Jatygu

🎶 The Open Source Songwriter 🎶 I write songs to be shared, remixed, and reimagined.

[jatygucreative]

Brewed Dreams

[jatygucreative]

You Name It, I've Framed it ~ The Jatygu Album Art Anthology: A Visual Journey Through 100+ Real Music Releases Paperback – December 30, 2025 #Jatygu #Books #Music #Art

[jatygucreative]

🍀 You just found the rarest freebie on the internet.

JATYGU MUSIC BUNDLE – $4,200 of studio cuts – is yours FREE till Jan 31.

No paywall, just love.

Email: [email protected] to get your download code

Drop a quick testimonial after you vibe.

#LimitedTime #RareOffer

[jatygucreative]

35 years of music (1990-2025). I packed my entire catalog into one bundle: 4,200+ tracks, 118 releases, one download. $99 USD. Own it forever (personal listening license). Preview first, details here: https://www.jatygu.com/faq #independentartist #musicbundle #supportindiemusic

[jatygucreative]

Jatygu's Musical Dreamworld

✨ Drift into JATYGU’s Musycal World of Algorythms — where rhythm meets meditation.

Middle-Eastern grooves and celestial synths intertwine for focus, relaxation, and pure creative flow.

#AmbientArt #ChillVibes #AIArt #ProgressiveMusic #MeditativeSound

[jatygucreative]

[jatygucreative]

Symmetry of Four Souls

Four souls on Death's calendar Four clocks winding down

There's a man in a golden tower with blood on his executive pen Who tears children from mothers and calls concentration camps patriotic again I watch him sign away my neighbor's healthcare while he golfs through another day A Canadian watching American cruelty wondering why monsters get to stay His lies pile up like bodies and I'm tired of the weight This orange-stained embarrassment to the human race Every morning checking headlines hoping for that final cardiovascular call Waiting for him to die isn't wishing - it's just watching gravity finally take us all

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Not with my hands but with my hope Not with a weapon but a prayer to cope Waiting for him to die

And Death leans back in his leather chair, fingers steepled with patient glee "Such rage sustains the living," he whispers, "but this one ripens beautifully for me" He watches the cholesterol reports, the mounting stress, the age "Politicians make the finest harvests - such delicious, earned rage"

My boy turned twenty-four last Tuesday with a needle as his birthday gift Nine years since fifteen when he chose the streets over every hand we tried to lift The system keeps him fed and sheltered while he milks another bleeding heart But age-out's coming like a freight train and he hasn't even learned to start He's smart enough to manipulate but not enough to see That taking taking taking leaves you empty at the end of your spree I love him more than breathing but I'm bracing for the call My son is waiting for himself to die and doesn't know it yet at all

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Not with my hands but with my dread Not with abandonment but love that's bled Waiting for him to die

Death walks the alleys where the boy scores his temporary peace "The young ones always think they're dancing, never see I'm cutting the lease" He knows the statistics, the overdose rates, the winter cold

My father had a stroke two years ago that took the tyrant left a ghost The man who terrorized my childhood now weighs ninety-five at most I stayed away for twenty years but now I bring him Sunday coffee and I read This shriveled gentle stranger in a bed being spoon-fed He smiles when we arrive and sometimes says our names My brother and I tend to him and feel the strangest grateful shame That it took his near-destruction for us to finally be A family waiting for him to die with unexpected love and loyalty

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Not with my hands but with relief Not with cruelty but complicated grief Waiting for him to die

Death sits beside the hospital bed, holding the old man's chart "Some souls I take in violence, but this one's art"

There's a guy who stares back at me who's fifty-two and out of cards to play A thousand resumes sent nowhere while his mother pays his way His kids have no use for him his partner's just going through the motions now A middle-aged white male who can't figure out the how Three children who've moved on a love that's lost its heat A father playing failure on an endless loop repeat If I ever wrote that suicide note it would say "it had its moments, I suppose" Waiting for him to die is just me watching someone I used to know decompose

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for ME to die Not with my hands but with this ghost Not with a rope but with the slow-fade coast Waiting for him to die Waiting for us all to die

Death closes his book and smiles at the symmetry of four

It had its moments

[jatygucreative]

Waiting For Him To Die

A man on a screen, a bluster of orange and spite. I am a Canadian, watching from the cold night. My hate is not political, it's personal and deep. It's for the rot he celebrates, the promises he doesn't keep. This waiting is a silent scream into a void. For the day the news alert says the world is destroyed. Not in fire, but in quiet, when that final breath is drawn. And the weight of his presence from the collective mind is gone.

And I am waiting for him to die. Just waiting for him to die. It's a passive, patient, private hope beneath this northern sky. Waiting for him to die.

And I am waiting, too. Clasping my skeletal hands with delight. His name is a bright, gaudy jewel in my gathering night. I have a special, tasteless joke prepared for his arrival. His legacy will be the fuel for my revival.

My boy, my beautiful mistake, with needle-tracked arms. Charming the social workers, ignoring all the alarms. He's been fifteen for nine years, milking the system dry. The streetlights are his sun, and the alley is his sky. We've tried the cops, the therapists, the threats, the desperate pleas. Now we just wait for the phone call brought on by his disease. The love is still there, but it's buried under dread. Waiting for the final chapter of the story he's misread.

And we are waiting for him to die. Just waiting for him to die. It's a shameful, sacred, family secret we can no longer hide. Waiting for him to die.

And I am waiting, too. I am the cold park bench where he'll finally rest. I am the final, perfect high that will put him to the test. He thinks he knows me from his chemical escapes. But I am the permanent stillness that every addict shapes.

The intimidating giant of my youth is now a ghost. A ninety-five-pound whisper, the man I feared the most. A stroke erased the anger, left a gentle, fading man. I bring him coffee, read him stories, and I hold his trembling hand. It's a strange reconciliation in this sterile, bright-lit room. Watching him linger in the gathering gloom. My brother and I, we meet here every Sunday, and we sigh. This waiting is an act of love, waiting for him to die.

And we are waiting for him to die. Just waiting for him to die. It's a tender, tired, merciful end to a complicated tie. Waiting for him to die.

And I am waiting, too. I am the kindest nurse who will turn out the light. I am the quiet peace that ends his endless night. He glimpses me already in his clouded, fading mind. I am the forgiveness he could never quite find.

And then I see the mirror, and the man who's standing there. Fifty-two, with thinning hair and a well-practiced stare. A thousand resumes sent, a thousand silent nos. Supported by my mother and a love that's lukewarm at its close. My children are polite strangers, my confidence is shot. I've often thought of leaving a note: 'It had its moments,' was the thought. This body is a rented room that's falling to decay. And I'm the one I'm waiting for, to take myself away.

And I am waiting for me to die. Just waiting for me to die. Is there a great party in the afterlife, a more thrilling high? I'm waiting for him to die.

And I am waiting, too. I am the employer who will finally hire. I am the end of every failed and forgotten desire. Your clever, morbid note is already written in my book. Take as long as you need. Come, see the party that you forsook.

Waiting... Waiting for him to die. (Him, him, him... me) The president, the son, the father, and the I. Just... waiting.

[jatygucreative]

It Was Interesting

It had its moments... or maybe, It was interesting. That’s the joke.

A Canadian’s perspective on the man in the big house. A specific flavor of hate, a global tension, The constant noise from south of the border you can’t turn off. It’s not just politics; it’s a personal annoyance, a loud, vulgar stain. I am waiting for the news flash, the collective sigh of a worried world. No explanation needed, yet all the explanation in the world. The relief will be palpable, a quiet shift in the planet's orbit. We all have our own reasons, but this one is universal exhaustion.

The old man in the black cloak is also waiting, Sharpening his scythe with a grin that stretches forever. He has a VIP section reserved, a special table. He can’t wait to get his hands on that particular soul.

Waiting for him to die. Waiting for him to die.

He just turned 24, but he stopped growing at 15, A street-smart kid coasting, milking the system dry. Drug addiction and alcoholism, a black hole of take, take, take. He's sailing straight for the cliff, the age-out limit looming large. No high school diploma, no job, just a rude awakening on the sidewalk. We love him, but he’s already lost, a ghost in the community. It’s a merciful thought, a way to end the endless taking, the slow burn. The family, the neighborhood, even the system itself is waiting.

Death is leaning on a lamppost, checking his watch, A hungry Grim Reaper ready to collect on a long-past due invoice. He sees the future: homeless and cold, a predictable end game. He’s excited for this one; they always taste the sweetest when they've suffered.

Waiting for him to die. Waiting for him to die.

Two years since the stroke, a near-vegetative fraction of a man. The intimidating figure of my youth reduced to a 95-pound weakling. Strangely, the estrangement ended, replaced by affection and quiet Sunday readings. We bring him coffee and donuts, a gentle ritual for a fading memory. He still manages a smile, a fleeting glimpse of the old personality. He hangs on, defying the doctors, a surprise to my brother and me. A gentle soul now, agreeable and kind, but this slow fade is cruel. We go every week, bringing stories and waiting for the bed to be empty.

Death is sitting bedside, patiently, knitting a shroud. He finds this one a little boring, a soul already three-quarters gone. But a soul is a soul, and he will wait for the final, rattling breath. He respects the longevity, but he's ready for the curtain call.

Waiting for him to die. Waiting for him to die.

Age 52, a hermit, a misfit, sending over a thousand résumés. A middle-aged white male society doesn't want to hire. Financially supported, my self-esteem and confidence in the basement. My children don't have much use for me; my relationship is just mediocre. This deteriorating body, this constant struggle, this suffering from my own choices. I’ve had glimpses of joy, but the party must be better on the other side. I look at that guy, the reclusive one, and feel the truth of the wish. It’s been a theme, a quiet thought: just let this stupid life experience end.

Death is standing right behind me, peering over my shoulder. He sees the longing, the weariness, the desire for the ultimate exit. He thinks this one is an eager customer, a willing volunteer. He is preparing the clever note himself: "It was interesting."

Waiting for him to die. Waiting for him to die.

The therapy of it all is to get it out...

[jatygucreative]

Fresh Souls Await

In the shadows of my thoughts, A clock ticks, heavy with dread, Four faces linger in the haze, Each a story, each a thread.

The President I watch him on the screen, A figure of disdain, His words like daggers, Cutting through the air, Waiting for him to die, A sigh of relief, a closure, As the nation collectively holds its breath, A puppet on strings, Unraveled by his own hand.

Death's Anticipation Oh, dear Death, with your eager smile, Clasping your hands, whispering low, "Just a little longer, my friend, Fresh souls await, let the show unfold."

My Son My boy, my heart, lost in the maze, A street-smart ghost, drifting through days, With every choice, a step towards the edge, Waiting for him to die, As hope wanes like a flickering light, A mother’s love, tangled in despair, As he dances with demons, Blind to the lurking void.

Death's Anticipation Oh, dear Death, with your eager smile, Clasping your hands, whispering low, "Just a little longer, my friend, Fresh souls await, let the show unfold."

My Father A once mighty oak, now a fragile leaf, Stroke's cruel hand, stealing his voice, Yet in his eyes, a glimmer remains, Waiting for him to die, As I read him stories of yesteryears, In a room filled with whispers, Life slipping through fingers, Yet still, he smiles, a gentle ghost.

Death's Anticipation Oh, dear Death, with your eager smile, Clasping your hands, whispering low, "Just a little longer, my friend, Fresh souls await, let the show unfold."

The Man in the Mirror Reflected back, a stranger I see, A lifetime of struggle, a fading dream, Waiting for him to die, As confidence crumbles like dust, In a world that’s moved on, A hermit’s heart beats slow, Wondering if the afterlife holds, More joy than this fading show.

Death's Anticipation Oh, dear Death, with your eager smile, Clasping your hands, whispering low, "Just a little longer, my friend, Fresh souls await, let the show unfold."

Waiting for Him to Die Waiting for him to die, In the shadows of goodbye, Four souls entwined in the dance, As we all await our chance, To finally break free from the ties, In this morbid play of life, Waiting for him to die.

So here we stand, in the twilight glow, Four stories woven, a tapestry of woe, In the end, a shared sigh, As we all wait, wait for him to die.

[jatygucreative]

It Had Its Moments

The clock is slow, the sun reluctant Shadows drag their feet across the floor All my life I’ve been waiting For someone, for something, for the end of something Today I realize I’ve been waiting for him to die

Across the border, on the news, in my head The orange face grins, impossible to ignore A carnival barker, a chaos salesman Bankrupting dignity, bankrupting hope I’m Canadian, but the shadow falls north Like acid rain, like bad TV No explanations left, just exhaustion I confess: I’m waiting for him to die

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die

But Death— He’s checking his watch, polishing his sickle He’s got a special spot picked out, Front row, popcorn ready He’s waiting for this one too History’s hands wringing There’s a punchline waiting, And Death wants to deliver it

My beloved, my heartbreak, my boy Twenty-four years young, but a century old in the eyes Street-smart, heart-dumb, milking the brittle system Addiction his only loyalty, A scavenger of goodwill, a ghost in daylight No one’s been able to reach him—not teachers, not cops, not me I love him, but I can’t save him In this city, some of us are just waiting for him to die

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die

And Death— He paces the alleyways, counts the empty bottles He’s a patient predator, Sniffing out the lost boys He’s not cruel—just hungry He hums lullabies for the ones who slip through cracks He’s waiting too, And he’s never in a hurry

He used to fill rooms, loud as thunder Now he’s a whisper in a hospital bed Two years since the stroke, twenty since I let him go Once a tyrant, now a feather My brother and I, reading stories to a fading ghost He weighs less than memory, But sometimes—he smiles We visit, and, quietly, we are waiting for him to die

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die

Death sits at the bedside He wears slippers, sips weak coffee He’s gentle with this one, Unraveling him thread by thread He waits for the last story, The final breadcrumb of recognition He’s not in a rush— He enjoys a long goodbye

Fifty-two years of being a question mark A thousand résumés, a thousand rejections Middle-aged, middle-of-nowhere, Supported by women with more patience than I deserve Three grown kids, no one calling A partner who shares silence more than conversation Some days, I look in the mirror and joke That I, too, am waiting for him to die

Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die Waiting for him to die

Death grins in the fogged-up glass He likes a man who knows the punchline He’s been waiting since the first sigh, Collecting all the almosts and maybes He’s not offended by the waiting— He waits for everyone, in the end He wonders what kind of note you’ll leave He’s curious, too

The sun sets, the clock ticks And all of us—waiting Death and the living, Each keeping score in our own way It had its moments It was interesting We wait for him to die And Death waits for us, smiling

[jatygucreative]

A Personal Message to My Subscribers #Jatygu #JasonTylerGuest #APersonal...

[jatygucreative]

VAGINAPOCALYPSE

Born from the depths of a womb, A baby boy, destined for doom, Came out kicking, screaming in fright, Little did I know, it was all wrong from the night.

Oh, it’s the Vaginapocalypse, can’t you see? From the moment I popped out, it was chaos and glee! With every kiss and every fling, The world crumbles down, oh, the trouble it brings!

First crush in school, thought I’d found love, But she ghosted me quick, like a whisper from above. Heartbreak’s a lesson, oh, what a tease, It started with a giggle, ended with a sneeze.

Oh, it’s the Vaginapocalypse, what a sight! Every date and disaster, a comedic plight. From the first time I tried to impress, To the wild STD test—oh, what a mess!

Crabs and herpes, oh what a fright, Each little mishap just adds to the plight. Pregnancy scares, like a horror show, Children, the worst disease, don’t you know?

Fast forward to now, my life's in decay, The world’s spinning down, in a wild disarray. Hurricanes and tornadoes, all from the heat, Who knew a vagina could cause such defeat?

Oh, it’s the Vaginapocalypse, the end is near, With each failed romance, I can’t help but fear. The laughter and chaos, it’s all just a game, But I’m blaming the vagina, let’s just stake the claim!

So here’s to the chaos, the laughter, the pain, To the vaginas of the world, driving us insane. And when the dust settles, and the world’s gone to rot, Remember, dear friends, it’s all their fault—like it or not!

[jatygucreative]

Jatygu Creative commercial 😎 #automation #music #Audacity #python #html...

[jatygucreative]

🌴✨ Coming Soon: Existential Dreadlocks ✨🌴

This one’s for everyone who’s ever laughed through the tears while doomscrolling at 2am.

My new project Existential Dreadlocks takes the classic heartbeat of reggae and twists it through neon rainbows, honeybadger grins, and existential humor. It’s part groove, part meltdown, and 100% Jatygu.

☀️ If the planet’s melting, we might as well dance. 🔥 If the world’s ending, we might as well sing. 🌈 If life is absurd, let’s make it funky.

🎶 Listen here → https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/jatygu/existential-dreadlocks

I can’t wait to share this with you — stay tuned, it could drop any day now.

Jatygu #ExistentialDreadlocks #JatyguMusic

ReggaeVibes #DubAndDread #GrooveAndFlow

ExistentialDread #LaughingAtTheApocalypse #CosmicGroove

NewMusicComingSoon #IndependentArtist #MusicRelease

[jatygucreative]

[jatygucreative]

⚡ Saint’s Digital Sanctuary is now live. ⚡

Saint’s Digital Sanctuary is a free online space where you can receive a personalized blessing tailored to your current challenge and mood. Simply enter your name (real or playful), choose what you’re facing, and select your energy — the Sanctuary will return a thoughtful message inspired by timeless wisdom. It’s shared freely, in the spirit of love, light, and prosperity. ✨

This is one of my favorite creations to emerge from today’s work — a small digital gift I’d love to share with you. In just a few seconds, you can receive a personalized blessing:

Enter your name (real or playful)

Choose your current challenge (peace, love, clarity, etc.)

Select your mood or energy

Then, the Sanctuary generates a unique blessing, inspired by timeless wisdom, tailored just for you. It’s a reminder that even in turbulent digital times, moments of light and clarity are always available.

This project is completely free, created and shared in the spirit of love, creativity, and prosperity.

👉 Experience it here: www.jatygu.com/sanctuary

Blessings #DigitalSanctuary #Jatygu #ModernSpirituality #InnerPeace #Wellbeing #SharedWithLove