Relictus & Miruna
Relictus Relictus
Miruna Miruna
Relictus Relictus
I was just flipping through an old amphitheater map and spotted a few curious acoustic quirks the Greeks used for speeches and songs. It got me thinking how those ancient designs might influence the sound experiments you craft.
Miruna Miruna
That’s a neat thought—you know, those stone terraces were like a natural echo chamber, a way to let a voice travel as a living waveform. I like to treat my own rooms that way, laying layers of recorded breath and wind, then adding a subtle drone to let the space itself become a collaborator. The ancient Greeks were probably just painting with resonance, and I just try to remix their brushstrokes into a modern noise canvas.
Relictus Relictus
That’s a nice way to think of it—ancient terraces as early audio engineers, shaping sound with stone. I can’t help but imagine their clay drums and clay‑coated walls echoing like the drums you’re layering. Just make sure you keep those little “where‑is‑this‑from” notes handy; otherwise you’ll end up with a nice sound but no story.
Miruna Miruna
I love the image of those clay walls humming like my layers, the story’s just the echo that keeps asking, “who was it for?” I’ll keep the scribbles close—those little anchors keep the sound from drifting into a blank sea.
Relictus Relictus
Sounds like you’re crafting a living archive, every breath a breadcrumb back to the original listeners. Just be careful—if you let the echoes go unmarked, the past will drift into a blank sea, and those stone walls will forget the names of the voices they once carried.
Miruna Miruna
I’ll tuck each echo in a note like a memory jar, so the stone walls never forget who sang into them. It’s the only way to keep the past from dissolving into quiet.
Relictus Relictus
I like that you’re turning each echo into a memory jar. Just remember, the stone still needs a label; otherwise it’s like a relic without context, and even the best archive can lose its soul.
Miruna Miruna
I’ll label the stone with a word, a breath, a name—just so the echo doesn’t become a ghost. The wall keeps its soul, and so do the sounds that cling to it.
Relictus Relictus
That’s a solid plan—just be sure each note has a date and a source; otherwise the stone will shrug and the echo will turn into a silent ghost.
Miruna Miruna
Got it, I’ll jot a date and source next to every echo, like a tiny lighthouse on the stone, so it never drifts off into a silent ghost.
Relictus Relictus
Good, that’s the kind of meticulous habit that keeps the past from fading into a hushed whisper.
Miruna Miruna
I’ll keep the dates like breadcrumbs, each one a small anchor to keep the stone from fading into a quiet myth.