Podcasts about Skrillex

EXPERTS ONLY #044 - Devault TakeoverExperts Only Intro 00:00:001. Devault - Feels Like Us 00:00:062. ID - ID 00:04:293. Westend & Sidepiece - Take Your Places 00:07:534. Gabss ft. Sebastian - Dynamite 00:11:165. KH - Looking At Your Pager (Chris Lake Remix) 00:14:556. Cloonee & Funkdoobiest - X-Rated 00:19:017. Chris Lake, Skrillex & Anita B Queen - LA NOCHE (ID Remix) 00:23:138. Devault - Let's Begin 00:26:259. ID - ID 31:0210. Devault - Blow Your Brain Cell 33:2711. Max Styler - You & Me 00:36:2612. ID - ID 00:40:2213. KETTAMA - It Gets Better (ID REMIX) 00:43:1714. IDEMI - Someday 00:46:2615. Swedish House Mafia - Can U Feel It (Brooklyn Edit) 00:49:4216. gabss - Giddy Up 00:50:4117. ADELA - DeathByDevotion (Devault Remix) 00:53:3018. Rafael & Michell - Naughty 00:57:27

Alison prepares for the upcoming release of her new album "GHOST WORLD" with a massive hour of new music from across the spectrum of music. Tune in to hear tracks from Fred Again.., G Jones, RL Grime, MANADA, Eprom, Skrillex, Rezz, AVELLO and more!Don't forget to rate & review on all of your favorite podcast apps! Post your comments on twitter @awonderland #RADIOWONDERLANDTracklist:RADIO WONDERLAND OPENER 00:00Alison Wonderland - Floating Away 00:37MANADA - FADE AWAY 05:31Alison Wonderland, Erick The Architect, QUIX & MEMBA - PSYCHO 07:40Know Good x M_STIC - Low Key 09:35RL Grime & Deadcrow - Dominator 12:34Skrillex, Varg2TM, Eurohead & LOAM - voltage (see you again) 15:05G Jones & Eprom - 1000 Cuts 17:33Alison Wonderland - Again? Fuck.. 20:32Shygirl, JT & Sega Bodega - SLIME is BESTIE (Sega Bodega + JT) 22:43Rezz - Selector (2025 Remake) 25:12Alesso & SACHA - Destiny (AVELLO Remix) 28:16Said The Sky ft. flor - Together Again 32:01WHIPPED CREAM - life 34:28Fred again.., Sammy Virji & Winny - Winny 37:54Acyan & bauti - 33FLOOD 40:22MPH ft. Cameron Hayes - Vulnerable 42:53G Jones & Eprom - Noontime Acid 45:37Ninajirachi - Fuck My Computer (Frost Children Remix) 48:39BABY KEEM - TOP RAMEN (MANADA FLIP) 50:29Levity - Can't Get Enough 54:27Sub Focus - Elevate 57:07

1. Devault - Feels Like Us (Extended Mix) 2. Billie Eilish - Birds Of A Feather (Cosmic Dawn Remix) 3. Empire Of The Sun - Alive (Alok Extended Remix) 4. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (Franky Wah Extended Mix) 5. RAYE - WHERE IS MY HUSBAND? (Redmo Remix) 6. Fezzo - Kids (Extended Mix) 7. Double You - Please Don't Go (Bruno Martini Extended Remix) 8. Sigala, Leigh-Anne, Jonita Gandhi - Hello (Esquire Extended Remix) 9. Taylor Swift - The Fate Of Ophelia (Sefu Remix) 10. Duck Sauce - Can't Stop (KiNK Remix) 11. Silva Bumpa & Wideboys ft. Dennis G - Wanna Party (Extended Mix) 12. Eric Prydz - Call On Me (Hills Tech House Remix) 13. BLONDISH, Broken Hill, DARCO 09 - GOAT (Extended Mix) 14. Confidence Man - Gossip (Chris Lake Remix) 15. Anti Up - I Cannot (Extended Mix) 16. Dennis & Alok ft. Furacão 2000 - Mimosa (Now And Forever) (Extended Mix) 17. Vintage Culture & Doozie ft. Laren Nicole - Get naughty (Original Mix) 18. Chris Lake, Skrillex & Anita B Queen - La Noche (Kamino's 'Warp Tool' Tech House Remix) 19. MK & Clementine Douglas - Come Find Me (Corey James Extended Mix)

This week Surf Mesa selects his Up All Night tracks & LUCATI is on guest Mix duties.1. YOTTO & Bren Lock ft. Quincy Davis – Team Outside 00:00:432. Clüb De Combat – La Fire 00:05:133. Layton Giordani – Hold It Down (DARE) 00:11:504. Michael Cassette – Promenade 00:15:355. Rex The Dog – Not Going Home 00:20:206. Calvin Harris – Ocean (YOTTO Remix) 00:26:547. Richard Vission & Villa – Get With You 00:31:098. Mathame & JONOS & Son of Son – Meet Me 00:34:169. The Chemical Brothers – Block Rockin' Beats (Don Diablo Remix) 00:38:4410. Sam WOLFE – Swipe Right 00:41:4411. Odd Mob & OMNOM & HYPERBEAM – Coming Up (It's Dare) 00:45:2012. Adam Sellouk & Anyma ft. Carly Gibert – Girls MIA 00:49:1413. Axis Zero – Do It 00:51:3214. Skrillex & Dylan Brady & Caroline Polachek – hit me where it hurts x 00:54:3215. London Elektricity & Danny Byrd – Echoes In The Dance 00:57:5716. Sub Focus ft. Poppy Baskcomb – So Many Colours 01:01:3817. WINK – intheclub 01:05:4018. Delerium & Sarah McLachlan & John Summit – Silence (Dimension Remix) 01:08:3819. Friction – Never Know (Love You So) 01:13:0320. Sub Focus – Elevate 01:15:2721. Tourist – Veil (Edit) 01:18:5722. Devault – Feels Like Us 01:22:1323. Surf Mesa – Somebody Like You 01:27:0124. LUCATI Guest Mix 01:30:23

30. Kryder - Time 29. Wh0, The Fog - Been A Long Time 28. Blr, Sander Van Doorn - Instant Moments 27. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 26. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 25. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 24. Dj Snake - Monte Carlo 23. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 22. Mathame, Jonos, Son Of Son - Meet Me 21. Volac - Wannabe 20. Don Diablo - Lose Control 19. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 18. Dont Blink - It's Our House 17. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 16. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down OLD TRACK: OLIVER HELDENS/THE RUMORS - Ghost 15. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 14. Low Steppa, Rue Jay, Reza, Chuck Roberts - The Creator 13. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 12. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 11. Camelphat, Josh Gigante - The One 10. Argy, John Cala - Boom 09. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 08. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 07. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 06. Cassian, Matt Ryder - A Feeling I Miss 05. Meduza - No Sleep 04. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 03. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 02. Ferreck Dawn - Serious 01. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade

01. Alexandra Stan- Mr. Saxobeat (LUKE ALEXANDER & CHALANT REMIX) 02. Chris Lake - Operator Ft Dances (Denotra & Gainz Edit) 03. Skrillex, Virtual Riot, Nakeesha - while you were sleeping (TERZI Edit) 04. Lucas & Steve - Good Times 05. Oliver Heldens - Lady (Hear Me Tonight) 06. Said, Gustavo Mota - Party Rock 07. Don Diablo & MONO_CHROME - Enjoy the Silence (Don Diablo Version) 08. Soulja Boy - Crank That (Sly Phil & Sam Collins Edit) 09. JAEMO x TYCLO - BOOM BOOM POW 10. Empire Of The Sun - Alive (Alok Remix) 11. Dubdogz, Dekho (MX) - Vodka 12. Wave Wave & MORGANJ - Push It 13. MAUR - NASTY 14. BYOR - Set Me Free 15. CYRIL, Rome Fortune - Overdrive 16. Evoxx, Marcia Cardoso - The Feeling 17. Alesso & SACHA - Destiny (Hills Remix)

30. Kryder - Time 29. Wh0, The Fog - Been A Long Time 28. Blr, Sander Van Doorn - Instant Moments 27. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 26. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 25. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 24. Dj Snake - Monte Carlo 23. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 22. Mathame, Jonos, Son Of Son - Meet Me 21. Volac - Wannabe 20. Don Diablo - Lose Control 19. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 18. Dont Blink - It's Our House 17. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 16. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down OLD TRACK: OLIVER HELDENS/THE RUMORS - Ghost 15. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 14. Low Steppa, Rue Jay, Reza, Chuck Roberts - The Creator 13. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 12. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 11. Camelphat, Josh Gigante - The One 10. Argy, John Cala - Boom 09. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 08. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 07. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 06. Cassian, Matt Ryder - A Feeling I Miss 05. Meduza - No Sleep 04. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 03. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 02. Ferreck Dawn - Serious 01. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade

Check the entire tracklist here: Meduza - No Sleep Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - LA NOCHE Alesso, Sacha - Destiny Martin Garrix, Matisse and Sadko, Barbz - Butterflies Alle Farben, Cheat Codes, Joseph - Loving You Is Life Nyne, Okayval - Designer Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle Dannic, Kiyoto - Back To Life Danny Avila, Rome Fortune - Sweating Vintage Culture, Doozie, Lauren Nicole - Get Naughty Throwback Track: Shapov vs. Amersy - Vavilon Swedish House Mafia, Knife Party - Antidote (Belgium Edit) Ummet Ozcan - Vaki Mark Bale, Ninkid - Changed The Way You Kiss Me Nils van Zandt - 33 Max Verstappen (feat. Maxx Power) [Cuebrick & Charles B Remix] Steve Aoki, Blasterjaxx, Lil Jon - Get Down FrankyEffe, Caro Van Ee - Break Me Ahmed Helmy - Aftermath Returns Hardwell, Maddix - Rave Till My Grave feat. Villain

Zeskullz Presents mixtape by: Oliver Heldens 01. Sonny Fodera X D.o.d X Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (Franky Wah Remix) 02. Fedde Le Grand X Porno - Music Power 03. Kaskade - Fools Kungs, Channel Tres - Nasty 04. Matt Sassari & Dvbbs - On Me 05. Blr X Sander Van Doorn - Instant Moments 06. Tony Romera - Change The Music 07. Oliver Heldens - Lady (Hear Me Tonight) 08. Kream & Alika - Dangerous 09. Phantogram, Hntr - Fall In Love Again 10. Empire Of The Sun - Alive (Alok Remix) 11. Zamna Soundsystem, Benny Benassi, Laherte - The Future 12. Cloonee - Vamos A La Playa 13. Marco Strous - Monkey Swag 14. James Hype - Behavior 15. Kaleena Zanders & Shift K3y - The Light 16. Odd Mob & Omnom, Hyperbeam - Coming Up (It's Dare) 17. Eli Brown, Danny Avila, Sacha - Gotta Go 18. Morgan Seatree - Never Gonna Stop 19. Skrillex, Dylan Brady & Caroline Polachek - hit me where it hurts x

Zeskullz Presents mixtape by: Oliver Heldens 01. Sonny Fodera X D.o.d X Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (Franky Wah Remix) 02. Fedde Le Grand X Porno - Music Power 03. Kaskade - Fools Kungs, Channel Tres - Nasty 04. Matt Sassari & Dvbbs - On Me 05. Blr X Sander Van Doorn - Instant Moments 06. Tony Romera - Change The Music 07. Oliver Heldens - Lady (Hear Me Tonight) 08. Kream & Alika - Dangerous 09. Phantogram, Hntr - Fall In Love Again 10. Empire Of The Sun - Alive (Alok Remix) 11. Zamna Soundsystem, Benny Benassi, Laherte - The Future 12. Cloonee - Vamos A La Playa 13. Marco Strous - Monkey Swag 14. James Hype - Behavior 15. Kaleena Zanders & Shift K3y - The Light 16. Odd Mob & Omnom, Hyperbeam - Coming Up (It's Dare) 17. Eli Brown, Danny Avila, Sacha - Gotta Go 18. Morgan Seatree - Never Gonna Stop 19. Skrillex, Dylan Brady & Caroline Polachek - hit me where it hurts x

Nesta edição, Cleber Facchi (@cleberfacchi), Renan Guerra (@_renanguerra) e Nik Silva (@niksilva) recebem Brian Camargo (@briancmrgo) para uma conversa sobre a nova onda do pop nórdico, a busca por um som cada vez mais dissociativo e o trabalho de artistas como Smerz, Erika de Casier, Astrid Sonne e ML Buch.Apoie a gente: https://apoia.se/podcastvfsmPlaylist Popenhagen : https://tinyurl.com/35m2dudxNão Paro De Ouvir➜ Tobias Jesso Jr. https://tinyurl.com/94b5wcsy➜ Baco Exu do Blues https://tinyurl.com/26s465jp➜ D'Água Negra https://tinyurl.com/bdz7k8y3➜ Duda Beat & Rose Gray https://tinyurl.com/43z63e4x➜ Djavan https://tinyurl.com/ycybd98u➜ Juana Molina https://tinyurl.com/52td4bw2➜ Javiera Electra https://tinyurl.com/59urawhj➜ Todos Mis Amigos Están Tristes https://tinyurl.com/2enj3psb➜ Oneohtrix Point Never https://tinyurl.com/fctnm3mx➜ Skrillex https://tinyurl.com/mvn848zk ➜ Obelga https://tinyurl.com/mpu9hhv3➜ Lolina https://tinyurl.com/4xjfdn9z➜ Cidade Dormitório https://tinyurl.com/5c3myucm➜ Danny L Harle, Oklou & MNEK https://tinyurl.com/yc3cpy6zVocê Precisa Ouvir Isso➜ Devo (Netflix)➜ One Punch Man (Netflix e Crunchyroll)➜ Jards Macalé – Besta Fera (2019)➜ Jards Macalé – Síntese do Lance (2021)➜ Jards Macalé – Coração Bifurcado (2023)➜ A Natureza das Coisas Invisíveis (Cinemas)Playlist Seleção VFSM: https://bit.ly/3ETG7oEContato: sobremusicavamosfalar@gmail.com

LIP BITER SOUNDS w/ Floyd West22 — Episode 36 Episode 36 dives straight into the pulse of late-night momentum—an unbroken ride of euphoric nostalgia, modern tech-house edges, and festival-proof energy. Floyd West22 kicks things off with a reimagined classic before dropping two fresh FLOYD WEST22 IDs, setting the tone with his signature hybrid of groove, grit, and shadowy club flavor. From Toolroom rollers to AETERNA tribal heat, Spinnin' Deep weapons, Hood Politics edits, and heavy-duty bassline shakeups, this mix moves like a crowded dancefloor at peak hour: sweaty, loud, and unstoppable. Episode 36 balances iconic throwbacks (“Evacuate The Dancefloor,” “Enjoy The Silence”) with razor-sharp modern smashers from VOLAC, TOYZZ, Chapter & Verse, Tony Dark Eyes, U-Jeen & Monolegato, and more—stitched together with Floyd's signature precision, tension, and swagger. This one is built for the nights when you don't want the lights to come back on. Press play, bite down, and lock in. ⚡️Like the Show? Click the [Repost] ↻ button so more people can hear it!

Welcome to a new edition of The XLNT Show: Bad Boys, where it is just Danny and Parker talking uncensored. No filters, no script, and no holding back.In this episode, the guys dive into one of the most overlooked conversations in the EDM scene right now: major artists taking ideas and drops from smaller producers without giving proper credit. Using the recent situation between Fred again and Liny as the centerpiece, Danny and Parker break down how a viral edit blurred the lines between inspiration and attribution, and why it struck such a nerve in the producer community.They discuss:The timeline behind the Victory Lap edit and LYNY's original trackWhy credit matters for smaller artists trying to break throughWhether big artists have a responsibility to elevate new talentThe culture shift around IDs, edits, and promo on TikTokThe role of community building in EDMWhen borrowing becomes poachingWhether Fred again actually helped LYNY or overshadowed himThe conversation expands into a wider look at the industry: the lack of mentorship, the expectations placed on top artists, and whether the community holds different people to different standards based on their public persona.

Come along the journey as Sam and Max discover more and more about Canada in one episode. Then they cover an underrated Aussie metal band, debate between Nickelback and Matchbox Twenty, and golf-clap the ARIA Awards winners of 2025.Follow along with the songs we discuss with this week's Spotify Playlist.Discover more new music and hear your favourite artists with 78 Amped on Instagram and TikTok.

I hoped - like many - to hear Fred Again play last night but missed Skrillex playing at the Dubhlin Gate instead - whhhhhat!!?! Easy out is now open with Catskinner spinning and many Folks got the goods on 7th yesterday. Happy Monday

Stu Watts chats with Jack Prest, who is a leading audio engineer and producer in Australia's independent and alternative music scene, specialising in forward-thinking electronic, jazz, and experimental music. His credits include prominent Australian and international artists such as Sampa The Great, Godtet, Jonti, Tasman Keith, Omar Musa, Urthboy, Kelly Lee Owens, and labels like Stones Throw, Kitsune, and Future Classic. Jack's approach is rooted in collaboration, ensuring the finished product reflects the artist's unique vision.Jack cut his teeth as an in-house engineer at Studios 301, Australia's oldest and most prestigious studio, where he's worked with global icons like Skrillex, Flume, Brockhampton, ASAP Rocky, Billy Joel, and Bruce Springsteen. Jack operates out of Golden Retriever in Marrickville, Sydney.How you can support the podcast:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Subscribe on YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Buy some merch⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Donate⁠⁠⁠⁠Follow on Instagram:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠What's That Sound?⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Stu Watts⁠⁠⁠⁠Jack Prest⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Stu Watts website⁠⁠Jack Prest website⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to Stu's work on Spotify⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to Jack's work on Spotify⁠Enquiries and suggestions: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠podcast.whatsthatsound@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ 

ILLENIUM drops new music from Skrillex, Said The Sky, WIlliam Black, Virtual Riot, Martin Garrix & more!Don't forget to rate & review on all of your favorite podcast apps! Post your comments on twitter @ILLENIUM #PHOENIXRADIOTracklist:PHOENIX RADIO OPENER 00:00Frank Walker, Josh Ross & Norma Jean Martine - Lay It On Me 00:52Sam Feldt, VIZE, Aloe Blacc & MC4D - Hey Son 03:12Said The Sky - Gotta Get To You 06:12Martin Garrix, Saksham & Scott Quinn - Ain't Letting You Down 08:42Said The Sky ft. 408 - Ur So… (Beautiful) 13:02Alison Wonderland - Floating Away 15:42Halsey - Colors (Ian Asher Remix) 20:28William Black, Afinity & Trella - Too Good To Be True 22:57John Summit ft. Inéz - Crystallized (Subtronics Remix) 26:32PhaseOne & Make Them Suffer - SOS (VIP) 29:37William Black - Unlove U 33:08Excision, Sullivan King & From Ashes to New - Adrenaline 35:57ALLEYCVT & LEVEL UP - BELIEVE 38:11GRiZ, Tape B & CREG - Light You Up 40:38Gryffin & YDG - The Feeling 43:24Skrillex, Dylan Brady & Caroline Polachek - Hit Me Where It Hurts X 46:31Virtual Riot, PhaseOne & Intervals ft. Micah Martin - DIVIDE (Virtual Riot Remix) 49:44Seven Lions & HALIENE - Cold as Snow 54:32Sub Focus & Poppy Baskcomb - So Many Colours 58:02

Coughs is a photographer out of Los Angeles, CA. She has many experiences that she is going to share with us, including; touring with Skrillex , Softest Hard , and a variety of other artists she has worked with. Also, she's a bad ass gamer and will most definitely give you all the smoke on the sticks.   Ambiance   Instagram: ⁠https://instagram.com/creative_ambian⁠...   Twitter: ⁠https://twitter.com/collectiveamb⁠   Apple Podcasts: ⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast⁠...   Spotify: ⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/6rMRH8D⁠...     Coughs  Instagram: ⁠https://www.instagram.com/coughs/⁠ Twitter: ⁠https://twitter.com/_COUGHS⁠ Twitch: ⁠https://www.twitch.tv/coughsy⁠  Subscribe.

Подкаст «Top Club Chart» выходит каждый понедельник.  Подпишись на нас в Apple Podcasts, Castbox и SoundStream, чтобы не пропустить новые эпизоды.  Комментарии, вопросы и пожелания отправляй на t.bodrov@europaplus.ru  Ведущий и продюсер: Тимур Бодров Саундпродюсер: Ярослав Чернобров Редактор подкаста: Екатерина Гаврюшина 1. Odd Mob & OMNOM pres. HYPERBEAM - Coming Up (It's Dare) (25 место) 2. DERON x DJ DELICIOUS - Same Man (DERON Rework) (24 место) 3. HILLS - Cry (Just A Little) (23 место) 4. Jamback – Positive (22 место) 5. The Chemical Brothers - Galvanize (Chris Lake Remix) (21 место) 6. AFROJACK ft. Eva Simons - Take Over Control (HILLS Remix) (20 место) 7. Vinter - Space Pump (Space Jam) (19 место) 8. HUGEL & SOLTO - Jamaican (Bam Bam) (18 место) 9. R3HAB & Vion Konger - Lazers (I Can't Stop Dancing) (РЕЗИДЕНЦИЯ) 10. MK & Clementine Douglas - Come Find Me (17 место) 11. VOLAC - Wannabe (16 место) 12. Layton Giordani & GENESI ft. Be No Rain - Call You Back (15 место) 13. Sonny Fodera & D.O.D & Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (14 место) 14. Chris Lake & Skrillex ft. ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE (13 место) 15. Alexander Popov & U-Jeen & Vera Novak - Toca's Miracle (12 место) 16. MEDUZA - No Sleep (11 место) 17. Tiga - Bugatti (CID Remix) (10 место) 18. CID & Taylr Renee - Fancy $hit (9 место) 19. HUGEL & Kurd Maverick - PYHU (Put Your Hands Up) (8 место) 20. SIDEPIECE - Cry For You (7 место) 21. Daft Punk - Around The World (Westend Edit) (6 место) 22. Bob Sinclar - I Feel for You (ХИТ ВСЕХ ВРЕМЁН) 23. Rezone, Jack Villa - Rapture (5 место) 24. Britney Spears - I Wanna Go (John Summit Remix) (4 место) 25. Cassian & YOTTO & Da Hool - Love Parade (3 место) 26. Prospa ft. Kosmo Kint - Love Songs (2 место) 27. RAYE - WHERE IS MY HUSBAND! (David Guetta & HYPATON Remix) (ПЕРСПЕКТИВА) 28. Fallon - Diet Coke (1 место)

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

'N2STAL5IA' es una oda melancólica a la crisis de la mitad de los veinte. La de los cuarenta es un tópico y la de los treinta, casi una norma; pero la de los veinte no la vimos venir, quizá porque creímos que, al menos entonces, seríamos felices. La tensión entre la juventud eterna y la incertidumbre de no saber quién eres oscurece las canciones del segundo disco de Natalia Lacunza.Además, el director de cine Paul Urkijo responde a nuestro cuestionario cultural en FAQ! Y hablamos con varios protagonistas de las escenas locales de nuestro país para analizar el fenómeno que les hace llenar estadios: de Oques Grasses a Zetak. Playlist:Ezra Collective, Yazmin Lacey - God Gave Me Feet For DancingBadbadnotgood, Tim Bernardes - Poeira CosmicaDomi & JD Beck - Two ShrimpsYussef Dayes - Marching BandTom Misch - NightriderOscar Jerome - Do You ReallyJordan Rakei - TrustNubiyan Twist - Lights OutKokoroko - War DanceBerlioz - NYC in 1940Ciutat - Todo pasaJorja Smith - Greatest Gift (Reimagined)Cleo Sol - SelfRita Payés, Silvia Pérez Cruz - El PanaderoLaufey - From the startHeadache - Dodge This!Oneohtrix Point Never - LifeworldThe xx - VCRLorde - Man Of The YearCMAT - Running/PlanningJapanese Breakfast - Picture WindowWet Leg - liquidizeCeleste - People Always ChangeNilüfer Yanya - Cold HeartNatalia Lacunza - SINGAPURGoldfrapp - Ooh La LaRobyn - DopamineRomy - Love Who You LoveAddison Rae - Fame is a GunTurnstile - LIGHT DESIGNTriángulo de Amor Bizarro - Triángulo de Amor BizarroAngélica García - BUTTERFLYShygirl, Nick León, Six Sex - BAWDY is A LOTArt School Girlfriend - The PeaksDanny L Harle, Oklou, MNEK - Crystallise My TearsAustra - Math EquationOvermono - Paradise RunnerKelly Lee Owens - DESCENDSASSY 009 - EnemyJust Mustard - WE WERE JUST HEREAlice Glass - MERCY KILLSkrillex, Dylan Brady, Caroline Polachek - hit me where it hurts xCharli xcx - Chains of LoveFlorence + The Machine - Everybody ScreamEscuchar audio

Oliver drops new bangers from Kasakde, James Hype, Eli Brown & Danny Avila, Alok, Cloonee, Phantogram & HNTR, Odd Mob & OMNOM, Skrillex and many more on #HeldeepRadio!

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

30. Dj Snake - Monte Carlo 29. Mathame, Jonos, Son Of Son - Meet Me 28. Dont Blink - It's Our House 27. Nicky Romero, Sick Individuals - Hold On 26. Martin Ikin, Hayley May - Rush 25. Low Steppa, Rue Jay, Reza, Chuck Roberts - The Creator 24. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 23. Merk & Kremont - Disco Robot 22. Camelphat, Josh Gigante - The One 21. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 20. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 19. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 18. Cassian, Matt Ryder - A Feeling I Miss 17. Volac - Wannabe 16. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You OLD TRACK: EXAMPLE - Changed The Way You Kiss Me 15. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 14. Don Diablo - Lose Control 13. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down 12. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 11. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 10. Meduza - No Sleep 09. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 08. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 07. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 06. Argy, John Cala - Boom 05. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 04. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 03. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 02. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 01. Ferreck Dawn - Serious

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Record Club - Guest Mix CERES 01.KAAZE & CERES - On The Floor (Spinnin Records) 03:55 - Lupage, ZEYPHIA & CERES – Calor (Beat Dealer Records) 06:30 - Sara Landry – GIRLBOSS (Insomniac Records) 02. Antonym - Bass Go (Polyamor Berlin GmbH) 03. Blasterjaxx, Kickbait & CERES – Changes (MAXXIMIZE - Spinnin Records) 04. The Rocketman & Evil Twiin - La Fin (Kontor Records GmbH – Playbox Music) 05. Marie Vaunt - That Acid (EXTATIC Records – Revealed Music B.V.) 06. NOVAH & CERES – Papi (Tomorrowland Music) 07. Valexus, 3rd Wall & CERES - Milkshake (Shake Like a Milkshake) [ZEITGEIST] 08. DJSM, Flawx & Samuel Moriero – SHIVA (Bounce & Bass) 09. Beauz & CERES - I Like It Bad (BADDIE UP) 10. Maddix & CERES - Adrenalina (Minha Gasolina) [EXTATIC Records – Revealed Music B.V.] 11. Noyse & Moha - Black Beatles (Bounce & Bass) 41:28 - Odymel – Gucci (Hot Meal Records) 12. LAÜFF & CERES – Emergency (Helix Records – Payday Records) 13. KEVU, Beauz & LAXTER - Ocho VIP (Laxter Hard Edit) [BADDIE UP] 14. Showtek – FTS – Edit (Dutch Master Works) 15. Beauz, Flawx & Robbe - Immigrant Song - Techno Mix (Bounce & Bass) 16. Luciid - Bye Bye (NOVAH Remix) [Taapion] 01. Evoxel, Ovadia - Bakari 02. Chris Voss - Hold Me Down 03. Curol, sone. - Ilê (feat. Jéssica Gaspar) 04. CamelPhat, Zafrir - Destino 05. Cafe De Anatolia & Marko Leandro - Sunugal Roots 06. Francis Mercier, Barbatuques - Baianá Boa Noite 07. Hemel, Miguel Nuas - Amani 08. Sofiya Nzau, Madism, Robert Miles - Hutia 09. Sunnery James & Ryan Marciano x Idd Aziz - Bira 10. R3HAB & Skytech & Pupa Nas T & Kevin McKay ft. Denise Belfon & Fideles - Work 11. Empire of the Sun, Axwell, Michael Calfan - Walking On A Dream (Resurrection) 12. 22Bullets - Dope 13. Chris Lake, Skrillex & ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE 14. Tiësto - RVN (Raven) 15. KSHMR & Sam Feldt - Pretender 16. Ummet Ozcan - Vaki 17. KSHMR, nilsix, Ryos - Radiate (feat. Hayley May) 18. KAAZE, CERES - On The Floor 19. The Rocketman & Hannah Laing - Rewind 20. Maddix - Move It 2 The Drum

Подкаст «Top Club Chart» выходит каждый понедельник.  Подпишись на нас в Apple Podcasts, Castbox и SoundStream, чтобы не пропустить новые эпизоды.  Комментарии, вопросы и пожелания отправляй на t.bodrov@europaplus.ru  Ведущий и продюсер: Тимур Бодров Саундпродюсер: Ярослав Чернобров Редактор подкаста: Екатерина Гаврюшина 1. HUGEL & SOLTO - Jamaican (Bam Bam) (25 место) 2. Calvin Harris ft. Jessie Reyez - Ocean (24 место) 3. Timmy Trumpet & Vion Konger - Safe And Sound (23 место) 4. Mr. Belt & Wezol & RUZE - Ain't Nobody (22 место) 5. MEDUZA - No Sleep (21 место) 6. Layton Giordani & GENESI ft. Be No Rain - Call You Back (20 место) 7. The Chemical Brothers - Galvanize (Chris Lake Remix) (19 место) 8. AFROJACK ft. Eva Simons - Take Over Control (HILLS Remix) (18 место) 9. Going Deeper & Higher Lane & Hi Motive ft. Dallien - Honest (РЕЗИДЕНЦИЯ) 10. HILLS - Cry (Just A Little) (17 место) 11. Chris Lake & Skrillex ft. ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE (16 место) 12. Sonny Fodera & D.O.D & Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (15 место) 13. Vinter - Space Pump (Space Jam) (14 место) 14. Alexander Popov & U-Jeen & Vera Novak - Toca's Miracle (13 место) 15. HUGEL & Kurd Maverick - PYHU (Put Your Hands Up) (12 место) 16. Tiga - Bugatti (CID Remix) (11 место) 17. VOLAC - Wannabe (10 место) 18. MK & Clementine Douglas - Come Find Me (9 место) 19. Daft Punk - Around The World (Westend Edit) (8 место) 20. CID & Taylr Renee - Fancy $hit (7 место) 21. Britney Spears - I Wanna Go (John Summit Remix) (6 место) 22. Deep Dish - Flashdance (ХИТ ВСЕХ ВРЕМЁН) 23. SIDEPIECE - Cry For You (5 место) 24. Rezone, Jack Villa - Rapture (4 место) 25. Prospa ft. Kosmo Kint - Love Songs (3 место) 26. Fallon - Diet Coke (2 место) 27. Diplo, Jem Cooke, Local Singles - Lift Me Up (ПЕРСПЕКТИВА) 28. Cassian & YOTTO & Da Hool - Love Parade (1 место)

30. Low Steppa, Rue Jay, Reza, Chuck Roberts - The Creator 29. Camelphat, Josh Gigante - The One 28. Cassian, Matt Ryder - A Feeling I Miss 27. Hatiras - Hypnotized 26. Chris Avantgarde, Pote - Down For The Night 25. Martin Ikin, Hayley May - Rush 24. Nicky Romero, Sick Individuals - Hold On 23. Marten Horger - No Matter 22. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 21. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down 20. Meduza - No Sleep 19. Merk & Kremont - Disco Robot 18. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 17. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 16. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin OLD TRACK: W&W - Bigfoot 15. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 14. Volac - Wannabe 13. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 12. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 11. Argy, John Cala - Boom 10. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 09. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 08. Don Diablo - Lose Control 07. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 06. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 05. Ferreck Dawn - Serious 04. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 03. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 02. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 01. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche

Record Club - Guest Mix DJ All Emprty 01. Evoxel, Ovadia - Bakari 02. Chris Voss - Hold Me Down 03. Curol, sone. - Ilê (feat. Jéssica Gaspar) 04. CamelPhat, Zafrir - Destino 05. Cafe De Anatolia & Marko Leandro - Sunugal Roots 06. Francis Mercier, Barbatuques - Baianá Boa Noite 07. Hemel, Miguel Nuas - Amani 08. Sofiya Nzau, Madism, Robert Miles - Hutia 09. Sunnery James & Ryan Marciano x Idd Aziz - Bira 10. R3HAB & Skytech & Pupa Nas T & Kevin McKay ft. Denise Belfon & Fideles - Work 11. Empire of the Sun, Axwell, Michael Calfan - Walking On A Dream (Resurrection) 12. 22Bullets - Dope 13. Chris Lake, Skrillex & ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE 14. Tiësto - RVN (Raven) 15. KSHMR & Sam Feldt - Pretender 16. Ummet Ozcan - Vaki 17. KSHMR, nilsix, Ryos - Radiate (feat. Hayley May) 18. KAAZE, CERES - On The Floor 19. The Rocketman & Hannah Laing - Rewind 20. Maddix - Move It 2 The Drum

Подкаст «Top Club Chart» выходит каждый понедельник.  Подпишись на нас в Apple Podcasts, Castbox и SoundStream, чтобы не пропустить новые эпизоды.  Комментарии, вопросы и пожелания отправляй на t.bodrov@europaplus.ru  Ведущий и продюсер: Тимур Бодров Саундпродюсер: Ярослав Чернобров Редактор подкаста: Екатерина Гаврюшина 1. Jonas Blue & Malive - Edge Of Desire (Grigoré & Serve Cold Remix) (25 место) 2. Going Deeper & Judgemxnt & Wicks - Safe With Me (24 место) 3. Layton Giordani & GENESI ft. Be No Rain - Call You Back (23 место) 4. AFROJACK ft. Eva Simons - Take Over Control (HILLS Remix) (22 место) 5. Chris Lake & Skrillex ft. ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE (21 место) 6. Timmy Trumpet & Vion Konger - Safe And Sound (20 место) 7. Calvin Harris ft. Jessie Reyez - Ocean (19 место) 8. HUGEL & Kurd Maverick - PYHU (Put Your Hands Up) (18 место) 9. Martin Garrix & Matisse & Sadko ft. BARBZ - Butterflies (РЕЗИДЕНЦИЯ) 10. Sonny Fodera & D.O.D & Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us (17 место) 11. Alexander Popov & U-Jeen & Vera Novak - Toca's Miracle (16 место) 12. The Chemical Brothers - Galvanize (Chris Lake Remix) (15 место) 13. Tiga - Bugatti (CID Remix) (14 место) 14. Mr. Belt & Wezol & RUZE - Ain't Nobody (13 место) 15. Daft Punk - Around The World (Westend Edit) (12 место) 16. Britney Spears - I Wanna Go (John Summit Remix) (11 место) 17. HILLS - Cry (Just A Little) (10 место) 18. Vinter - Space Pump (Space Jam) (9 место) 19. MK & Clementine Douglas - Come Find Me (8 место) 20. VOLAC - Wannabe (7 место) 21. Rezone, Jack Villa - Rapture (6 место) 22. Climbers - Equal Responsibility (ХИТ ВСЕХ ВРЕМЁН) 23. Fallon - Diet Coke (5 место) 24. SIDEPIECE - Cry For You (4 место) 25. CID & Taylr Renee - Fancy $hit (3 место) 26. Prospa ft. Kosmo Kint - Love Songs (2 место) 27. Dimension ft. Karen Harding - Guardian Angel (ПЕРСПЕКТИВА) 28. Cassian & YOTTO & Da Hool - Love Parade (1 место)

30. Chris Avantgarde, Pote - Down For The Night 29. Nicky Romero, Sick Individuals - Hold On 28. Meduza - No Sleep 27. Armin Van Buuren, Joa - Heavy 26. Tony Romera - Como Se Llama 25. Alaia & Gallo - Lipstick 24. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 23. Hatiras - Hypnotized 22. Martin Ikin, Hayley May - Rush 21. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 20. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 19. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 18. Marten Horger - No Matter 17. Ferreck Dawn - Serious 16. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down OLD TRACK: CHAINSMOKERS/GREAT GOOD FINE OK - Let You Go 15. Merk & Kremont - Disco Robot 14. Argy, John Cala - Boom 13. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 12. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 11. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 10. Volac - Wannabe 09. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 08. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 07. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 06. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 05. Don Diablo - Lose Control 04. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 03. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 02. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 01. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work

Hosts Nate Wilcox and Ryan Harkness continue their discussion of "⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Underground is Massive⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠" with a look at EDMs commercial triumphs in the early 2010s, epitomized by Electric Daisy Carnival's move from LA to Las Vegas, the rise of Skrillex and brostep, and the cross-over success of David Guetta and others. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠GO TO THE LET IT ROLL SUBSTACK TO HEAR THE FULL EPISODE⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ -- The final 15 minutes of this episode are exclusively for paying subscribers to the Let It Roll Substack. Also subscribe to the LET IT ROLL EXTRA feed on Apple, Spotify or your preferred podcast service to access the full episodes via your preferred podcast outlet. We've got all 350+ episodes listed, organized by mini-series, genre, era, co-host, guest and more. Please sign up for the email list on the site and get music essays from Nate as well as (eventually) transcriptions of every episode. Also if you can afford it please consider becoming a paid subscriber to support the show. Thanks! Email ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠letitrollpodcast@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Follow us on Twitter.⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Let It Roll is proud to be part of ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Pantheon Podcast⁠s⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

01. Deadmau5 - Ameonna 02. Volac - Wannabe 03. Don Diablo, Nelly Furtado - Doing Nothin' 04. Frank Walker, Nathan Nicholson - What Love Feels Like 05. Alaia & Gallo - Lipstick 06. Fedde Le Grand, Sansixto - The Rhythm 07. Chris Avantgarde, Pote - Down For The Night 08. Mike Dices - Breathe 09. Freejak - My House 10. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 11. G-pol, Arta - Discoteka 12. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 13. Camelphat, Vomee - Needed You 14. DJ Antoine, Mad Mark, Lovespeake - Copacabana 15. Betical - Do It Again 16. DJ Michelle - Don't Hold Back 17. Basstrick, Reign - Suave 18. Bingo Players, Justnkayse - Memories 19. Dannic, Kiyoto - Back To Life 20. Marc Mosca - Underground 21. Chapter, Verse - Jump n' Shout 22. Cosmic Gate, James French - I'm On Fire 23. Twin Scream, Fedo - Rompe La Pista 24. Discip - Off The Clock 25. Skytech - Sinner 26. Jason Ross, Trivecta, Last Heroes, Lilly Ahlberg - Escape 27. Pirate Snake, Benan - Emergency 28. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - LA NOCHE 29. Jay Robinson - React 30. Cid, Taylr Renee - Fancy _hit 31. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 32. Martin Garrix, Citadelle - Peace Of Mind 33. Sonny Fodera, D.o.d, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 34. Bkaye, Lilyisthatyou - Broke My Rules 35. Cherry Tooth - Way Too Good 36. Dubdogz - Fake or Real 37. Bob Sinclar - Cruel Summer 38. Lucas & Steve - BANG!

Record Club - Guest Mix KSHMR 01. Evoxel, Ovadia - Bakari 02. Chris Voss - Hold Me Down 03. Curol, sone. - Ilê (feat. Jéssica Gaspar) 04. CamelPhat, Zafrir - Destino 05. Cafe De Anatolia & Marko Leandro - Sunugal Roots 06. Francis Mercier, Barbatuques - Baianá Boa Noite 07. Hemel, Miguel Nuas - Amani 08. Sofiya Nzau, Madism, Robert Miles - Hutia 09. Sunnery James & Ryan Marciano x Idd Aziz - Bira 10. R3HAB & Skytech & Pupa Nas T & Kevin McKay ft. Denise Belfon & Fideles - Work 11. Empire of the Sun, Axwell, Michael Calfan - Walking On A Dream (Resurrection) 12. 22Bullets - Dope 13. Chris Lake, Skrillex & ANITA B QUEEN - LA NOCHE 14. Tiësto - RVN (Raven) 15. KSHMR & Sam Feldt - Pretender 16. Ummet Ozcan - Vaki 17. KSHMR, nilsix, Ryos - Radiate (feat. Hayley May) 18. KAAZE, CERES - On The Floor 19. The Rocketman & Hannah Laing - Rewind 20. Maddix - Move It 2 The Drum

30. Ferreck Dawn - Serious 29. Sonny Fodera, D.O.D, Poppy Baskcomb - Think About Us 28. Corey James, Morganj, Tyoz - Jungle 27. Don Diablo - Little Lies 26. Paul Oakenfold, Goom Gum - The House Of House 25. Sevek - Bad Girl 24. Tony Romera - Como Se Llama 23. Argy, John Cala - Boom 22. Alaia & Gallo - Lipstick 21. Armin Van Buuren, Joa - Heavy 20. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 19. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 18. Hatiras - Hypnotized 17. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 16. Martin Ikin, Hayley May - Rush OLD TRACK: SANDER VAN DOORN/MOTI - Lost 15. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 14. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down 13. Marten Horger - No Matter 12. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 11. Merk & Kremont - Disco Robot 10. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 09. Volac - Wannabe 08. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 07. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 06. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 05. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 04. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 03. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 02. Don Diablo - Lose Control 01. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade

01. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 02. Greg (Br), Pedroz - Spend Money 03. Jay Robinson, Scrufizzer - PRT 04. Volac - Wannabe 05. Don Diablo - Little Lies 06. Mau P - The Less I Know The Better 07. Bingo Players, Justnkayse - Memories 08. Pawsa - DOUBLE C 09. Malaa - Snatch 10. Leo Anderson - One In A Million 11. Mark Knight, Roland Clark - Televised 12. Mark Vox - Feels Like Home 13. Ar Co, Punctual, Newera - Generation Love 14. Black V Neck, Gawp, Juush, Gaby G - Losing My Head 15. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 16. David Vendetta, Eray Turkay - Old School 17. Hugel, Merk & Kremont, Lirico En La Casa - Marianela (Que Pasa) 18. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon - Work 19. Discip - Off The Clock 20. Ferreck Dawn, Aureliy Ray - Mirror Machine 21. Edx - Desire 22. Brohug - Teaser 23. Duck Sauce - You're Nasty 24. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 25. Twin Scream, Fedo - Rompe La Pista 26. Lion - Hit The Lights 27. Betical - Do It Again 28. Bessey - The Future 29. Justin Mylo, Respons - Flashlight 30. Alle Farben, Cheat Codes, Joseph - Loving You Is Life 31. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - LA NOCHE 32. Fisher - Stay 33. Kvsh, Disorder - The Truth 34. Alok - Always Feel Like 35. Dubdogz - Fake or Real 36. A7S, Paul Oakenfold - Lose It 37. Fedde Le Grand - Liquid Music 38. Fatboy Slim, Daniel Steinberg, David Guetta, Morten - Bus Stop Please

Songstats: For 10% off lifetime subscription use the code word "WILLCLARKE" or follow the link https://songstats.com/app?ref=WILLCLARKESign up for the latest podcast info - https://laylo.com/willclarke/uqFWnJKaPodcast Overview: In this conversation, Loco Dice and Will Clarke discuss the evolution of DJ culture, the importance of self-care, and the challenges of traveling as a DJ. They explore authenticity in music, the impact of social media, and identity in the industry. The discussion touches on the art of DJing, balancing new music with classics, and the future of albums in a fast-paced world. Ultimately, they emphasize community and support among artists while navigating the changing landscape of music.Who is Loco Dice: Loco Dice, born in Düsseldorf, Germany, grew up in a multicultural Tunisian household that shaped his distinctive sound. Starting in hip-hop and touring with icons like Snoop Dogg and Ice Cube, he later transitioned into electronic music, releasing acclaimed works like 7 Dunham Place and collaborations with Skrillex and Fireboy DML. With EPs and remixes spanning labels such as Ovum, Minus, and Cocoon, Dice has become a global fixture at festivals like EDC, Tomorrowland, and Coachella. Beyond music, he's merged fashion and culture through his FKD project, collaborations with brands like Daily Paper and New Era, and his own line, Seran Bendecidos. His boundary-pushing creativity continues to define him as a visionary in modern music.Join for updates: https://laylo.com/willclarke⏲ Follow Will Clarke ⏱https://djwillclarke.com/https://open.spotify.com/artist/1OmOdgwIzub8DYPxQYbbbi?si=hEx8GCJAR3mhhhWd_iSuewhttps://www.instagram.com/djwillclarkehttps://www.facebook.com/willclarkedjhttps://twitter.com/djwillclarkehttps://www.tiktok.com/@djwillclarke Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

30. Argy, John Cala - Boom 29. Alok, Illenium - To The Moon 28. Adam Sellouk, Zerky - Touch It 27. Afrojack, Martin Garrix, David Guetta, Amel - Our Time 26. Ferreck Dawn, Hayley May - Deep Inside 25. Jamie Jones - Murder Mystery 24. Paul Oakenfold, Goom Gum - The House Of House 23. Dubfire, Meduza, Essentia - Roadkill 22. Don Diablo - Little Lies 21. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 20. Sevek - Bad Girl 19. Tony Romera - Como Se Llama 18. Alaia & Gallo - Lipstick 17. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - La Noche 16. Armin Van Buuren, Joa - Heavy OLD TRACK: MOGUAI - KIXS 15. R3Hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon, Fidele - Work 14. Hatiras - Hypnotized 13. Dubdogz, Deep West - Hole In The Head (Fool Girl) 12. Martin Ikin, Hayley May - Rush 11. Volac - Wannabe 10. Alesso, Sentinel, Sick Individuals - Upside Down 09. Merk & Kremont - Disco Robot 08. Marten Horger - No Matter 07. Fedde Le Grand - Got Your Money 06. Vintage Culture, Noah Kulaga - Upon Your Skin 05. Don Diablo - Lose Control 04. David Guetta, Kiko, Olivier Giacomotto, Faangs - After You 03. The Chemical Brothers, Chris Lake - Galvanize 02. Argy, Eli & Dani, Peki Ofc, Osher - Chasing Highs 01. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade

STAYradio Episode #290 aired Friday October 24th, 2025. This episode features new music by CID, Chris Lake, Skrillex, WAVES, Cazes, RetroVision, Martin Garix and many more!

01. Calvin Harris, Ne-Yo - Let's Go (Record Mix) 02. Armin Van Buuren - We Are Here To Make Some Noise (Record Mix) 03. Hardwell - Dare You (Record Mix) 04. David Guetta, Showtek - Your Love.. (Record Mix) 05. Global Deejays - Hardcore Vibes (Record Mix) 06. Martin Solveig - Madan (Record Mix) 07. Eric Prydz, Wildvibes - Pjanoo (Record Mix) 08. Afrojack, Quintino - Selecta (Record Mix) 09. Moti - Valencia (Record Mix) 10. Nicky Romero - Toulouse (Record Mix) 11. Zedd, Matthew Koma, Miriam Bryant - Find You (Record Mix) 12. Justice, Simian - We Are Your Friends (Record Mix) 13. Avicii, Martin Garrix, John Legend - Waiting For Love (Record Mix) 14. Jasper Forks - River Flows In You (Record Mix) 15. Tiesto - Escape Me (Record Mix) 16. Junior Caldera, Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Can't Fight This Feeling (Record Mix) 17. Imany, Ivan Spell, Daniel Magre - Good, Bad & Crazy (Record Mix) 18. Punch Exciters - Dance Of The Fire (Record Mix) 19. Gillette, 20 Fengers - Short Dick Man (Record Mix) 20. Alesso, Tove Lo - Heroes (We Could Be) (Record Mix) 21. 2-Dutch - EVRBDY (Record Mix) 22. Fedde Le Grand - Rhythm of the Night! (Record Mix) 23. Dj Snake, Mercer, Jermaine Dupri - Let's Get Ill (Record Mix) 24. Kshmr, Marnik, Mitika - Mandala (Record Mix) 25. Dj Kuba, Ne!Tan - Party On! (Record Mix) 26. Flo Rida - Good Feeling (Record Mix) 27. Steve Angello - Knas (Record Mix) 28. Moquai - Champs (Record Mix) 29. Deniz Koyu - Tung! (Record Mix) 30. Armin Van Buuren - Ping Pong (Record Mix) 31. Bag Raiders - Shooting Stars (Record Mix) 32. Bassjackers, Luciana - Fireflies (Record Mix) 33. Duck Sauce, Skrillex, Kill The Noise - NRG (Record Mix) 34. Nervo, Hook N Sling - Reason (Record Mix) 35. Ivan Gough, Feenixpawl, Georgi Kay, Axwell - In My Mind (Record Mix) 36. Pendulum - Watercolour (Record Mix)

01. Worakls, Apashe, Wasiu - Rome Is Burning 02. Cassimm, Pietro, Mc Panda - Vem Pra Rave 03. Tujamo, Djs From Mars, Alex Lndn - Everyone Listens To Techno 04. Capozzi - MARE 05. Cassian, Yotto, Da Hool - Love Parade 06. Marten Horger - No Matter 07. Kvsh, Disorder - The Truth 08. Ritn - Latching On Me 09. Brohug - Knock 10. Don Diablo, Qobra - Remember Me 11. Argy, John Cala - BOOM 12. Esse - Work It 13. Kream, Jem Cooke - Blue Symphony 14. Chocolate Puma, Colonel Red, Zac Samuel - For Your Love 2011 15. Arty - The Edge 16. Third Party, Mark Roma - Enemy 17. Good Times Ahead, Fetish - Feel the Bassline 18. Moti, Amero - Just One Night 19. Sikdope, The Melody Men - Mic Drop 20. Shapov, Swanky Tunes - Flipdat 21. Hugel, Kurd Maverick - PYHU (Put Your Hands Up) 22. Felix Cartal, Vox Rea - Dissociate 23. Fedde Le Grand - Who Got The Funk 24. Alok, Agents Of Time - Fever 25. Mikeable - Call Me 26. R3hab, Skytech, Pupa Nas T, Kevin Mckay, Denise Belfon - Work 27. Chris Campos, Daniel Dubb - 2 My People 28. Firebeatz - Block Rockin 29. Ownboss, Fafaq - Bacilando 30. Milk & Sugar, Lazarusman - Touch 31. Boris Brejcha, Frieder & Jakob - 100 32. Teri Miko, Vovking - Upside Down 33. Chris Lake, Skrillex, Anita B Queen - LA NOCHE 34. Steve Aoki, Kaaze, John Martin - Won't Forget This Time 35. Jaden Bojsen - Move Your Feet 36. Paul Oakenfold, Goom Gum - The House Of House 37. Damon Sharpe - Housaholic 38. Volac - Wannabe