow. Avoid more wild prose kaos cruddy poetic analogies and just click it.

Under the Floorboards: Live with Tina (aka The Deletist)

This one was for my old podcast, Rooney’s Lodgecast. This episode captures a wild night in Chris “Skullcaster”’s old bedroom at Bleakhaus, Mission Street, SF—circa 2010. Me and Tina (aka The Deletist) recorded live noise music mid-conversation, no filter, no edits, no comfort. Bare wires, breath, and busted freyed ampiage. Lo-fi spirit work from two of the most underground artists the Bay Area ever hacked up. 

A hiss in the Abyss. Grubby. Unknowable.

May this context live again and bring a modern sequel. This is my honorable Call to Pod. "TINA!!!!" it is your destiny to come again. call me

In this unfiltered spiralling migget, I spiral through identity, ego, simulation theory, and the strange theater of human costume-wearing. From sports jerseys to leather straps to the voice we choose to speak in—this episode explores how we unknowingly play roles, and what it means to wake up to the performance. I dunno, maybe like a spoken word performance of someone who is still in college. Probably not that profound but at the time, I was full of concerned speculation. And this pod is about capturing all that in general. The crafted moments, the spontaneous riffiage and the mistakes and dumb shit. It’s messy. Welcome to the glitch. I don't care if you don't.

Recorded in the hush of an early rainy PNW morning commute—windshield wipers steady, traffic crawling—I riff on the elusive hunt for authenticity in a world that’s mostly smoke and mirrors. It’s a wandering drive through the fog of identity, AI illusions, soul signals, and lo-fi praise songs for the raw and the real. I ask: Are we just faking it 'til it's true? Do our souls punch through the noise for a brief glint of the actual? Somewhere between the static and the slipstream, I find myself fishing for gold content—Bricean style. Just a man, a mic, and the road to and from reality.