Podcasts about African Americans

What's up, Theology Nerds! So I had my buddy Matt Novenson on to talk about what's happening on the cutting edge of New Testament research these days, and let me tell you, it's way broader than you might think. We covered five major areas where scholars are doing really fascinating work: first, bringing Jewish studies into conversation with the New Testament (like Matthew Thiessen's work on how Jesus actually dissolves ritual impurity rather than abolishing purity systems); second, looking at the broader ancient Mediterranean world beyond just "Jewish vs. Greco-Roman" contexts (Heidi Wendt's brilliant stuff on Paul as a "freelance religious expert" competing for influence); third, studying how the Bible has been interpreted not just in academic commentaries but in art, music, and everyday life (Lisa Marie Bowens' archival work on African American readings of Paul is mind-blowing); fourth, examining how biblical themes have unconsciously shaped modern cultural discourses like immigration policy (Yii-Jan Lin's work on how Revelation's New Jerusalem imagery shows up in American immigration law is wild); and finally, reconnecting New Testament studies with theology through careful hermeneutics (David Lincicum does this really well, tracing how early Christians read Paul reading Jewish scripture). The whole conversation was both entertaining for folks just interested in where the field is heading and super practical for anyone thinking about graduate school - Matt even gave great advice about just cold-emailing scholars because, surprise, most of them are normal people who actually like talking about ideas! Dr. Matthew Novenson is a distinguished New Testament scholar now teaching at Princeton Theological Seminary. His scholarship focuses on Paul's letters, early Judaism, and early Christianity. Previous Visits to the Podcast Paul and Judaism at the End of History Multiplicity at the Birth of Christianity Messiah, Lord, Logos, & Other Titles ONLINE SUMMIT:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Democracy in Tension - NAVIGATING THE INTERLOCKING CRISES OF DEMOCRACY AND RELIGION ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Democracy today faces profound challenges – polarization, inequality, populist authoritarianism, and widespread cynicism are eroding the foundations of democratic life. Yet, what if democracy's greatest strength lies not in eliminating these tensions, but in productively embracing them?The summit will navigate the complex terrain between political equality and social justice, liberal freedom and democratic sovereignty, and ethical demands and political action. As always, the class is donation-based, including 0. INFO & Sign-Up at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.HomebrewedClasses.com⁠⁠ Theology Beer Camp ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠is a unique three-day conference that brings together of theology nerds and craft beer for a blend of intellectual engagement, community building, and fun. Guests this year include John Dominic Crossan, Kelly Brown Douglas, Philip Clayton, Stacey Floyd-Thomas, Jeffery Pugh, Juan Floyd-Thomas, Andy Root, Grace Ji-Sun Kim, Noreen Herzfeld, Reggie Williams, Casper ter Kuile, and more! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Get info and tickets here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. _____________________ This podcast is a ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Homebrewed Christianity⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ production. Follow ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠the Homebrewed Christianity⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Theology Nerd Throwdown⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, & ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠The Rise of Bonhoeffer⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ podcasts for more theological goodness for your earbuds. Join over 80,000 other people by joining our⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Substack - Process This!⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Get instant access to over 45 classes at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.TheologyClass.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Follow the podcast, drop a review⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, send ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠feedback/questions⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or become a ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠member of the HBC Community⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The ABD [All But Dissertation] phase can either feel liberating—no more coursework or comps!—or like the floor has dropped out. The scaffolding that prepared you for being a graduate assistant, passing comps or conducting your research gives way to a new, wide open space where you are just supposed to write. While some people will flourish in this unstructured writing space, others are left playing detective—how do you know when to approach advisors for feedback? How many times can you ask them to read something—and how far in advance should you ask? How long is the finished dissertation supposed to be? The writing and revisions phase can become a path paved with uncertainty—and an unhealthy desire to overperform. If a good dissertation is just a done dissertation, what can students who can't find [or afford] a dissertation coach do? In this episode, Dr. Ramon Goings joins Dr. Christina Gessler to share practical strategies they each use when coaching students from ABD to PhD. These actionable tips can help whether you want to create a dissertation-writing support group, seek a writing partner, or go it alone. Our guest is: Dr. Ramon Goings, who is associate professor and Acting Director of the Language, Literacy, and Culture doctoral program. Dr. Goings is the author of over 50 scholarly publications including four books. He served as the Editor-In-Chief of the Journal of African American Males in Education from 2017-2020, was named a 2017 Emerging Scholar by Diverse: Issues in Higher Education, received the 2016 College Board Professional Fellowship, and was a fellow with the White House Initiative on Educational Excellence for African Americans. He holds a Doctor of Education degree. Our host is: Dr. Christina Gessler, who works as a dissertation and grad student coach, and a developmental editor for humanities scholars at all stages of their careers. Playlist for listeners: Your PhD Survival Guide Get PhDone: Strategies for tackling your writing roadblocks PhDing While Parenting The Good Enough Life Graduate Employability Field Guide to Grad School Graduate School Myths and Misconceptions Managing Your Mental Health During Your PhD Becoming the Writer You Already Are Being Well in Academia: A Conversation About Challenges and Connections Welcome to Academic Life, the podcast for your academic journey—and beyond! Join us again to learn from more experts inside and outside the academy, and around the world. Missed any of the 275+ Academic Life episodes? Find them here. And get free bonus content on Christina Gessler PhD's Substack. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

On today's Labor Radio Podcast Daily: Organizer and author Michael Ansara recalls the moment at age 13 that launched his lifetime of activism. We talk with him about his new memoir, The Hard Work of Hope, on the Labor Heritage Power Hour. In labor history, two Navy ammunition ships exploded in Port Chicago, California on this day in 1944, killing 322 workers—most of them African American. Today's labor quote is by Michael Ansara. @wpfwdc @AFLCIO #1u #UnionStrong #LaborRadioPod Proud founding member of the Labor Radio Podcast Network

7.15.2025 #RolandMartinUnfiltered: Jabari Peoples' Autopsy, Gary Mayor on $14B Steel Deal, Saint Augustine’s Alumni Silenced & GymWrap The parents of Jabari Peoples, the black 18-year-old killed by an Alabama police officer, are calling for transparency and justice. Civil rights attorney Ben Crump will discuss the findings of an independent autopsy, which reports that Jabari was shot in the back. Gary, Indiana, is home to the nation's largest steel mill. The mayor of this predominantly African American city will join us to discuss how the $14 billion partnership between U.S. Steel and Japan's Nippon Steel will impact his community. Voices of Saint Augustine's University alumni are being silenced. We will speak with the elected alumni representative, who has been chosen by his peers to serve on the board, about why the school leadership has yet to seat him. In tonight's Shop Black Star Network Marketplace! Nicole Ari Parker and Boris Kodjoe will be here to discuss GymWrap, a headband line designed to keep sweat from running into your eyes. #BlackStarNetwork partner: Fanbasehttps://www.startengine.com/offering/fanbase This Reg A+ offering is made available through StartEngine Primary, LLC, member FINRA/SIPC. This investment is speculative, illiquid, and involves a high degree of risk, including the possible loss of your entire investment. You should read the Offering Circular (https://bit.ly/3VDPKjD) and Risks (https://bit.ly/3ZQzHl0) related to this offering before investing. Download the Black Star Network app at http://www.blackstarnetwork.com! We're on iOS, AppleTV, Android, AndroidTV, Roku, FireTV, XBox and SamsungTV. The #BlackStarNetwork is a news reporting platform covered under Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In a new exhibition, Chicago's Floating Museum pays homage to Bronzeville's Mecca Flats through its Floating Monuments series. Built in 1892 as a hotel for visitors to the World's Fair, the Mecca Flats was later converted into apartments that served Chicago's African American community on the South Side. But by the 1950s, the building was demolished to make way for the Illinois Institute of Technology's S.R. Crown Hall. Now, the Floating Museum is honoring the Mecca Flats' contribution to Chicago's culture with an inflatable replica of the apartment building. Reset examines the history of the Mecca, the legacy of urban renewal and the displacement of Black residents with Faheem Majeed, artist and co-director of the Floating Museum, and Rebekah Coffman, curator of religion and community history architecture at the Chicago History Museum. For a full archive of Reset interviews, head over to wbez.org/reset.

Justice Julie Blackhawk ruled that the pre-removal risk assessment failed to consider the current conditions for gender-diverse people in the U.S., a decision that could open the door to gender-diverse people who fear persecution. Israel launches airstrikes on Damascus as sectarian violence engulfs southern Syria. Our guest says she's lost contact with her parents, who live there, in the midst of a conflict they want no part of. After weeks of anti-government protests in Kenya -- and the deaths of dozens of protesters -- an opposition leader tells us it's time for the country's president to resign. An artist and historian explains his quest to convert a Greyhound bus into a museum celebrating the history of African-American migration -- a history that includes his own family's journey. A scientist reveals the identity of a collaborator who's led to the discovery of two new viruses: his pet cat Pepper -- who not only catches small wild mammals harbouring them, but delivers them to his door.

Norris Howard chats with award-winning Chef Marcus Samuelsson at Global Citizen Detroit about the global impact of food. Some of the topics we hit: Food Waste is a bigger problem than you think: Chef Samuelsson explains how food waste occurs at every level, from our own homes to massive industrialized food production.  Global Food Insecurity: They discuss the crucial role of food distribution and access in the fight against hunger. Celebrating Culture Through Food: Marcus Samuelsson talks about his acclaimed "Red Rooster" cookbook, exploring the diverse culinary heritage of African Americans. Harlem's Transformation: The chef reflects on the changes he's witnessed in Harlem and how to preserve its unique culinary traditions. Plus a bonus question on how Arsenal will do this year. This interview was recorded at Global Citizen: NOW in Detroit for the Daily Detroit podcast. Follow Daily Detroit wherever you listen to podcasts, like Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Pocket Casts, Overcast and more. Sign up for our Studio open house Saturday, July 19: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1445019344759?aff=oddtdtcreator Feedback as always - dailydetroit -at- gmail -dot- com or leave a voicemail 313-789-3211. Follow Daily Detroit on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/daily-detroit/id1220563942  Or sign up for our newsletter: https://www.dailydetroit.com/newsletter/  

It is the middle of July and that means it is time for the annual summer fun episode. We are delving into the true crime genre, which is by far the most popular podcasts. Our true crime involves a theft. A student's opportunity to be cultural in the context of school was stolen and more importantly an opportunity to be validated and affirmed was lost. Listen in as we follow what happens to an African American 8th grader who experiences a cultural misunderstanding that escalates into being punished for being his cultural self, which is what cultural and linguistic responsiveness should be. In CLR, we call this escalation a true crime. Hear from the student, called Student A (not his real name), directly in this episode. Dr. Hollie's two cents will set the context. Get excited! Learn more about CLR and Dr. Hollie at www.culturallyresponsive.org and Twitter @validateaffirm

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Help Stop The Genocide In American Ghettos Podcast is a platform for ordinary law abiding citizens from Emmanuel Barbee friends list and from his social groups who are Black Artists, African Artists, Allied Healthcare professionals, Church Leaders, and Black Entrepreneurs, African Entrepreneurs who want to promote their products and services to our listeners from the global community. This no holds-barred talk show focuses on promoting Grassroots Community Advocacy, Business, Finance, Health, Community-Based Solutions, Employment, Social Issues, Political Issues, Black Issues, African Issues and Christianity which speaks to the interests of our listeners. Broadcasting on multiple social networks throughout the United States and around the globe. This show will provide insight on how our creative abilities can be used to create economic tangibles in our communities, neighborhoods and in Black countries. The Grass Roots Community Activist Movement is about uniting the African American community and the African Immigrant community in Chicago and eventually throughout the Diaspora. I'm not just online trying to sell my book, selling items from my virtual store or just trying to get donations for my film project but rather to recruit like minded Black Americans, like minded African Immigrants within America to help me build the best African American business within the United States of America called the Grass Roots Community Activist Institute of Chicago. Our objective is for us to build our own network so that we can support each other in business. #NotAnother33Years #M1

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

In tonight's dead letter, listener Renee shares a strange encounter in Los Angeles. Late one night, while walking her dog, she saw what appeared to be a gray alien. After a moment of shock, she looked again and saw a middle-aged African-American woman. Renee was left wondering if she had seen a psychic mask slip or if it was just a trick of the light. Send your story to deadletteroffice@astonishinglegends.com

Justin argues with Dr. Jaha Howard and Cory Ruth about whether or not churches should endorse candidates for political office. They also discuss MAGA and the Epstein client list and whether they prefer to be called Black or African American.   Show Notes: https://x.com/mattwalshblog/status/1944381728522408079?s=46&t=QIXD2eZx9xXe5eDxKKUDPg https://www.nytimes.com/2025/07/10/opinion/african-american-language-label-mamdani.html Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Unsurprisingly, the Florida Department of Environmental Prostitution/Protection continues putting the interests of industry and developers ahead of the interests of our springs.One expert source in Craig's latest Florida Phoenix article linked above is springs advocate Ryan Smart. Smart co-hosts an essential podcast for Florida conservationists called "As Bad As It Is." Two recent episodes highlighted the damage Florida's legislature has done to environmental causes through defunding conservation projects in the state budget.Our guest this episode is author, historian, and lecturer Robert N. Macomber. Macomber has studied the Civil War and Reconstruction in Florida, focusing on the state's freedmen, formerly enslaved African Americans emancipated following the war.

On this episode, Amber and Erika are joined by Dr. Calvin Schermerhorn, author of “The Plunder of Black America: How the Racial Wealth Gap Was Made”, to discuss the economic status of Black Americans. Despite the propaganda that Black people have less wealth due to poor choices, laziness, and missed opportunities, Dr. Schermerhorn points us to the historical data that clearly demonstrating that Black Americans have been continuously and systematically exploited and de-capitalized through racist laws, racial violence, and outright theft. We also examine Malcolm X's vision for economically independent and vibrant Black communities and the extent to which integration distracted us from building and maintaining wealth within our own communities. Finally, Dr. Schermerhorn helps us identify reasons to be optimistic in the present fight for liberation and steps we can take to keep the past from repeating itself. Press play to hear what we have to say! Homework: Purchase and read Dr. Schermerhorn's book: The Plunder of Black America: How the Racial Wealth Gap Was Made Guest Name: Dr. Calvin Schermerhorn Guest Bio: Dr. Calvin Schermerhorn grew up in Southern Maryland. After graduate degrees at Harvard Divinity School and the University of Virginia, he became an historian of slavery, capitalism, and African American inequality. He teaches courses in nineteenth-century American history and advises Honors, Masters, and Ph.D. students. He was a Fulbright Scholar to the University of Nottingham in 2022. He has contributed to The Atlantic, The Daily Beast, Time and The Washington Post, among other popular venues, and his work has been featured in national discussions of racial inequality. He is author of four books on American slavery and inequality including The Plunder of Black America: How the Racial Wealth Gap Was Made, which was published by Yale University Press in early 2025.

Secret Thoughts of CEOS Ep. 138 Self Awareness & Emotional Intelligence with Stephanie Chung In this electric and eye-opening episode, Chris Yonker sits down with aviation pioneer and leadership strategist Stephanie Chung to unpack what it truly takes to lead in today's world of diverse teams, generational differences, and ever-shifting business landscapes. Stephanie, the first African American president of a private aviation company in the U.S. and former CGO of Wheels Up, blends boardroom brilliance with neuroscience-backed leadership insight. From building trust through body language to unlocking innovation by embracing difference, Stephanie shares stories from her jet-fueled career and her newest book Ally Leadership. Whether you're a CEO, a team leader, or a parent navigating complex human dynamics, this episode will stretch your perspective on influence, equity, and modern leadership. Timestamps 01:45 - Meet Kristi Baxter and Chris Yonker: their backgrounds in family business, coaching, 01:45 – Introduction to Stephanie Chung and her aviation leadership journey 05:10 – Why we default to leading and selling in our own style - and why it limits us 07:15 – Six generations in the workforce: a communication and leadership wake-up call 09:45 – How the brain evaluates trust - and the power of facial expressions 13:00 – Ask, Listen, Learn, Act: the “ALLY” leadership model and its impact 19:00 – Dropping preconceived notions: how bias forms and how to meet people where they are 23:00 – Finding business in unlikely places: a story of jet sales and chicken farms 29:30 – Navigating generational differences around work-life values 33:00 – Meeting dynamics and how to create true psychological safety 35:00 – E.A.R.N. Model: How to truly earn allyship as a leader 39:00 – Why every team member should walk a mile in another's shoes 44:45 – One question every leader should ask to connect personally and meaningfully 46:30 – Where to learn more from Stephanie and access her leadership resources Quotes ·       “It's not about how you communicate. It's about how they prefer to be communicated with.” [08:25] ·       “Bias isn't always bad. But we must be aware of it - especially when we're leading people who aren't like us.” [19:30] ·       “Employees want leaders who are better communicators. Not just with words, but with presence and action.” [44:50] Websites: ·       fambizforum.com. ·       www.chrisyonker.com ·       StephanieChung.com ·       YourAllyInLeadership.com - Sign up for Stephanie's neuroscience-backed leadership newsletter   Stephanie is not just an #1 international best-selling author; she's a force of strategic innovation, a beacon of change, and a titan in the world of business growth and human capital management. With over 30 years of experience, Stephanie has cultivated a reputation for turning challenges into opportunities and transforming growing businesses into thriving hubs of success. In her book, Ally Leadership: How to Lead People Who Are Not Like You, Stephanie Chung provides practical strategies for leaders willing to admit they don't have all the answers, accept that their perspective isn't the only one, and commit to learning about people different from themselves.

Big Screen, Big Crucibles II: Hidden FiguresThe three African-American women at the center of HIDDEN FIGURES, the second film in our summer series BIG SCREEN, BIG CRUCIBLES, face marginalization and discrimination for their gender and their race in 1961. But they summon grit, fortitude and brilliance that prove critical to the U.S winning the Space Race against the Russians.They would all become NASA legends ... and are inspirational examples we all can follow to move beyond our own crucibles.Dive deeper into your personal narratives with our BIG SCREEN, BIG CRUCIBLES guided journal, meticulously crafted to enhance your experience with our podcast series exploring cinema's most transformative crucible stories. This journal serves as a dedicated space for introspection, inviting you to connect the profound journeys of on-screen characters with the pivotal moments that have shaped your own life.Download yours at: https://mailchi.mp/09b58af7eebf/bigscreensbigcrucibles

In the fifty years since his tragic death in a car crash, Steve Prefontaine has towered over American distance running. One of the most recognizable and charismatic figures to ever run competitively in the United States, Prefontaine has endured as a source of inspiration and fascination—a talent who presaged the American running boom of the late 1970s and helped put Nike on the map as the brand's first celebrity-athlete face. Now on the anniversary of his untimely death, author Brendan O'Meara, host of the Creative Nonfiction podcast, offers a fresh, definitive retelling of Prefontaine's life, revisiting one of the most enigmatic figures in American sports with a twenty-first-century lens. Through over a hundred and fifty original interviews with family, friends, teammates, and competitors, this long-overdue reappraisal of Prefontaine—the first such exhaustive treatment in almost thirty years—provides never-before-told stories about the unique talent, innovative mental strength, and personal struggles that shaped Prefontaine on and off the track. Bringing new depth to an athlete long eclipsed by his brash, aggressive running style and the heartbreak of his death at twenty-four, O'Meara finds the man inside the myth, scrutinizing a legacy that has shaped American sports culture for decades. What emerges is a singular portrait of a distinctly American talent, a story written in the pines and firs of the Pacific Northwest back when running was more blue-collar love than corporate pursuit—the story of a runner whose short life casts a long, fast shadow. Craig Gill is a writer, researcher and historian based in Vancouver, BC. He is the author of Caddying on the Color Line, a history of African American golf caddies in the U.S. South. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

In the fifty years since his tragic death in a car crash, Steve Prefontaine has towered over American distance running. One of the most recognizable and charismatic figures to ever run competitively in the United States, Prefontaine has endured as a source of inspiration and fascination—a talent who presaged the American running boom of the late 1970s and helped put Nike on the map as the brand's first celebrity-athlete face. Now on the anniversary of his untimely death, author Brendan O'Meara, host of the Creative Nonfiction podcast, offers a fresh, definitive retelling of Prefontaine's life, revisiting one of the most enigmatic figures in American sports with a twenty-first-century lens. Through over a hundred and fifty original interviews with family, friends, teammates, and competitors, this long-overdue reappraisal of Prefontaine—the first such exhaustive treatment in almost thirty years—provides never-before-told stories about the unique talent, innovative mental strength, and personal struggles that shaped Prefontaine on and off the track. Bringing new depth to an athlete long eclipsed by his brash, aggressive running style and the heartbreak of his death at twenty-four, O'Meara finds the man inside the myth, scrutinizing a legacy that has shaped American sports culture for decades. What emerges is a singular portrait of a distinctly American talent, a story written in the pines and firs of the Pacific Northwest back when running was more blue-collar love than corporate pursuit—the story of a runner whose short life casts a long, fast shadow. Craig Gill is a writer, researcher and historian based in Vancouver, BC. He is the author of Caddying on the Color Line, a history of African American golf caddies in the U.S. South. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/sports

In the fifty years since his tragic death in a car crash, Steve Prefontaine has towered over American distance running. One of the most recognizable and charismatic figures to ever run competitively in the United States, Prefontaine has endured as a source of inspiration and fascination—a talent who presaged the American running boom of the late 1970s and helped put Nike on the map as the brand's first celebrity-athlete face. Now on the anniversary of his untimely death, author Brendan O'Meara, host of the Creative Nonfiction podcast, offers a fresh, definitive retelling of Prefontaine's life, revisiting one of the most enigmatic figures in American sports with a twenty-first-century lens. Through over a hundred and fifty original interviews with family, friends, teammates, and competitors, this long-overdue reappraisal of Prefontaine—the first such exhaustive treatment in almost thirty years—provides never-before-told stories about the unique talent, innovative mental strength, and personal struggles that shaped Prefontaine on and off the track. Bringing new depth to an athlete long eclipsed by his brash, aggressive running style and the heartbreak of his death at twenty-four, O'Meara finds the man inside the myth, scrutinizing a legacy that has shaped American sports culture for decades. What emerges is a singular portrait of a distinctly American talent, a story written in the pines and firs of the Pacific Northwest back when running was more blue-collar love than corporate pursuit—the story of a runner whose short life casts a long, fast shadow. Craig Gill is a writer, researcher and historian based in Vancouver, BC. He is the author of Caddying on the Color Line, a history of African American golf caddies in the U.S. South. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/biography

Reggie Little Outlaw Chuckwagon Race on FACEBOOK Welcome to HEARD IT ON THE SHARK with your show host Melinda Marsalis and show sponsor, Mississippi Hills National Heritage Area. HEARD IT ON THE SHARK is a weekly interview show that airs every Tuesday at 11 am on the shark 102.3 FM radio station based in Ripley, MS and then is released as a podcast on all the major podcast platforms. You'll hear interviews with the movers and shakers in north Mississippi who are making things happen. Melinda talks with entrepreneurs, leaders of business, medicine, education, and the people behind all the amazing things happening in north Mississippi. When people ask you how did you know about that, you'll say, “I HEARD IT ON THE SHARK!” HEARD IT ON THE SHARK is brought to you by the Mississippi Hills National Heritage area. We want you to get out and discover the historic, cultural, natural, scenic and recreational treasures of the Mississippi Hills right in your backyard. And of course we want you to take the shark 102.3 FM along for the ride. Bounded by I-55 to the west and Highway 14 to the south, the Mississippi Hills National Heritage Area, created by the United States Congress in 2009 represents a distinctive cultural landscape shaped by the dynamic intersection of Appalachian and Delta cultures, an intersection which has produced a powerful concentration of national cultural icons from the King of Rock'n'Roll Elvis Presley, First Lady of Country Music Tammy Wynette, blues legend Howlin' Wolf, Civil Rights icons Ida B. Wells-Barnett and James Meredith, America's favorite playwright Tennessee Williams, and Nobel-Laureate William Faulkner. The stories of the Mississippi Hills are many and powerful, from music and literature, to Native American and African American heritage, to the Civil War. The Mississippi Hills National Heritage Area supports the local institutions that preserve and share North Mississippi's rich history. Begin your discovery of the historic, cultural, natural, scenic, and recreational treasures of the Mississippi Hills by visiting the Mississippi Hills National Heritage Area online at mississippihills.org. Musical Credit to: Garry Burnside - Guitar; Buddy Grisham - Guitar; Mike King - Drums/Percussion All content is copyright 2021 Sun Bear Studio Ripley MS LLC all rights reserved. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or used for any other purpose without express written consent of Sun Bear Studio Ripley MS LLC

This week on Blocked and Reported, conspiracy theories and rumor-mongering in the aftermath of a disaster in Texas; Grok goes mask-off; and Zohran Mamdani's college application gets hacked.The Un "Fudge" America Tour Gets "Fudged" From Within (The Gist)Mamdani Identified as Asian and African American on College Application - The New York TimesMamdani Once Claimed to Be Asian and African American. Should It Matter? - The New York TimesMahmood Mamdani | Department of AnthropologyTimes pushed ahead to avoid being scooped on Mamdani Columbia story | SemaforThread by @patrickhealynyt on Thread Reader App – Thread Reader AppOpinion | It's Time to Let Go of ‘African American' - The New York TimesThe sad, sad state of the New York Times | Press WatchFormer Houston mayoral appointee rages at flooded Texas girls camp for being 'white-only'Houston pediatrician speaks out after her flood victims post sparked outrageTrump's NOAA pick stands by budget cuts, calls staffing ‘a top priority' - The Washington PostWhite House pushes back on criticism of weather service around Texas flooding - ABC NewsDeadly floods could be new normal as Trump guts federal agencies, experts warn | Texas floods 2025 | The GuardianNOAA scrambles to fill forecasting jobs as hurricane season looms - The Washington PostCodeREDSome Texas flood alerts were delayed as officials waited for authorization, former Kerr County official says - CBS NewsFormer Kerr County leader: siren system would have saved lives : NPRNew data reveals the inadequacy of FEMA flood maps : NPRxAI updated Grok to be more ‘politically incorrect' | The Verge This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.blockedandreported.org/subscribe

In this episode, Shanti recaps taking her daughter to her first arena concert, while Antoinette saw the F1 movie and nearly lost her mind. For politics, we discuss the Texas floods, climate change, and the need for political accountability, as well as Mamdani's recent "scandal" surrounding his identity. For pop culture, we discuss the challenges faced by Essence Festival this year, highlighting the disconnect between its traditional audience and newer generations, and if Jay-Z is a dead beat daddy? Join us...RSVP to the Culture LP's Free Event Shades of Discourse on July 31st http://bit.ly/shadesclp Contact Us:Hotline: (215) 948-2780Email: aroundthewaycurls@gmail.comPatreon: www.patreon.com/aroundthewaycurls for exclusive videos & bonus episodesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

The Age of Aquarius is associated with themes of technological innovation, freedom, humanitarianism, and a shift from individual identity to a more collective focus. President Obama was the response and the beginning, but Donnie and the Obstructionists, because they are super villains and the conservative response to this age. The reaction is the leftward swing Zohran Mamdani, who is more African American than I...the drama coming out of NYC is refreshing! Stack your money and not FOMO. Crypto and NFTs are your way to financial freedom, and the topic of the upcoming bonus episode is available via NFT. (Yeah, pay to play baby!)   Parable of the Talents A writer who darkly imagined the future we have destined for ourselves in book after book, and also one who has shown us the way toward improving on that dismal fate, OCTAVIA E. BUTLER (1947–2006) is recognized as among the bravest and smartest of contemporary fiction writers. A 1995 MacArthur Award winner, Butler transcended the science fiction category even as she was awarded that community's top prizes, the Nebula and Hugo Awards. She reached readers of all ages, all races, and all religious and sexual persuasions. For years the only African-American woman writing science fiction, Butler has encouraged many others to follow in her path. Reviews "This work stands out as a testament to the author's enormous talent, and to the human spirit." —Publishers Weekly "Butler sets the imagination free, blending the real and the possible." —United Press International    Beyoncé brought fun and artistry to ATL. #RHOC, #RHOM, The Valley...Injected underfed pretending to eat reality stars...I am so tired of ya'll, do better. A lot of side-eye and shade at the #RHOA reunion... not holding the episode to watch # ShameAmorton side-eye # PorshaWilliams and not correct her. And listen to fake fairy Phae Phae lie about the jump off and how she moves. But the Lerwks stunning for the most part. Support ourselves with shelter, safe food,  and money all legally. Giving thanks always keeps concern and arrogance away Blessings will flow easier Contact Us on: https://linktr.ee/tnfroisreading Blue Sky: @tvfoodwinegirl.bsky.social Threads: www.threads.net/@tnfroisreading Instagram: @tnfroisreading Facebook: TNFroIsReading Bookclub   You know your girl is on her hustle, support the show by navigating to: Yes, I can...Create my coin...Our rituals involve burning zeroes. Read about the financial revolution #AfroDruids $ROOTS    #CryptoTrading #CryptoAirdrop #CryptoAlert  @akrapheal   

Our summer roadtrip rolls on this week with a deep dive into one of the Queen City's most overlooked sports stories with baseball author Al Lautenslager - whose new book "Cincinnati Soul" explores the remarkable but brief legacy of the Cincinnati Tigers, the city's first official Negro Leagues baseball team. Discover how DeHart Hubbard, America's first Black Olympic gold medalist, founded the Tigers as a dual-circuit minor league (Indiana-Ohio League & Negro Southern League) outfit in 1934 - eventually joining as a charter member of the 1937 Negro American League - now an officially recognized as "major league" by Major League Baseball. Lautenslager shares fascinating details about the team's home at Crosley Field, where they wore hand-me-down Cincinnati Reds uniforms and drew crowds that sometimes exceeded that of their benefactors. Also: The Tigers' historic 44-36 record and second-place finish in 1937 Five All-Star selections including legendary manager Ted "Double Duty" Radcliffe Key players like submarine pitcher Porter Moss and future Brooklyn Dodgers MLB signee Roy Partlow The team's cultural impact on Cincinnati's African American community during segregation Why the franchise folded despite on-field success and community support + + +   SUPPORT THE SHOW: Buy Us a Coffee: https://ko-fi.com/goodseatsstillavailable "Good Seats" Store: https://www.teepublic.com/stores/good-seats-still-avalable?ref_id=35106 BUY THE BOOK (AND SUPPORT THE SHOW!):   "Cincinnati Soul": https://amzn.to/3TVtQXI   SPONSOR THANKS (AND SUPPORT THE SHOW!):  Old Fort Baseball Co. (15% off promo code: GOODSEATS): https://www.oldfortbaseballco.com/?ref=seats   Royal Retros (10% off promo code: SEATS): https://www.503-sports.com?aff=2   Old School Shirts.com (10% off promo code: GOODSEATS): https://oldschoolshirts.com/goodseats  Yinzylvania (20% off promo code: GOODSEATSSTILLAVAILABLE): https://yinzylvania.com/GOODSEATSSTILLAVAILABLE   417 Helmets (10% off promo code: GOODSEATS): https://417helmets.com/?wpam_id=3 FIND AND FOLLOW: Linktree: https://linktr.ee/GoodSeatsStillAvailable Web: https://goodseatsstillavailable.com/ Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/goodseatsstillavailable.com X/Twitter: https://twitter.com/GoodSeatsStill YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@goodseatsstillavailable Threads: https://www.threads.net/@goodseatsstillavailable Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/goodseatsstillavailable/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GoodSeatsStillAvailable/ LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/good-seats-still-available/

Professor of African American studies, award-winning talk show host and Founding Director of The Karson Institute for Race, Peace & Social Justice at Loyola University Maryland, Dr. Kaye Wise Whitehead talks about the upcoming in-person-only summer school Democracy Defenders - Summer Seminar and Summit, and other political topics.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/tavis-smiley--6286410/support.

Myles Rowe, American motorsports racing driver, joins Lisa Dent to discuss his historic INDY NXT race win over the weekend. Rowe shares his beginnings in racing, how he worked his way up to winning in the INDY NXT circuit, and what it means to be an African American in racing.

In June, SportsCenter anchor Jay Harris announced his prostate cancer diagnosis on Good Morning America. Harris joins the Rhoden Fellows to discuss his recovery, the importance of early detection, and his advocacy to raise awareness within the African American community. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Help Stop The Genocide In American Ghettos Podcast is a platform for ordinary law abiding citizens from Emmanuel Barbee friends list and from his social groups who are Black Artists, African Artists, Allied Healthcare professionals, Church Leaders, and Black Entrepreneurs, African Entrepreneurs who want to promote their products and services to our listeners from the global community. This no holds-barred talk show focuses on promoting Grassroots Community Advocacy, Business, Finance, Health, Community-Based Solutions, Employment, Social Issues, Political Issues, Black Issues, African Issues and Christianity which speaks to the interests of our listeners. Broadcasting on multiple social networks throughout the United States and around the globe. This show will provide insight on how our creative abilities can be used to create economic tangibles in our communities, neighborhoods and in Black countries. The Grass Roots Community Activist Movement is about uniting the African American community and the African Immigrant community in Chicago and eventually throughout the Diaspora. I'm not just online trying to sell my book, selling items from my virtual store or just trying to get donations for my film project but rather to recruit like minded Black Americans, like minded African Immigrants within America to help me build the best African American business within the United States of America called the Grass Roots Community Activist Institute of Chicago. Our objective is for us to build our own network so that we can support each other in business. #NotAnother33Years #M1

Larry is joined by comedian Nate Jackson to talk about his new Netflix special ‘Nate Jackson: Super Funny'. They begin their conversation by examining the different ways that comedians develop relationships with an audience and sharing how they each mentally process jokes while they're performing. Nate then details how he became a comedian and the journey he took to find his unique creative voice (22:41). This leads to a conversation about the importance of owning your own space as a black comedian and the different occupational lessons he learned as one of the few African-American comedy club owners in the U.S. (29:58) After the break, Larry and Nate dive into how social media has changed the way comedy is monetized and discuss the sacrifices necessary to climb the ladder in the industry (40:31). Nate ends the pod by shining a light on his role in the upcoming “The Office” spinoff and sharing advice to aspiring stand-up comedians (57:07). Host: Larry WilmoreGuest: Nate JacksonProducers: Brandy LaPlante and Chris Sutton Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Interview date: March 16, 2025Episode Summary:Mfoniso Akpan, Artistic Director of Step Afrika, shares her unique journey from a science student at Stony Brook University to leading a renowned dance company. With training in various dance styles, she combines creativity with analytical problem-solving, using skills from her science background to enhance her choreography.She discusses her extensive travels with Step Afrika, performing in 60 countries and 49 U.S. states, and the company's mission to preserve African American stepping traditions. The episode emphasizes the importance of professionalism and discipline in managing the logistics of touring and rehearsals, while also highlighting the business skills dancers need.Mfoniso encourages aspiring dancers to combine their passions with persistence and curiosity, offering valuable advice on building a sustainable career in dance.Show Notes:(1:00) Mfoniso Akpan's early dance journey and starting with percussive dance(5:00) Balancing dance with academics: Majoring in biochemistry and molecular genetics(8:00) Joining Step Afrika in 2005 and her transition from dancer to Artistic Director(12:00) Step Afrika's mission to preserve and promote African American stepping traditions(15:00) Performing across 49 U.S. states and 60 countries with Step Afrika(18:00) Breaking the Guinness World Record for the most steppers in a live performance(22:00) The importance of professionalism: Timeliness, responsibility, and teamwork on tour(25:00) Combining science and dance: How Mfoniso uses problem-solving in choreography(30:00) Teaching dancers the business side of dance: Professionalism, contracts, and logistics(35:00) Networking and building relationships in the dance industry(40:00) Mfoniso's approach to balancing multiple passions and staying organized(43:00) Final advice: Believe in yourself, keep learning, and make the most of every opportunityBiography:Mfoniso Akpan is a distinguished dancer and the Artistic Director of Step Afrika!, a Washington, D.C.-based arts organization dedicated to the African American tradition of stepping. Her extensive training encompasses tap, ballet, jazz, modern, African dance, hip-hop, and step. While attending the State University of New York at Stony Brook, she majored in biochemistry and molecular genetics, minored in dance, and honed her stepping skills as a member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.Akpan began her dance training at the Bernice Johnson Cultural Arts Center and has performed at prestigious venues such as Carnegie Hall, Avery Fisher Hall, the Apollo Theater, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, and Lincoln Center. She also toured with the off-Broadway show "Hoofin' 2 Hittin," where she was a featured stepper and dancer.Since joining Step Afrika!, in 2005, Akpan served as a performer and leader, becoming the Artistic Director in 2015. Under her leadership, the company has premiered off-Broadway, continued extensive national and international tours, headlined President Barack Obama's Black History Month Reception at the White House, and is featured prominently at the Smithsonian's National Museum of African-American History & Culture with the world's first stepping interactive exhibit.Akpan maintains that stepping is a national treasure, an American cultural art form that is a keeper of history—past, present, and future—that should be preserved, innovated, and shared with the world. She continues to share her love of movement and education with students and art lovers globally.Connect on Social Media:https://www.facebook.com/mfoniso.akpan.9https://www.instagram.com/kokoma22

Trump brilliantly gets the Democratic Party leadership to rally around Mamdani and embrace him as the emerging face of their party. Brilliantly done by Trump and the Democrats fell for it hook, line, and sinker.Trump got the Democrats to rally around Mamdani. Think this will help them with the Black vote, given that they are trying to move Eric Adams out?Democratic socialist New York City mayoral frontrunner Zohran Mamdani, a Muslim immigrant, identified as both Asian and African American on his Columbia University application, a report claims.And this is only one of many traps Democrats are falling in.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This week on In Black America, producer and host John L. Hanson, Jr. begins a conversation with Denita R. Conway, founder and president of Proven Management LLC, a recognized leader in the moving and logistics industry, specializing in project management, interior design and transition planning, discussing the challenges facing African American women in the real […] The post Denita R. Conway, pt. 1 (Ep. 33, 2025) appeared first on KUT & KUTX Studios -- Podcasts.

Explore why acclaimed African American singer, actor, and activist Paul Robeson became embroiled in controversy and denied a passport.

Hal LaCroix discusses with Ivan six things which should be better known. Hal LaCroix lives outside Boston with his wife, Elahna. He has worked as a journalist at newspapers in New England, a reporter and editor at Harvard Medical School, a conservation writer for non-profits and an instructor at Boston University. Here and Beyond is his first novel, which is available at https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/here-and-beyond-9781526678249/. Senator Charles Sumner. Sumner was a mid-19th century senator with laser focus on one issue: slavery. He had a profound impact on Lincoln, pushing him to expand rights of African Americans after emancipation. Sumner became epic villain in Confederacy, where souvenir canes commemorated the beating were hot items. Hokusai's 36 Views of Mt. Fuji. Fuji is sacred, a symbol of Japan. The 36 mostly long-range views, all around the compass, provide a wraparound view of Japanese life in 1831. Exoplanets. More than 5,000 have been confirmed so far, out of hundreds of billions of planets in the Milky Way galaxy. Until the 1990s no one even knew if there were any planets outside our solar system! Wingspan. This is a board game about birds that my wife and I are a bit obsessed with. Each player has a board with forest, grassland and water habitats. Boston Cream Pie and Boston Cream Donuts. My grandfather used to bring cakes and pies when he visited us on Cape Cod. He'd pull up in his Oldsmobile Cutlass with all these white boxes tied with string from Montilio's bakery. We Need a Global, Unifying Mission. We live on a planet with 8.2 billion people and the vast majority of us just know our neighborhood, our route back and forth to work. But on the spinning ark ship in Here and Beyond, the entire world is visible within the sphere. You look up and see buildings upside down, people upside down. This podcast is powered by ZenCast.fm

Is the "black tax" a duty of love or a crushing financial burden? In this episode, we have a raw and honest conversation about the unspoken financial obligation placed on so many in African and African-American communities to support their families.From personal stories of being pressured for thousands of dollars to navigating the guilt of saying "no," we explore every facet of the black tax. We discuss the cultural expectations, the emotional toll, and the challenge of balancing family responsibility with personal well-being and financial freedom.Whether you see it as a blessing, a burden, or both, this conversation offers validation, perspective, and practical strategies for setting boundaries, preserving your cultural heritage, and changing the dynamic for future generations.Join the conversation and share your experience in the comments below!#BlackTax #FinancialLiteracy #FamilyFinance #CulturalDifferences #personalfinancetips ---If you appreciate real talk, LIKE this video and SUBSCRIBE for more episodes that go there: [https://www.youtube.com/@pwcpodcast]FOLLOW THE PODCAST:

There is a chilling pattern of how governments have systematically dehumanized, displaced, and exterminated entire groups of people throughout history using bureaucratic steps.Drawing from real atrocities such as the Holocaust, the Khmer Rouge regime, the Rwandan genocide, and the Armenian genocide, as well as injustices in U.S. history like the internment of Japanese Americans and the treatment of Native and African Americans, I trace a common structure of how oppression builds: with labels, propaganda, silence, and “legal” processes. Societal fear and political power can normalize cruelty. So here's your reminder of the responsibility to notice, speak out, and act before it's too late. Recognize familiar patterns and refuse to let history repeat itself.Get in touch on HorrorStory.com

We at Urbanist Media⁠ (and the Urban Roots podcast⁠) are excited to have, yet again, celebrated Juneteenth with Cincinnati Public Radio.This year, we produced brand new ⁠Juneteenth Cincinnati Shorts⁠: weekly, 90-second tributes to people and places important to Cincinnati Black history and African American history. This first one is all about Robert S. Duncanson and his connection to the ⁠Taft Museum of Art⁠⁠!—Born in 1821, Robert S. Duncanson became a nationally celebrated 19th-century African American landscape artist who built his career in the Cincinnati area. In 1850, Duncanson murals were commissioned by Nicholas Longworth (a local white abolitionist and famous landowner) for his home, which is now the ⁠Taft Museum of Art⁠ building. You can visit the museum to see Duncanson's murals today, and, if you find yourself in Washington, D.C., you can see his landscape paintings on display at the ⁠Smithsonian American Art Museum⁠.   Listen to the entire archive (2023-2025) on Cincinnati Public Radio's website: https://cinradio.org/juneteenth-special-programming-from-urbanist-media/—Juneteenth Cincinnati Shorts is brought to you by Urbanist Media's Urban Roots podcast team: Deqah Hussein-Wetzel (Executive Producer / Host & Narrator), Tania Mohammad (Producer / Story Editor), Vanessa Maria Quirk (Story Editor), and Connor Lynch (Audio Editor / Mixer).

We pick up where we left off with the infamous formation of everyone's most hated wizards, the Ku Klux Klan, during the Reconstruction era; this movement sparked a rise in hate crimes and lynchings for decades to come. As we enter the Jim Crow era, we see state and local laws worsen the societal divide by enforcing racial segregation and discrimination. The Great Migration sees the movement of African Americans from the South to the bustling cities of the West and the North, including Emmitt's mother Mamie, though it is not all sunshine and rainbows in these areas either; prejudice runs rampant, and Emmett Till's family is about to be at the center of it all. 

Let's talk about African-Americans and the sport of tennis.https://youtu.be/S-mMhv5IcP8?s...https://youtu.be/VID_7bdJ27o?s...https://youtu.be/CB0Bkvk1Eas?s...https://youtu.be/cKAI6efsgUA?s...

In this heartfelt and inspiring episode of What Are You Made Of?, Mike “C-Roc” welcomes Jey Young—a mental health clinician, podcast host, and devoted father—who opens up about his journey through adversity, self-discovery, and legacy. Jey shares the powerful story of his great-great-grandfather Fay Young, a trailblazing sports journalist who gave voice to African-American athletes during the Negro League era, and how this legacy fuels his purpose today. They dive into Jey's evolution from baseball blogger to the creator of the Young Dad Podcast, a show built on authenticity, connection, and navigating fatherhood with intention. Jey recounts the deeply personal experience of going through a divorce, stepping into life as a single dad, and ultimately finding love again with someone who once taught his daughter. He speaks candidly about the emotional and practical challenges of solo parenting, overcoming societal expectations, and staying rooted in purpose despite the messiness of life. Whether you're a parent, a creator, or someone seeking inspiration to keep moving forward, this episode is a moving reminder that we are all made of the generations before us—and we all have the power to change the path forward.Website-youngdadpod.com https://www.instagram.com/youngdadpod/

The Nebraska Commission on African American Affairs has fallen short of several transparency and accounting benchmarks, according to new findings by State Auditor Mike Foley.

Andrew S. Berish. 2025. Hating Jazz: A History of Its Disparagement, Mockery, and Other Forms of Abuse. (U of Chicago Press, 2025) Some good words from the inside flap: “ A deep dive into the meaning behind the hatred of jazz.A rock guitarist plays four notes in front of one thousand people, while a jazz guitarist plays one thousand notes in front of four people. You might laugh or groan at this jazz joke, but what is it about jazz that makes people want to disparage it in the first place?Andrew S. Berish's Hating Jazz listens to the voices who have denounced, disparaged, and mocked the music. By focusing on the rejection of the music, Berish says, we see more holistically jazz's complicated place in American cultural life. Jazz is a display of Black creativity and genius, an art form that is deeply embedded in African American life. Though the explicit racial tenor of jazz jokes has become muted over time, making fun of jazz, either in a lighthearted or aggressive way, is also an engagement with the place of Blackness in America. An individual's taste in music may seem personal, but Berish's analysis of jazz hatred demonstrates that musical preferences and trends are a social phenomenon. Criticism of jazz has become inextricable from the ways we understand race in America, past and present. In addition to this form of criticism, Berish also considers jazz hate as a form of taste discrimination and as a conflict over genre boundaries within different jazz cultures.Both enlightening and original, Hating Jazz shows that our response to music can be a social act, unique to our historical moment and cultural context—we react to music in certain ways because of who we are, where we are, and when we are. “ Nathan Smith is a PhD candidate in Music Theory at Yale University nathan.smith@yale.edu Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/african-american-studies

This week on Stitch Please, Lisa is joined by the amazing Delita Martin, a printmaker who knows how to stitch, print, and wow you with her art. They chat about Delita's creative journey, which includes growing up surrounded by art, the deep connection between printmaking and quilting, and how she manages to make tea sound like a vital part of the creative process (spoiler: it is).Delita shares her spiritual take on art, her passion for uplifting other artists, and why storytelling and self-affirmation are key to keeping your creative spark alive. If you've ever wondered how to make your art both powerful and soothing, this conversation is your new blueprint. And yes, there will be tea—both literal and metaphorical.===========Dr. Lisa Woolfork is an associate professor of English specializing in African American literature and culture. Her teaching and research explore Black women writers, Black identity, trauma theory, and American slavery. She is the founder of Black Women Stitch, the sewing group where Black lives matter. She is also the host/producer of Stitch Please, a weekly audio podcast that centers on Black women, girls, and femmes in sewing. In the summer of 2017, she actively resisted the white supremacist marches in her community, Charlottesville, Virginia. The city became a symbol of lethal resurging white supremacist violence. She remains active in a variety of university and community initiatives, including the Community Engaged Scholars program. She believes in the power of creative liberation.Instagram: Lisa WoolforkTwitter: Lisa WoolforkReady to tap in to the visuals of Stitch Please? Then join our Patreon! For only $5 a month you can get all of the video versions of the pod. PLUS more goodies at higher patron levels. We couldn't do any of this without your support. Thank you!======Stay Connected:YouTube: Black Women StitchInstagram: Black Women StitchFacebook: Stitch Please Podcast--Sign up for the Black Women Stitch quarterly newsletterCheck out our merch hereLeave a BACKSTITCH message and tell us about your favorite episode.Join the Black Women Stitch PatreonCheck out our Amazon Store

Van and Rachel react to the tragic Texas floods, before switching gears to discuss the conversations coming out of this year's Essence Festival. (0:00)  Intro (0:25)  Texas Floods (34:29)  Essence Fest 2025 (43:40)  Diaspora War (1:02:07)  Epstein Files Update (1:07:27)  Zohran Mamdani, African American (1:23:43)  4Extra's 4th of July Accident (1:33:04)  Skip Bayless  Host: Van Lathan Jr. and Rachel Lindsay Producer: Donnie Beacham Jr. and Ashleigh Smith Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Two-time Emmy and Three-time NAACP Image Award-winning, television Executive Producer Rushion McDonald, interviewed Attorney Ken Harris: Former NBA and NFL agent, attorney based in Charlotte, NC, and author of the novel Dark Trades. The novel explores an alternate history: What if the South had won the Civil War?

Two-time Emmy and Three-time NAACP Image Award-winning, television Executive Producer Rushion McDonald, interviewed Attorney Ken Harris: Former NBA and NFL agent, attorney based in Charlotte, NC, and author of the novel Dark Trades. The novel explores an alternate history: What if the South had won the Civil War?

(00:00:00) Trump Pivot on Ukraine (00:06:27) Mamdani media pass (00:14:22) Kamala Ignores Campaign Advisors Join Jim and guest host Craig Collins for Monday's 3 Martini Lunch as they dig into Trump's surprising new stance on Ukraine aid, the media's defense of a New York mayoral candidate who misrepresented his race on college applications, and fresh revelations that Kamala Harris had a shot at winning over GOP voters—and blew it.First, they analyze Donald Trump's recent comments that he would restore U.S. military aid to Ukraine if re-elected. What's behind the pivot, and how is it playing on both sides of the aisle?Next, Jim and Craig unpack the media's spin around New York mayoral candidate Nadim Mamdani, who claimed to be “Black or African-American” on his college applications. Critics call it deceptive. The press? Not so much.Finally, they dive into new reporting that Kamala Harris was handed memos urging a strategy to reach independents and Republicans—highlighting crime, immigration, and even recommending an appearance on Joe Rogan. She opted for a January 6 speech instead. Political malpractice, defined.Please visit our great sponsor:Upgrade your skincare routine with Caldera Lab and see the difference.Visit https://CalderaLab.com/3ML and use code 3ML at checkout for 20% off your first order.