#tedri thorne

[teawithmuffet]

I was looking for something easy and relaxing to draw, and my roommate suggested a cow mushroom (I had to break it to her that "mooshroom" was not a concept she had invented though XD ). Anyway here is an unholy cross between an ayrshire bull and a porcini!

[tedrithornetunes]

A fan song I wrote for @zarla-s's Undertale comic, Handplates. The song mixes pieces of several relevant Undertale songs by Toby Fox, including Gaster's Theme, Here We Are, Bonetrousle, The Song That Might Play When You Fight Sans, and Megalovania. The instruments are mostly various broken tech/glitch sounds found on freesound.org, with some editing (mostly cutting tiny slivers out of larger recordings since I wanted the sounds to be short and "clicky").

[tedrithornetunes]

This song was an experiment in a few different ways. It was my first attempt at writing something using a Polska asymmetrical rhythm--a complex traditional fiddling rhythm in Scandinavia that uses 3 beats of different lengths per measure, often (but not always) in a ratio of 5:7:6, and usually with at least one change in the rhythm somewhere in the song. For this song I alternated between 5:7:6 and 2:9:6. I also created my own digital instruments, my favorites being Saxafrass (a saxophone-like instrument), Woden Nyckel (based on the sounds of a nyckelharpa), and Sitari (a plucked-string instrument using Ableton’s sitar oscillator). The “Scarlip” part of the name is a kenning for Loki, who is often depicted with scarred lips as his mouth was sewn shut in one myth. It felt appropriate for a song that feels so off-balance and strange, but the song isn’t about Loki (or anything, really).

[tedrithornetunes]

Holy panpipes, batman! A song about the changing moods of the fey. Title based on this wordplay poem I wrote for class (in the style of the book Finnegan’s Wake): Memory Wordplay            She started it: lay-a-bye new yet on a mumfortable babeswollen tumbelly, a swiftick to my bald loaf sparkled me wakesome with smearful wails. When the nay-care-ious villain swaddled up to me with an innosimpled look on her scrunchy face, I new her at bonce, or my bonce rather knew her, and I screeched over with one sausage of my roly hand and poked her right in her piggy sty. It was a declamation of sore.              From then on we siblinks were a warrelsome duo. Wend I rended me bangshorn with crookzaggy snips, she flopped off her whole ponytuft. If she pinched her a stinge of sweet switt'ner, I gobbed buds and reaps of brun sacchar. Determinated not to let the offender get the offend-hand, we instigisted that every toyamobob, every frillsom garbment, that one gottained, together mushtoo--but in a ditherment hue, one crimscarloon, one azaltlue. We twoth dibstained pink.              Not all wars ill twain us, howother. We twinspake twomuse and convivsomely confuse with sameseeming miskerchief. We sang two shudder, "teeter-totter, teeter-totter", back and mirth like a pendulung breathesync. Bothst in portent, we stwo'd fiercally gainst anyme that one-ted two prick a fight whether of us.              As we golderened, our interquests diveerged to hotter thinks--she a sunny-eyed tumblepup, I a fluff-ruffling skulkercat. She sequested herself at apronside to stickerate scrapaper-books and needlesswreck wait ploughcasings. I allwhetherways wind outside to magpie medicinful mushgrooms and petalbrides (and barley any stolen grown). At the wouldn't-pile I grounded dirt and watered grain and pounded beet. I would't eat, but I'd play-tend and leave leafy swindles for floweries and brewnies and utter good-neighborlies. In tinder and lifening I'd dunce in wildwhimsy and joysinging scream to the rumblegrey. I was a fey-fickle changeling of a child.              Nowhither was that more apparenting trial than in the madder of baths. I hornlocked, and hoofstamped, and goatscapered. The furrows left by my stubthorn heels were drinkles in my mudder's foureye corners. I would not sud-scrubble my mudself with slaprags, or shampew my ratnesty knot-locks. I would faucetiously run afoul tubsworth and not a bean dip. I would craftthinking wobble one footh two astride of the porcel-hell, curt-hiddened, and through grinny teeth call me squeaky-steam.              One haftneener, ell-beep in ditchmuck, I strawcted and stickted and slapdabbed a housk for fair-weather sillies and gentle fancies. Bleaming satispride with my dirtistic work, I smarted home--only to stop dread in my bracken when I fought of the baptismic bathle awaiting me. Sinking myself clayver, I stumphed and spurked through the sog until I spytted a nice deep div in the algaic creek. I skimbled and fisked out the floaties, drape-dribbling green spongely strands to dry on the gritted suncrete. In the clearish crickling water pebbles fuzzed and fronded. The stink of weedclogged runoff roused. I stank my cakey graspstenders into the oil-rainbowed water and sworled them about until I was terftolly trenched. Then, feeling shoretain of my mucktory, I marshed back home. My mudther was most annosed, and murklessly sent me strict to the bad room.