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Lurm is the brainchild of me, Adrien Converse. It’s the name I put on the creations I pull from my deepest, weirdest, hardest-to-make-sense-of intellectual wanderings. Ideas for what I make come to me in dreams, or while I’m floating in sensory deprivation tanks, or when I’m wandering around in the woods, or when I’m standing on my porch in the rain. They feel important even though I don’t know why.

I turn them into surreal art (usually paired with riddle-like poems) and music albums

Almost every week I extend my explorations to others in my youtube livestream, where I live-compose 20–40 minutes of music inspired by a secret or a story or a riddle or a thought fragment that someone shares with me. 




are you home?

step into the hallway
black curtains in the dark

set down the key
a drop of dye in the ink pot

pour a glass of water
a mirror with nothing to reflect

curl up in a chair
a tunnel at the bottom of a well

I know this is your house
are you home?

heal the sick

heal the sick abstract painting

the code unwinds into branches
the lines unfurl into leaves
the edge creeps across the expanses
with each little spark it receives

unfolding in every direction
all sensing and being and birth
then it cracks under guise of protection
and disease spreads across the whole earth

it shudders and cries
it shrivels and dies
and rotting it hangs into space

but the meaning will not be erased.

imitation is iteration

a mind imitates itself
sometimes badly; sometimes well

imitation is iteration

the loosest imitations are the biggest iterations:
the longest leaps into versions more advanced

the tightest imitations are nearest to stasis:
resistance to a shift taking form as replication

the most well-controlled hand attempts to trap time
but it only traps itself.

witness in the woods

witness in the woods (painting by lurm)

there’s a witness in the woods
there’s a tyrant on the train
there’s a king beneath the cave that’s holding everyone we think’s insane

no weapons for the women
no fuel for any fire
no water, food, or shelter; those are figments of desire

meanwhile blood is in the basin
there’s mosquitos in the milk
slugs are up and down the stairways
and their slime is smeared across the top of all your most expensive silk.

at first it gives

at first it gives drawing by lurm

at first it gives and through the night it gives and gives some more
and finally you start to wonder if it’s keeping score

for how much it can give away against what it receives
maybe trying to achieve the highest rank before it leaves?

it starts to get tired
it starts to get sick
it’s going to need some help from somewhere else real quick

you try to feed it love but it won’t drink a single drop
you give it time and care and blood and bones and never stop

you give and give and through the night you give and give some more
and finally you realize that you are keeping score

for how much you can give away against what you receive
you’ll be fine as long as it’s not less than nothing when you leave.