You can pre-order Go Yama's "Rumi" now, so we're sharing another chapter

We're so unbelievably excited that Rumi is almost ready to see the world! You can pre-order the album on Bandcamp right now, and pre-save to the DSP of your choice.

The singles have been receiving lots of support from the likes of Georgie Rogers (Soho Radio), Marcus Rosario (KALW), Dubmission (WYEP), and so many more! We're eager to finally being able to get the story into readers' hands, so we wanted to sneak you another chapter before release. Please enjoy The Octopus Whirlpool!

Rumi kept following the glowing dance of the whimsical fish deeper and deeper into the Cerulean, its vibrantly flashing colors like a beacon in the dimly lit waters. She was now deeper than she had ever been before—about 300 meters into the mesopelagic zone. But to her surprise, she could handle the increased pressure with ease. The bright light of the shallower epipelagic zone now faded into perpetual twilight, and she could no longer tell if it was night or day. Her tentacle mindlessly reached for her CC15 to check the time, only to grab at empty water. When she looked back up, she lost sight of the fish. 

'Ugh, where did it go? Did I seriously lose it again?'

Rumi spun slowly, scanning the endless columns of tangled kelp. She couldn’t tell where she was—or even how she felt. Her thoughts and instincts were twisted like the forest around her. 

"I knew it. I’m useless without my CC,” Rumi pouted. “Useless… hopeless… meaningless. Why did I even bother? I knew it was impossible to go from here to there. I’ll never find that tail. I’ve never found anything special.”

Her tentacles drooped. Overwhelmed, she flopped down in the middle of the dense thicket and mindlessly began fidgeting with the nearest stalk—twisting the slimy blades, pulling at the bulbous nodes. Between the swaying stalks, she glimpsed three possible paths. 

To the left: a barren expanse of pale sand. 

To the right: a lagoon teeming with jellyfish. She couldn’t tell if they were friend or foe, but they looked poisonous. 

And straight ahead: an even denser and more tangled forest of kelp. Labyrinthine. Endless.

‘Should I turn back? I don’t want to go the wrong way…again.’ 

She sat there in silence, playing with the kelp like a bored hatchling. Her tentacle traced an unusual spiky stalk of kelp—its head bulbous and misshapen, with two long blades sprouting wildly like an unruly mohawk. 

“Is that hair?” Rumi thought aloud, squinting at the stalk.

“Oi! Not hair—horns! And lay off the merchandise!” The kelp barked back in a gravelly voice like it had been screaming into a microphone for decades. 

Rumi stumbled back in shock. 

“You can talk?? I thought you were just… seaweed. Although… I guess I should be used to this by now.”

“Yeah, I talk. And sing. And for the record, I’m bull kelp, not some seaweed poser. I’ve got roots in this reef. And you—who are you, rolling up here like you own the place? Keep your tentacles to yourself… unless you wanna start something. Do you?” 

Rumi stuttered an apology, skin momentarily flushing red. 

"WAUGH-AUGH-AUGH!" The bull kelp suddenly lunged at her, its stalk whipping forward. Rumi dove back, tentacles flailing. "Oi, sorry, I’m sorry!" the bull kelp groaned, bending its stalk downward in shame. "It’s just… when I see that color, or even hear the word...” 

"You mean, re—"

"WAUGHHHH!" 

He screamed and lunged again. Rumi yelped and dodged, moving just out of reach of the kelp’s blade. 

"Oi, sorry, sorry!" The kelp averted his gaze, his bulb bending in shame. "Listen, I don’t wanna hurt you, alright? Don’t say it. Don’t even think about turning… you know, that color." 

“I’m trying!” Rumi said, eyes squeezed shut, desperately forcing her mind toward anything else—seafoam green, electric yellow, even charcoal gray, anything but…

Too late. Red crept back into her thoughts, and her skin flushed. 

"WAUGHHHHHHHH!!!! Ow, ow, ow!" 

The kelp recoiled, his stalk curling painfully. 

“Are you ok?” Rumi asked, guilt creeping in.

“Oi, chronic back issues,” the kelp muttered. “Too much lunging. But what can I do? I lose it every time I see…that color. And now look at me!” The bull kelp let out a deep guttural sob and pointed to his hair. “Only two of my beautiful swaying blades are left!” 

“Hey, you’re ok, you’re ok. Honestly… I think it looks pretty… metal.” 

“You think so?” the bull kelp sniffled, bulb wobbling as he tried to lift his head. 

“Yeah, totally!” Rumi said. “Here, let me try and help you straighten up. Hold still.” 

The kelp hesitated but allowed Rumi to work, wincing as she adjusted his stalk. 

“Alright. Try it now,” she said, stepping back. 

He slowly uncurled, wobbling at first, but finally stood tall. 

“Whoa…” He flexed his stalk cautiously, his blades swaying back and forth. “You actually fixed me. Thanks, mate. That’s real solid of you.”

 “Yep, no problem,” Rumi smiled. “But maybe cut back on the lunging.” 

“I know,” the bull kelp groaned. “Truth is, I’ve been working hard on controlling myself. Not easy though.” 

Rumi thought about her own flashes of anger, the racing thoughts, the colors she could no longer control. “Actually, to tell you the truth, I’ve …” Rumi hesitated.

“You know, the octopus has helped me a lot. I could introduce you,” the bull kelp said.

“The octopus?” 

“Yeah. The octopus.” 

His gravel tone gained a flicker of reverence. 

“I used to thrash out everyday, but he’s taught me to keep my cool.”

“Is that so…” Rumi said skeptically. 

“Yea, he even taught me this shredding vocal solo, do you want to hear it?” The bull kelp began screaming. “WAUGHH…” 

“Oh hey—that sounds great, but I really have to get going, I’ve got to… find something.” 

“Bummer! Next time then. Good luck with whatever you’re looking for!” 

The bull kelp waved his horns about, and Rumi hurriedly exited the thicket towards the barren expanse. The silence rang in her ears after the kelp’s scream-solo encore. 

Before her lay a sandy plain, stretching miles in all directions like an underwater desert. She camouflaged herself behind a large gray boulder to regain her bearings and took stock of her surroundings. The ocean floor shimmered in faint twilight. Tiny crabs and shrimp scuffled about on the surface, somehow bumping into each other despite the vast space. 

“Excuse me, do you know where we are?” Rumi called out to the ambulatory side-walkers. 

A crab stopped and tilted its eyestalks.

“Where are we? We’re here, of course!” 

Another crab chimed in, sideways walking into the conversation. 

“No, no, no, we’re there!” 

“You idiots, get out of the way, you’re blocking the road!” a third said. 

Rumi blinked. 

“Great, just great,” she grumbled, realizing they were of no help. “I have no idea where I am. And I don’t think anyone is going to help me.”

Floating upwards to get a better view, Rumi scanned the horizon. In the distance, she spotted something strange—a swirl of thick black clouds rising from a clearing deep within a kelp patch. ‘Weird…what is that? Is that … ink?’ 

Curiosity tugged at her tentacles, and she cautiously started making her way towards the black clouds. The shells’ argument echoed in her mind. ‘What if I really can’t go from here to there?’ It had sounded so convincing. But with no better plan, she kept going. To her great relief, she found that she was undeniably getting closer and closer to the source of the flowing clouds. After a careful swim past the chaotic crustacean sideways walking traffic, she finally reached the edge of the kelp patch. 

“See? I made it!” she said to no one in particular. The mysterious clouds billowed like steam from a shipwreck’s hull, and the faint scent of burning rubber wafted in her direction. A chilling thought crept over her. She imagined the huge whale shark from the news ripping apart a group of cuttlefish, their ink spilling out and forming black clouds. 

“Why risk your life? No point in going forward. It’s impossible, anyway. Meaningless and impossible.”

Her tentacle moved reflexively toward where her communicator used to be. But instead of the cold plastic, her touch met something warm and smooth. Barbara’s pearl. 

“If you carry this light with you, you’ll always be able to find your way—forward, upward, and to the impossible…” 

Rumi clutched the pearl tightly. Her skin flushed a calm seafoam green. It pulsed with life in her grip, encouraging her to move forward. 

She exhaled. 

‘You got this.’

She dove into the dark patch of kelp. To her surprise, the dense kelp quickly gave way to a beautiful clearing of ivory-white sand. Smooth gray stones encircled the clearing. They were placed meticulously, not a stone out of alignment. They shimmered faintly, polished like Barbara’s pearl.

Rumi’s breath slowed. 

“Ok, finally… a good sign,” she whispered.

A strong scent of jasmine and mint drifted through the clearing, perfectly matched to the gentle, ambient soundscape. Concentric circles traced into the sand surrounded the stones, as though the music’s rippling sound waves had frozen mid-echo. All was calm, save for one small whirlpool at the center, which spiraled into brief chaos every few seconds before returning to stillness. 

‘This is… kinda peaceful,’ Rumi thought, her body slowly shifting to a soft lavender hue.

In the middle of the clearing sat a giant Pacific octopus—or at least, the faint outline of one. Nearly translucent, his eight ethereal arms folded beneath him like silk ribbons, unmoving. His face was calm, ancient, and kind. He stared deeply into the strange pool in front of him. 

“Welcome, little cousin,” the octopus said. His voice was gentle, soft, yet carried the weight of countless tides. 

“Cousin? Are we cousins? I don't think I'm your cousin,” replied Rumi, scratching her head. 

“I can see quite well that you're not thinking that,” he replied, with a wink. His tone made Rumi squint in confusion. 

“Ya… wait, what?” Rumi hoped that she had not stumbled into another confusing shell situation.

“My dear cousin, you’ve stumbled on the Waters of Reflection,” the octopus said, gesturing at the swirling pool in front of him. “It’s a place for thinking about thinking.”

Rumi groaned. “Oh no, I think I’ve done enough thinking for like… my whole life.” 

“Even if you think you're done thinking,” he said with calm amusement, “you may not be. A thought is not necessarily true, dear cuttlefish cousin.”

“Okay, first of all,” Rumi huffed, “just because you’re an octopus and I’m a cuttlefish doesn’t mean we are cousins.” 

“In this ocean,” the octopus replied, “we are all connected. You, me, even the kelp. Each of us is carried by the same current of existence.” 

“Wait… did you say kelp? I think I met some bull kelp that knows you!” 

The translucent octopus turned one eye toward her, tentacles adjusting ever so slightly. 

“Ah, yes. My dear relative. Is he still lunging about?” 

Rumi nodded. “Oh yeah. Full throttle.”

“Rage and impulsivity… it’s part of his nature, but it’s not who he is.” 

“He said you’ve been helping him,” Rumi said, curiosity blooming in her voice. 

“He comes here, to the pool. When his anger builds, we sit. Here, he doesn’t fight the rage—he observes it.”

“Observes it?” Rumi echoed skeptically. “Like… just looks at it?” 

“When he sees red out there, he thinks he must attack. The thought possesses him before he even has a chance to notice. But here, he’s learning that it’s just a thought. Not the truth. He is learning that he does not have to lunge.”

Rumi crossed her tentacles, “Well, he for sure lunged at me, though.” 

The octopus let out a low chuckle. 

“Breaking habits isn’t easy, dear cousin. When you feel overwhelmed by your thoughts, what do you do?”

“I dunno, I think I’m pretty good at controlling myself… or, at least, I used to be,” Rumi said, avoiding his gaze.  

“Is that so?” 

Her tentacles curled inward. “Well… I guess haven’t really been able to control my colors. I’m always this weird charcoal gray. And sometimes I yell. And sometimes I storm off screaming at my friend… but it’s not my fault, really!”

Rumi, usually hesitant to share, suddenly felt something open up inside her. Before she could take a breath, words began spilling out like waves crashing on the shore. 

“I've just been so tired lately like way too tired and way too anxious and like hearing voices and I've been following this glowing fish but I don’t even know what it looks like and the strangest thing is I don’t even know why I’m following it or maybe I do and I’ve just forgotten anyway I just had the oddest conversation with Fibonacci with an “F” obviously and Phibonachee with a “PH” who insists it’s spelled that way crazy right? so both of them told me that it’s absolutely impossible to get anywhere but I have to be going somewhere I said don’t I? and now I feel lost and confused and then lost again and honestly I just wish someone would tell me what to do though knowing me I’d probably ignore them anyway." 

Rumi’s stream of consciousness tumbled forward like a rip current until finally crashing into silence. The octopus smiled gently. 

“It matters not so much where you came from or where you are going, but where you are right now,” he said. 

He gestured softly with one glowing tentacle. 

“Come here, dear cousin. Let's have some tea bubble.” 

Rumi floated to a smooth, flat stone beside him, her skin matching the pale gray tones. Two lines of tiny mantis shrimp emerged from behind another stone, moving in quiet unison. They each wore austere orange shells, and their graceful movements were precise—nothing like the chaotic sideways walking of the crabs in her hometown. She watched with curiosity as they carried in an intricately carved bubble pod, setting it gently in front of the octopus. 

“These are the caretakers of this place,” he explained. “They tend the waters. Keep the sand still. They protect the harmony of this garden.” 

One shrimp approached Rumi, balancing another bubble pod between its antennae. It bowed deeply, placing the bubble down before her before retreating to its place in line. Rumi picked up the pod. Inside, swirling spirals of green and gold danced hypnotically, and the scent of jasmine and mint filled her senses.

“What… is this?” Rumi asked. 

“Tea bubble,” the octopus said. “Sip it slowly.” 

He lifted his own bubble with care, turning it 180 degrees, observing it with interest. Then, with one fluid motion, he brought it to his mouth. Rumi followed his lead and took a careful sip. A smooth, minty vapor danced across her tongue, and a wave of calm washed over her. 

In the background, the mantis shrimp began to hum, their voices resonating in a melodic chant that blended with the ambient hum of the ocean. 

Rumi’s skin deepened into a rich lavender. 

“Tell me of your journey, dear cousin,” the octopus said, still smiling. “For I can see you've traveled far.” 

Rumi took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She spoke of the starfish who made music like war and poetry. Of the philosophical shells and their impossible questions. Of the glowing fish who danced just out of reach. Of the kelp that lunged, and the pearl that shimmered. And, of course, her home, which now felt a million miles away. 

All at once, tears began forming in her W-shaped eyes. 

“Will I ever make it back home?” she whispered. 

The octopus cast a warm glance upon Rumi and wrapped one insubstantial tentacle around her, saying nothing. Rumi, suddenly feeling self-conscious, turned a soft red. 

“Sorry,” she said, sniffling.  “I’m talking way too much. I didn’t even ask your name… Who are you, anyway?

“My name is Tako N. Higashi,” said the octopus, his voice calm and weathered. “But, of course, that is not who I am.” 

“If you aren't your name… then who are you?” Rumi asked. 

“Let's say I am the vast ocean,” he replied. “And also, the delicate seashell buried in its depths. Tell me, where does one end and the other begin?” Tako said cryptically. 

Rumi blinked. 

“Uh… I’m not sure I get it,” Rumi admitted, her tentacles curling in uncertainty. “So, you’re saying… you’re everything?” 

“Not everything, dear cousin,” Tako said with a glimmer of mischief. “And not nothing. We are all part of the whole… yet each of us is beautifully unique.” 

He let out a gentle laugh, which quickly turned into a dry cough. Volumes of black and gray ink spilled from his outline in soft bursts—the source of the inky clouds.

“Are you alright?” Rumi asked, concern for the aging octopus blooming in her voice.

“Of course, dear cousin,” Tako said. “My ink outline is fading. But as I said, this is not all I am.”

“What are those dark clouds?” 

“Karma,” he said simply. “From a lifetime of ideas and opinions. The more I seem to lose, the clearer I become.” He coughed again, losing more karmic ink. Tako was beginning to look nearly invisible, and his was becoming a faint whisper. She could barely hear him. 

"You've caught me at the perfect time,” he whispered. “Come. Let me show you to the pool." 

He led her toward the swirling basin he’d been sitting beside. As they approached, tiny chaotic whirlpools started forming inside. 

“Each thought is a whirlpool,” Tako said. “Here, you can observe each thought for what it is. Just simple phenomena. Just motion. But be careful… don’t get sucked in.”

Rumi, fancying herself quite the careful cuttlefish, was confident she could look without getting pulled in. She leaned over and began to peer into the pool. 

She thought of her friends. Her home. Her last meal of buttery scallops. One thought led to another, more vivid with each second. Then she heard a voice. It was Rio. The water shifted. A memory surfaced like a scene from a movie, playing across the whirlpool’s surface: 

“You've been inside on your communicator for three days straight, Rumi! I'm worried about you… you’re always gray… you don't seem like yourself.” Rio’s voice was tender, his expression filled with concern. 

“You're just jealous!” Her own voice cut back, sharp and defensive. “You just want me to stop so you can get more OD points than me!” 

“I just feel like this thing is rotting your brain,” Rio said quietly. 

“You don’t understand me!” She stormed off. 

Before she knew it, she was helplessly sucked into the whirlpool. In fact, she felt that she was the whirlpool. Her mind and body spiraled, syncing with the pool’s chaos. She could no longer tell where the current ended and she began. 

Suddenly, several tentacles gently wrapped around her and began gently lifting her from the pool. Rumi felt as if she was being awoken from an intense dream. 

“Wait, where am I? How did I get in there?” she asked. 

"You must observe the whirlpools without falling in," Tako said, his smile warm and patient. “Why don't you try taking a breath? Follow it in and out. Breath is your anchor to the here and now.”

Rumi inhaled slowly. Exhaled. 

As she watched, the chaotic whirlpool began to loosen, slow, dissolve. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes. Then resolved to look once more, turning her W-shaped eyes directly at the pool.

This time, she began tracking her breath.

In… out… 

She began replaying her adventure. The rhythms of the starfish concert, Fibonacci and Phibonachee and their riddles, the voices of the manicoral. ‘Hey… weren't those oysters quite funny shuffling and hurrying around? What were they in such a rush for?’ she thought, tracing the jagged outline of Ms. Barbara's shell in her mind.

All of the sudden.

Whooosh

She felt the grip of tentacles pulling her out of another whirlpool. She gasped for breath, and her skin flushed red from embarrassment and exhaustion. Rumi kicked herself for having messed up yet again, sending tiny little whirlpools spinning everywhere. 

The octopus smiled and laughed. 

"How in the world did I get in there again?!" Rumi exclaimed.

"Our thoughts are powerful,” Tako said. “They pull us in with great force and convince us that the stories they tell are true. Some never make it out, believing their whole lives are within the pool, within their thoughts.” Tako’s voice became stern. “You must always remember, dear cousin… you are not the whirlpool. You are the water itself, in which all the whirlpools arise." Rumi wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she nodded. 

“Try once more,” Tako encouraged. “Recognize that voice—the one that seems to talk to you. It’s just another whirlpool. Recognize its pull.”

Rumi took a deep breath and looked once more at the pool. 

And then… there it was. That familiar voice that never seemed to leave her alone:

“Your tentacles are too short. You don’t swim fast enough. Your eyes are too W-shaped. You’re not enough. You’re hopeless. It’s all hopeless. It’s all meaningless.”

Her body started to sway, drawn towards the whirlpool like the tides tugged by the moon. 

But this time—she noticed. She paused. 

She saw two words floating in front of her: worthless and meaningless. They were shiny and metallic, and her tentacles were clutching them tightly as if they were her precious CC15. 

The words began to drift downward, drawn to the pool like iron to magnet. 

“How did I not notice these?” she whispered. 

As she observed them—really looked at them—they began to change. The words thinned, faded, becoming faint and translucent, just like Tako’s outline. Their pull weakened. 

“Interesting…” Rumi said softly, surprised. 

She loosened her grip around the letters, and she let them go. The words began dissolving into the pool, spinning away into the depths. 

“Well done, dear cousin,” said Tako. “You've recognized a thought.”

“Are all thoughts like that?” Rumi asked. “Just… words floating around?”

“They can be words, images, feelings, memories,” Tako said. “Even… communicators.” Tako winked at her. 

Rumi glanced back at the whirlpool. The words “worthless” and “meaningless” had nearly vanished into the stilling water. 

“So… if I can see a thought… if I can loosen my grip on it… it loses its power?”

“Indeed,” Tako nodded. “A thought is like a stranger at your door. It may knock loudly, but you do not have to invite it to stay. You are not your thoughts, little cousin. You are the vastness that holds them.” 

Rumi's squinted and rubbed her forehead. All this thinking about thoughts was making her scrunch up. 

“Okay, I think I'm done,” she said with a groan.

“Ah,” said Tako, delighted. “Nice job recognizing another thought.” 

Rumi protested, “No, no, I mean, I feel like I need a rest.”

“Ah ,I see you've become quite an expert at recognizing your feelings as well,” Tako said, patting her gently on the head. “I think you have all that you need to continue on your journey.” 

Suddenly, Tako started convulsing. 

His cough returned and became more severe. Pools of ink spilled out of him, filling the water with clouds of black and gray. His outline thinned, blurring, like he was merging with the water itself. 

The mantis shrimp appeared with another swirling green tea bubble. Tako reached out with a translucent tentacle and offered it to Rumi. 

“Take this, before I go,” he said.

“Wait. What do you mean, go?” 

Panic rose in her voice. 

“You can’t just… go!”

“This body is dying,” said Tako calmly. 

“My time is up, dear Rumi.” 

Before Rumi even had a chance to protest, Tako's outline vanished. 

Dark ink clouds billowed out, obscuring the once-tranquil garden. The mantis shrimp, startled and disoriented, began scurrying in every direction, furiously trying to clear the clouds of ink. A few of the orange-shelled caretakers settled into the place where Tako had just been, still as stones, their antennae dropping, their posture wilted.  

“Hummmmm…” 

The mantis shrimp began to hum in mourning and reverence. 

Rumi clutched the green tea bubble to her chest, her colors flickering erratically between deep red and pale blue as grief swept through her. 

“Why did he have to go?” she whispered. 

The ink clouds began to settle, dispersing outward into the surrounding ocean like smoke from a long-extinguished fire. As the water cleared, Rumi saw the central pool had grown completely still. It shimmered with a faint light, like the surface of the moon reflecting in the ocean. The gentle hum of the mantis shrimp deepened. It pulsed with rhythm and memory. And Rumi felt it. The heartbeat. Not just her own, but the shared heartbeat of the ocean—the shrimp, the octopus, the bull kelp, the coral, the current. For one brief, glowing moment, she felt connected to everything. Her skin turned a deep blue hue. 

“Whoa.” 

"Don't you cry, dear cousin," a voice whispered from nowhere. 

Her breath caught. 

"Tako? But… how?"

"As I told you, my body is not all I am. I am still here, in a sense." 

"Where is here?" she asked.

"Depending on where you are, everywhere is here," said the voice cryptically.

"What do I do now?” Rumi said, her skin a deep blue in mourning. 

“I was just starting to understand. I was just starting to feel comfortable recognizing my thoughts, and now I'm lost again. And scared." 

"Fear is just another thought that keeps us focused on the past or worried about the future. Just continue to seek and you will find," the voice proclaimed. 

"But, I don't know where to go. Even if I did… I don't think I could make it!" Rumi said, longing for someone to scoop her up and carry her home.

“Just because you have a thought… doesn't mean it’s true." 

The voice faded like a lingering melody and the octopus garden became silent. She looked around, hoping to glimpse a ghostly outline, but saw nothing. Only the mantis shrimp standing in a circle bowing their heads. The last of the ink clouds drifted outward like tides, fading into the deep. Rumi stared intently at the dark clouds. 

‘Is that…”

A brilliant flash shot through the cloud. The colorful glowing tail reappeared, cutting through the ink like a bolt of lightning. Rumi’s chromatophores flickered in emerging recognition of the brilliant colors. The tail looped in a tight arc and darted toward the south, disappearing into a thick forest of kelp. 

“Okay,” Rumi said resolutely. “I know where to go.”

"You’ll be ok,” whispered the voice.

Rumi wasn’t sure anymore if it was Tako’s voice… or her own. But she felt a new resolve being born inside her. She closed her eyes, stashed the tea bubble, and entered the thick, dark forest waters.