Podcasts about angelou

Immerse yourself in an inspiring celebration of two of the most influential figures in American literature, Maya Angelou and James Baldwin. Dive into the lives and legacies of these two iconic friends, whose shared experiences in the Civil Rights Movement and deep connections to religion shaped their profound contributions to poetry and the arts. Join us for a vibrant panel discussion exploring the unique literary friendship that enriched their later years and left an indelible mark on each other's work. Discover how their relentless curiosity about life and unwavering commitment to Black rights and culture fuelled their creative genius. Don't miss this opportunity to honour and delve into the enduring impact of Angelou and Baldwin's intertwined lives and works. Experience the passion and power of their words in a celebration of their remarkable journey together.

The translator who has translated into French the latest collection of poems by the late US civil rights icon Maya Angelou has spoken to FRANCE 24 about the pressure of getting it right. Santiago Artozqui has just finished translating her collection entitled "I shall not be moved" in English and "Rien ne me fera plier" in French. He told us that Angelou "had a voice, had something to say and knew how to say it". He spoke to us in Perspective.

durée : 01:59:55 - Les Matins du samedi - par : Nicolas Herbeaux - Cette semaine, dans les Matins du samedi, on s'intéresse à la pêche au chalut dans la Transition de la semaine, on discute de l'état des lieux alarmant de l'enseignement supérieur en France. Et enfin, nous recevons Santiago Artozqui à propos du nouveau recueil de poèmes de Maya Angelou. - réalisation : Jean-Christophe Francis - invités : Didier Gascuel Directeur du Centre de Sciences Aquatiques et de la Pêche à l'Agrocampus Ouest de Rennes, membre du Conseil scientifique des pêches de l'Union Européenne.; Julien Gossa Maître de conférence à l'Université de Strasbourg; Cédric Hugrée Sociologue, chercheur au CNRS au sein du laboratoire CRESPPA-CSU; Santiago Artozqui Traducteur

durée : 00:18:15 - France Culture va plus loin le samedi - par : Nicolas Herbeaux, Margaux Leridon - À l'occasion de la sortie du recueil de poèmes "Rien ne me fera plier" aux éditions Seghers, Nicolas Herbeaux reçoit son traducteur Santiago Artozqui. - réalisation : Jean-Christophe Francis - invités : Santiago Artozqui Traducteur

durée : 01:59:55 - Les Matins du samedi - par : Nicolas Herbeaux - Cette semaine, dans les Matins du samedi, on s'intéresse à la pêche au chalut dans la Transition de la semaine, on discute de l'état des lieux alarmant de l'enseignement supérieur en France. Et enfin, nous recevons Santiago Artozqui à propos du nouveau recueil de poèmes de Maya Angelou. - réalisation : Jean-Christophe Francis - invités : Didier Gascuel Directeur du Centre de Sciences Aquatiques et de la Pêche à l'Agrocampus Ouest de Rennes, membre du Conseil scientifique des pêches de l'Union Européenne.; Julien Gossa Maître de conférence à l'Université de Strasbourg; Cédric Hugrée Sociologue, chercheur au CNRS au sein du laboratoire CRESPPA-CSU; Santiago Artozqui Traducteur

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 4th and final study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's A Song Flung Up To Heaven. This is the 6th autobiography in her 7 book memoir series. We read books 1, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, and 4, The Heart of a Woman. Dr. Angelou now reigns as the only author to have three books read on the Katherine Massey Book Club. We're reading this book to hear Dr. Angelou's depiction of the assassinations of Minister Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Last week, Dr. Angelou details returning to New York to hobnob with James Baldwin and her black artist and entertainer friends. Of course, they consume copious amounts of alcohol at all times. "The African" (Vus) returns to her life, even after they agreed to end their alleged marriage. She shares many of her mother Vivian Baxter's aphorisms and life sayings. Most of them are about as raggedy as the morning after a Mad Dog 20/20 hangover. Dr. Angelou then describes her tremendous disdain for Eldridge Cleaver and his controversial text, Soul On Ice. Baldwin seems to conclude that her primary problem with Cleaver's book is his alleged personal attack on Baldwin. He pleads with Dr. Angelou to look beyond her personal animosity to grasp the historic value of Cleaver's insight into the homosexual activity that Race Soldiers encourage in US prisons. At one point, Angelou says she would rather "hang" Cleaver, the privileged black male. #SNL50 #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

很多同学在面对 “see” 和 “she” 这两个单词时，常常混淆它们的发音。今天，卡卡老师就你清晰区分这两个单词的地道发音。see [siː]v. 看见；看到；领会；理解；查看；观看发音需注意：“s” 发音为 [s]，是清辅音，舌身相对较平，舌尖靠近上齿龈，气流从舌齿间送出，声带不振动。接着是长元音 [iː]，发音时嘴角向两边拉伸。例句：I can see a bird in the sky.我能看见天空中有一只鸟。she [ʃiː]pron. 她；（指雌性动物）它n. 女人；雌性动物发音要点：“sh” 发音为 [ʃ]，是清辅音，发音时发音时舌身向上抬起来，舌尖靠近上齿龈后部，接着是长元音 [iː]，发音时嘴角向两边拉伸，口型扁平且发音饱满。例句：She is a very kind girl.她是一个非常善良的女孩。听力练习：Angelou decides that she is to blame.安杰卢决定将错误归咎于自身。I look around at us, you know what I see?我环顾四周，知道我看到什么了吗？25期爱趣英文开启限额招募，跟着卡卡老师彻底摆脱懒癌，全面系统提升！公众号：卡卡课堂 卡卡老师微信：kakayingyu001

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 3rd study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's A Song Flung Up To Heaven. This is the 6th autobiography in her 7 book memoir series. We read books 1, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, and 4, The Heart of a Woman. Dr. Angelou now reigns as the only author to have three books read on the Katherine Massey Book Club. We're reading this book to hear Dr. Angelou's depiction of the assassinations of Minister Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Last week, Dr. Angelou detailed the smells and sounds from her sightseeing tours through the 1965 Watts riots. Oddly, she laments the lack of attention she receives while everyone is focused on the smoldering ruins and shootin' and lootin'. With a reputation as a poet, not a historian, Dr. Angelou is scant on specific details about what's happening during the infamous SoCal battle. The late Wanda Coleman wrote that a few of Dr. Angelou's descriptions of the Watts kerfuffle are factually incorrect. Later, the Wake Forest scholar tells us that she and her "former husband" Vus, who is not named in this book, attempt to reconcile. It fails miserably, and they resume the same toxic, destructive arguments they had on a different continent. We noted that the daily consumption of alcoholic beverages is a theme in both Dr. Angelou memoirs we read this year. Including the infamous Mogen David's "Mad Dog 20/20" - which is a fortified wine that's been banned in parts of Seattle, Washington. #SobrietytWouldBeBest #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

Follow me on social media, find links to merch, Patreon and more here! This week I'm joined by Chy Omai to discuss the final part of the RHOP reunion where Eddie brings out receipts against Stacey, Ashley and Wendy reveal more about Karen's drinking, Ray gives us facts on US car accidents, and more! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 2nd study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's A Song Flung Up To Heaven. This is the 6th autobiography in her 7 book memoir series. We read books 1, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, and 4, The Heart of a Woman. Dr. Angelou now reigns as the only author to have three books read on the Katherine Massey Book Club. We're reading this book to hear Dr. Angelou's depiction of the assassinations of Minister Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Last week, we heard Dr. Angelou scrutinize the grammar of black Fillmore District residents following the murder of Malcolm X. Black people didn't riot and barely broke stride from our usual niggerized routines of drinking booze and name-calling black people. Feeling low, she jetted off to Hawaii with her sorrows. Importantly, Dr. Angelou mentions the lasting importance of the 1955 Montgomery Bus Boycott, which vaulted Dr. King to prominence and made Rosa Parks a household name. Pathetically, she lists the date the boycott as 1958 - which is 2 years after its conclusion. This sort of sloppiness is becoming a trend in Dr. Angelou's non-fiction and more broadly when many White and non-white people speak to an audience of black people and/or discuss events involving black people with a flagrant disregard for accuracy. #SNL50 #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat#TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

"Money Conspiracy": (Trump is a Bleacher) by Annarita StarliteStarlite, with yet, an exciting perspective, of life stories,  As you guessed mainly based on her story.Prejudice can be seen in all sorts of Forms. But some people find a overdoses of it, such as the case of Annarita Muragliaportraited by Laura.Mandela and Angelou had it easy, if you consider this story Drastic for two human beings, encountering prejudice from early age."I am still alive...not for long...I tend to Trespass in other People's Path.Enjoy.Starlite is an internationally acclaimed and award-winning author, singer, songwriter, rapper, artist, photographer, feminist, international traveler and X Factor contestant.  She is of Italian origins, lives in Europe and has traveled around the world to gather information for her books.  A woman of intrigue and mystery, she writers under several pen names.  http://www.bluefunkbroadcasting.com/root/twia/22725star.mp3   www.StarliteTheWriter.com   "Money Conspiracy": (Trump is a Bleacher) by Annarita Starlite  Amazon"Talking Funny Emoji": (We Hate Robinhood)" by Annarita Starlite Amazon"The Funny Side of Chaos: Featuring COVID-19" by Starlite Amazon"MY life is worth more than just a Will": (To all my Friends)" by Annarita Muraglia Amazon

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the debut study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's A Song Flung Up To Heaven. This is the 6th autobiography in her 7 book memoir series. We read books 1, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, and 4, The Heart of a Woman. Dr. Angelou now reigns as the only author to have three books read on the Katherine Massey Book Club. We're reading this book to hear Dr. Angelou's depiction of the assassination of Minister Malcolm X. She was in San Francisco at the time of the murder. Importantly, this text, like The Heart of a Woman, features an egregious error that should have been corrected by editors or a mindful author. Dr. Angelou writes that the "1955" Montgomery bus boycott inspired those on the continent of Africa. Rosa Parks and Dr. Martin Luther King's famed counter-racist insurrgency against Alabama's Racist public transportation began in 1955 and lasted for a year. Parks alleged told the public her act of defiance was inspired by Emmett L. Till's lynching in August of 1955. Dr. Angelou should value this history enough to get these dates correct for posterity. #SNL50 #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 8th and final study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. The acclaimed author, poet, rape victim and Victim of White Supremacy, Dr. Angelou penned a 7-book autobiography series on her life and work. This is book number 4 in the series. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title The Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just 2 of the many books in the project. Last week, Dr. Angelou describes following her husband Vus to Africa without even an address or hotel reservation once she travels across the planet with her son, Guy. She and Vus have repeated conflicts about money and are nearing a second eviction. Dr. Angelou tells us she fell out of "love" with her care mate at this point. We heard about a lot more parties, dancing and liquor drinking. Dr. Angelou took time to make a distinction between she and the black people born in the United States as opposed to black people born in Africa. She incorrectly tells readers that "black Americans" were the last large group of people enslaved on the planet. Brazil kept black people in formal slavery until 1888, and there are millions more black people in the Portuguese-speaking country than the US. #ImGoinGetMeSomeStuffTonight #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 7th study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just 2 of the many books in the project. Last week, Dr. Angelou describes her involvement in the White French convict Jean Genet's play, The Blacks: A Clown Show. This celebrated show featured a cast of renown black thespians and was shown around the world. Dr. Angelou describes how mostly White audiences devoured the play, but continued their dedication to White Supremacy - even to the negro cast as soon as they stepped off the stage. The Suspected Racist director, Sidney Bernstein, shafted Max Roach and Dr. Angelou for their musical labor on the play. This is typical White Racism and the time-honored White tradition of robbing black artists. Bernstein was not ignorant about Racism. After speculating that her husband Vus might be cheating on her, our heroine contemplates poisoning her African care-mate. #AppleEvent #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 6th study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just 2 of the many books in the project. Last week, the late poet an Victim of White Supremacy told us about how she, Abbey Lincoln and other black females of the Cultural Association for Women of African Heritage helped to coordinate a rally on the New York United Nations building. This was in response to the assassination of Patrice Lumumba. Dr. Angelou grabbed a random black "thug" to help escort her into the building. NPR's Terry Gross, a Racist Suspect, interviewed Dr. Angelou in 1981 and confessed that she feared this privileged black "thug" was going to assault and "rape" our heroine in the UN stairwell. Thankfully, everyone kept their pants zipped. In fact, after everything was finished, Dr. Angelou admitted feeling pretty lousy about risking the black fellas' life for her poorly conceived effort. #AppleEvent #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 5th study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just two of the many books in the project. Last week, Dr. Angelou detailed her Harlem hobnobbing of the early 1960's and her activist work on behalf of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. She was momentarily engaged to a black bale bondsman named Thomas. But she met a chubby African named Make and kicked worthless Thomas to the curb. She agreed to marry Make (at least her 3rd fiancé), and introduced him to her 15-year-old son Guy as her new care mate. Guy continues to insist that he's a "man." Dr. Angelou meets numerous Africans and shares with them the history of White Supremacy in the US, highlighting the counter-racist labor of Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth. #ImGoinGetMeSomeStuffTonight #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 4th study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Ironically, when The C.O.W.S. last read Dr. Angelou, she was frolicking as a young lady in San Francisco. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just two of the many books in the project. Last week, Dr. Angelou described meeting Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in New York. Before departing Dr. King told Dr. Angelou that there are some "good White people." Dr. Angelou wondered if he said this because a White Man was listening. She later echoes Dr. King's conclusion, citing the Russians and Fidel Castro, who allegedly never self-identified as a White Man. While Dr. Angelou is globetrotting and drinking with White Men, her son is threatened by a gang of "worthless" black males. Her son Guy seems to insist with every other sentence that he: "Is a man." Dr. Angelou writes over and over about the impotence, unnecessariness, and failure of black manhood. Like her brother, who was in greater confinement during the early 1960s. #AppleEvent #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

In this episode, Kevin Stoller chats with Dr. Aspasia Angelou, a superintendent in Arizona. She highlights her role as a superintendent and the various initiatives she is leading in her school district. Dr. Angelou shares her background, growing up with Greek immigrant parents, and discusses how her early experiences shaped her drive to pursue education. She talks about her journey navigating educational challenges with limited family support. She also elaborates on the unique challenges of leading a unified school district without a high school and the legislative and logistical hurdles she faced in Arizona. She explains how she tackled these issues, including passing bonds for school funding and creating new high school facilities. Dr. Angelou discusses her approach to integrating innovative programs in her district, such as coding for young students, diverse extracurriculars like archery and agriculture, and designing a new high school from scratch with community input. Takeaways: There is always a way if you are determined enough. It's important to find a balance between honoring tradition and looking for innovation. It is critical for kids to understand technology, but it is also important that they have social experiences and play-based learning early.   About Dr. Angelou: Dr. Aspasia Angelou is the daughter of immigrant parents and a native of Seattle, Washington, where she graduated from the University of Washington. She moved to Texas as an educator and teacher trainer in advanced placement, and then to Oklahoma as a school administrator for 8 years. Dr. Angelou served the students, teachers, and community of Tulsa Public Schools as director of high school design in 2019, leading 4 schools through a redesign project. She is passionate about creating equitable learning environments, opportunities, and outcomes for all students. Her entire career has been committed to serving in Title I urban schools. She was named Oklahoma High School Principal of the Year in 2017 for the academic gains made by her students during her tenure in Oklahoma City. Despite challenges, they made great gains are recognized as a Model Professional Learning Community School by Solution Tree.   Connect with Dr. Angelou: LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/dr-aspasia-angelou-25667099/ X: https://x.com/aspasiaangelou   Nadaburg USD #81: Website: https://www.nadaburgsd.org/leadership       Episode 215 of the Better Learning Podcast Kevin Stoller is the host of the Better Learning Podcast and Co-Founder of Kay-Twelve, a national leader for educational furniture. Learn more about creating better learning environments at www.Kay-Twelve.com.     For more information on our partners: Association for Learning Environments (A4LE) - https://www.a4le.org/ Education Leaders' Organization - https://www.ed-leaders.org/ Second Class Foundation - https://secondclassfoundation.org/ EDmarket - https://www.edmarket.org/ Catapult @ Penn GSE - https://catapult.gse.upenn.edu/ Want to be a Guest Speaker? Request on our website

The Context of White Supremacy (C.O.W.S.) Radio Program hosts the weekly summit on Neutralizing Workplace Racism 01/10/24 Courtesy of Dr. Maya Angelou's autobiography The Heart of a Woman, we ask non-white listeners if they would admit a lack of important skills when being offered a new job or promotion? Dr. Angelou chose to honestly divulge her shortcomings when offered a job early in her career. A number of non-white listeners shared their own view on this matter, and they chose to remain quiet while learning as much as possible while in the new position. We also hear a number of reminders about why non-white people should avoid wearing headphones/earbuds while in the workplace. It's vital to be cognizant of what's being said and happening around you in your work area. We'll also review the sentencing of Major Michael Stockin who, according to FOX13 Seattle news, "Pleaded guilty in military court Tuesday to a total of 41 specifications." This including groping the genitals of numerous male soldiers. Stockin worked in locations in Maryland, Hawaii and Washington state, so it's possible that other White people knew of his transgressions yet transferred the White sexual miscreant as opposed to prosecuting him. #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the 3rd study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Ironically, when The C.O.W.S. last read Dr. Angelou, she was frolicking as a young lady in San Francisco. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just two of the many books in the project. Last week, Dr. Angelou described hearing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Fred Shuttlesworth and Wyatt Tee Walker of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference speaking in New York about their counter-racist work in the south. Dr. Angelou was so touched by their words she began thinking of how she could act to support their efforts. She's strikingly candid about the widespread tendency of she and most other black people to be "uncle toms" and the necessity of telling her black son about "the power of White power." En route to offering her services to Bayard Rustin and the SCLC, Dr. Angelou encounters a phalanx of White Men who volunteer their White time and expertise to aid the niggra, and, probably, spy for COINTELPRO. #AppleEvent #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

In this series, we'll explore the inspiring legacy of Maya Angelou—an extraordinary writer, poet, and civil rights activist who dedicated her life to advocating for equality and justice. Her journey with faith reminds us of the power of love, courage, and forgiveness, showing us how to embrace the dignity of every person, no matter their background or beliefs. Through her words and example, Angelou calls us to live with resilience, generosity, and a spirit of unity—values that can transform both our hearts and our communities. ----------------- Our website FB Page Prayer Requests Give here

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the second study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Ironically, when The C.O.W.S. last read Dr. Angelou, she was frolicking as a young lady in San Francisco. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just two of the many books in the project. Last week, we heard Dr. Angelou use a myriad of confusing metaphors to describe the System of White Supremacy in 1957. She minimized the abuse tennis champion Althea Gibson experienced and elided US Senator J. Strom Thurmond raping a black child in South Carolina while filibustering against niggras. The young Dr. Angelou fried chicken for and entertained Billie "Lady Day" Holiday and sat while the jazz legend sang "Strange Fruit" to her 9-year-old son, Guy. It was a traumatizing event for the little guy. Then the Race Soldier White teachers went to work on him. #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

The Katherine Massey Book Club @ The C.O.W.S. hosts the debut study session on the late Dr. Maya Angelou's The Heart of A Woman. This is a rare "double dip" for the book club, as we read I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings in the summer of 2014 just after the transition of the famed author and Wake Forest scholar. Ironically, when The C.O.W.S. last read Dr. Angelou, she was frolicking as a young lady in San Francisco. Gus T. was inundated with the life and literary work of Dr. Angelou during his recent Golden State sojourn. And it took Gus seeing the documentary film Soundtrack to a Coup d'État three times to accurately write down the title Heart of a Woman. The extraordinary film on the assassination of Patrice Lumumba is "receipt-heavy," and Andrée Blouin and Dr. Angelou's respective memoirs are just two of the many books in the project. It seems both of these black female authors born on different continents were greatly impacted by Lumumba's murder and were moved to record their thoughts, feelings and actions during this important moment in history. #AppleEvent #SoundtrackToACoupdÉtat #TheCOWS16Years INVEST in The COWS – http://paypal.me/TheCOWS Cash App: https://cash.app/$TheCOWS CALL IN NUMBER: 605.313.5164 CODE: 564943#

Send us a textResilience and flexibility are characteristics we all need to develop. I talk about how important these characteristics are on a mission, but also throughout life. __________________________Do you have questions or comments?Please contact me: rtosguthorpe@gmail.comWant more info about my books and talks?Go to my website: https://www.russelltosguthorpe.com/Want to order a book? Just go to Amazon and type in Russell T. Osguthorpe Want to access my YouTube channel:https://youtube.com/@russellt.osguthorpe497Want know more about the music on this podcast? We are blessed to have M. Diego Gonzalez as a regular contributor of songs he has arranged, performed, and recorded especially for this podcast. My wife and I became acquainted with Diego when he was serving a as missionary in the Puerto Rico San Juan Mission. We were so impressed with his talent, we asked if he would compose and perform songs for Filled With His Love. He thankfully agreed. Hope you enjoy his work!Want to boost your mood and make someone's day?Go to the App store on your iPhone, and download the app—Boonto.Want a good introduction to my book? Morgan Jones Pearson interviewed me on the All-In Podcast, and it was one of the top 10 episodes of 2022. Here's the link:https://www.ldsliving.com/2022-in-review-top-10-all-in-podcast-episod...

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We are starting a new series of podcast episodes and thinkpieces analysing the changes in the Lithuanian music scene. For the first conversation, we meet a producer whose work and philosophy have laid the foundation for many of them. Snorre Bergerud, the founder of YMIR Audio studio in Vilnius, has produced and/or recorded Garbanotas, Monique, jautì, Justinas Jarutis, Junior A, Angelou, Frank Fitts, No Real Pioneers, Crucial Features, Emilija Karosaitė, Džiugas Širvys, Freaks on Floor, Gabrielė Vilkickytė, Vaida Deksnytė and other local bands and artists. With the records made in the studio, they changed both the sound and attitude of modern Lithuanian music. In an in-depth conversation, which we chose for the first episode of our series The New Scene / Nauja scena, Snorre reflected on the origins of the studio, his philosophy of working with artists and the changes in the Lithuanian music environment in the last decade. As a Norwegian who made Vilnius his home and who wrote his master's thesis at The University of Liverpool on the Lithuanian music industry, Snorre is uniquely positioned for such commentary. And he sees inspiring changes. Full publication: https://nara.lt/en/articles-en/snorre-bergerud Recorded at YMIR Audio studio In Vilnius. Edited by Karolis Vyšniauskas and Adomas Zubė. Original music by Kata Bitowt. Additional help by Austėja Pūraitė. The New Scene / Nauja scena project is partially supported by Lithuania's Media Support fund.

Doc talks identifying ski injury ACL tears on the MRI.

HALLE BERRY is that how you spell it It is for now. Fuck going online “That ain't part of my day” Shut up Drake, not now. You'll thank me later “If You're Reading This, It's Too Late” [HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award-- Which one's her favorite? CUT TO: BEFORE HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.] —I like this guy. The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process. Come on! This guy! AGAIN!? UGH. CUT BACK TO: [HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ] WHAT THE—COME ON I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE. (I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode Or without cell service at all) wtf my phone is ringing. That's weird. You don't even— —I don't even have a phone. Right. (Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.) The fuck. [it's JIMMY FALLON] Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever. Like fucking ever. Always shows up at the worst —THE WORST MOMENT. [HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again] WHAT THE— [She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until— [JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.] (Calmly, kind of) Hey, WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I called first! I KNOW THAT— Went to voicemail. YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE. Just—calm down. NO. Look. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically. —yeah, but your FACE is in my house— —I hear that's the best part. —What?! Listen— Get out— No, look, listen— I need to borrow your Oscar. What?! For what?! That's not important. Oh really?! Yeah. It seems important. It's not that important Just—- What! Give it to me! [He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.] Just—trade me. What! What for?! Just—trust me— I do not— Just trust me—! WHAT! Congratulations. As you were. Kind of. WHAT—JIMMY— [She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing] —he was my favorite… [SUDDENLY, though the other window Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate? For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside. Fans are weird. CUT TO: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I LOVE YOU. CUT TO: What's this place. It's my house, Where are the windows? They don't exist. CUT BACK TO [DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.] YO. WHAT THE FUCK! Chill, Halle Berry. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'm the guy who wrote this. You should have called first! Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?! NO. I LIKE HIS face. Huh. Is that what it is… I GUESS I DONT KNOW. —who are YOU—?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE— I am not in, technically— I DONT CARE! Ooh— Is that a Grammy award?! I didn't know you had a Grammy! Gimmie! [he snatches the Grammy] HEY! Is—what is this, for COMEDY?! FOR COMEDY?! WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?! I DONT KNOW, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK. It's not important. What. Anyway, thanks. Toodeloo. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Freebreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenetire intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that i wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more of putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with Fallon—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep inside me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viwingbspace, an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my masked. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and bryknnd: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mistress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the car would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in in struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packaged and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. https://linktr.ee/codenameblu {Now You See Me} From Google: Charismatic magician Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) leads a team of talented illusionists called the Four Horsemen. Atlas and his comrades mesmerize audiences with a pair of amazing magic shows that drain the bank accounts of the corrupt and funnel the money to audience members. A federal agent (Mark Ruffalo) and an Interpol detective (Mélanie Laurent) intend to rein in the Horsemen before their next caper, and they turn to Thaddeus (Morgan Freeman), a famous debunker, for help. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so i

Ever wondered how literature and art can become pathways to self-discovery and healing? Journey with us as we sit down with the profoundly multi-talented M.K. Asante, whose work as an artist, filmmaker, musician, activist, and professor at Morgan State University offers invaluable insights into African American literature. Discover how Asante's book "Nephew: A Memoir in 4-part Harmony” reveals the therapeutic power of storytelling, and learn about the pivotal role editors like Christopher Jackson play in amplifying these vital voices. Through Asante's personal experiences, we uncover the emotional release that accompanies completing a deeply meaningful project.Imagine receiving life-changing writing advice from the legendary Dr. Maya Angelou. In a heartfelt recounting, Asante shares his transformative encounter with Dr. Angelou at Wake Forest University. Her wisdom on truth-telling, embracing our shared humanity, and connecting with the spirits of our ancestors provided the strength and inspiration needed to finish his first memoir, "Buck." These lessons resonate universally, bridging the gap between personal and communal experiences, and highlighting the profound impact of emotional authenticity in literature.The episode also delves into the rich tapestry of African American culture through the lens of family, art, and resilience. From the metaphor of the quilt symbolizing resourcefulness and beauty to the complexities of family dynamics and the unspoken legacies that shape our lives, we explore the enduring legacy of black creativity. Through intimate narratives involving family members and the influential power of music and lyrics, we celebrate the strength, resourcefulness, and beauty embedded in African American culture and its lasting influence on literature and art.MakerSPACE is here to meet the needs of today's entrepreneurs, creatives, and work-from-home professionals. We do this through private offices, coworking spaces, and a host of other resources, including conference rooms, a photo studio, podcast studios; a creative workshop, and a retail showroom—that is perfect for any e-commerce brand. Mention code MAHOGANY for all current specials, as we have two locations to best serve you.Support the Show.Thanks for listening! Show support by reviewing our podcast and sharing it with a friend. You can also follow us on Instagram, @MahoganyBooks, for information about our next author event and attend live.

If I'm technically Christ, then Skrillex is the Anti-Christ— And if we fuck out Demi-God children will most possibly bring on the Apocalypse. **most probably. Something's on fire. I think it's your living room. Oh my God! Oh, good, it's just the curtains. Your son set my living room on fire. Not the living room. Just the curtains! [and the couch] My couch! And my couch! Oh my God! Stop it, The Apostle! What. That's The Apostle. He sets stuff on fire. What the Hell. With his mind. You called your son “The Apostle” Sure did. Why. CUT TO: FLASHBACK THE APOSTLE (extremely cute toddler) The Earth with end in a rain of hellfire and blood. Ok. He was 3. Wow: Wait. You named your son when he was 3? We changed it from ‘Simon' Hi, Simon! THE APOSTLE DOOM. *sets fire* WOAH. That's so cool. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one first, from— Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must be on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, The God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of… No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this casket (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucking fairyshit is that? There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you every day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to—Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If God hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to The Rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in y

I gotta find that pilot I wrote for— MAYA RUDOLPH FOUND IT. Oh, My God Is it Esha in this scene? I can't remember if it's Esha or the nanny. Did he not fuck the therapist? I mean, that's later. Is it? I guess. Continuity. Whatever. . JIMMY FALLON, YOU PATHETIC, BLASPHEMOUS BASTARD. SAY MY NAME ONE MORE TIME. GO AHEAD. do it. You can't say shit to me. Almost nothing. I was almost asleep. Fuck it up, Jimmy. You know, you could get like, Straight A's this semester if you just Listen to me. Focus. Fuck this. FUCK THIS. OK, FUCK THIS MACHINE. He puts a quarter in, Turns the corner at around four o clock. Takes metformin for supper. Supplements, supplements. Nothin. Oh, you wanted this to happen. I purchased this collection of poetry off the black market. For what. It's a machine, JImmy. JIMENY CRIKET Christ almighty Wait. Wait a second, Go back. To which part. TO this day “she's polite” I know this, she'll find me in here somewhere. I know this. Just let it go. No, she'll find us. You're living a lie. This is why you're behind in this race. Well, it's a race war, isn't it? You started this? Look what I did. I bought you christmas presents. I'm pretty sure i'm not even allowed to celebrate it. HEATHENS. Correct this behavior. See the reasons behind them, first, before you cast judgements. Set the trap, she'll fall for this. She needs these things. All this stuff was stolen. You think. You think too much. You think too little of this organization. Because, Jimmy, i'm above it You know, this could be the reason you lose at this. I don't care anymore if I lose at this, As long as somebody wins. This is it, Jim. I guess so. Let her rip. Let him have it. FIGHT. How's this gonna work, if I fight to WIn. It's a fight to the DEATH? This is a fight to the DEATH. …Johnny Depp is here. Let him in. How many is that? At least 10. What did she give to you, for this? SIR JYRE Medicine. Tina Fey Amy Peohler or however you spell it Maya Rudolph Ratchel Dratch Kristen Wiig Kristen Shaal Melissa Mccarthy - might be the only non-SNL member The Cosmic Avenger Damn. That dude lost his whole name. He lost everything. So Wait, that's Eight. Yep. Who are the other two? Gimmie the pop tart movie Fir what. To laugh. I want to laugh. YEE hehe I ANT Weird shirtless overall pictures—- wtf is THIS. MAYA Ok, check this out. God, this is hideous. I think we might be related. Alright guys, I found it! Yes! Finally! The problem is— When I got there *sniffs* FALLON. —Fallon had already been there. Ah,Christ. How does he do that? By the power of CHRIST, I compel you!!! Oh shit, he is good at this. Uh, I gotta get going. Look, I'm gonna need some time. Alright. Just tell me, you'll consider this. Ok—my son. And please— Your secret is safe with me. God. Hm. We need your help. I'm “the help” “Father Knows Best” You know you're going to Hell for this. I do come home sometimes. Great, she missed it. Oh shit. Yep. And you're gonna— I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I want, with whoever the fuck I want. Why is there still deadmau5 in this— What's this. Pudding No, this is This is a really long episode of whatever it is, shutthefuck Uh oh. You know, we can't do this. There is absolutely nothing you cannot do. Absolutely nothing. Ok. You guys are all in here— —Somewhere. Yay! Yes! Elevatorsz! Except you. What. Stay out. WHAT. Actually, you know what? What? Move. He switched me seats. Uh… Okay—now get the fuck out. FUCK. Meanwhile: Bad news dude. Aww. What's up. Your dick still sucks. WHAT. Sorry, bros. I tried. So did I! It was bad. Maybe worse than before. HOWS THATS POSSIBLE. I dunno, but—damn. Damn! BEFORE: lil dicky got rich and famous— Now all the girls lie to him And tell him that his dick is awesome He has no idea at all Whether or not His dick still sucks WHAT IN THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO THIS KID? I don't know. Let me see. *roundhouse kick to the face* [blank stare] Fuck, alright, well— Just put him in there with the other broken ones. “The other broken ones?” This—for some reason happens, sometimes. What? How often? Like, a lot? Opens door to roomful of lifeless bodies with blank canvas syndrome. So wait, Why isn They say all it takes is one song— What if the money you make is all wrong? Went from blonde to dark blonde Spent it all on repairing the Honda Hell naw Isn't it awful, what we all are, Or what have you— I just hope that this isn't at all What you meant by this It is, and it isn't It's just helpless Useless Combinations Concentrations, focus— Dance lessons Synchronized swimming It's just living, Infinite. Combinations Complications Hyper focus Dance lessons This is is not a dance class It's a fist fight! This is not a dancehall— It's a collesium Did you see em Did you see em This is not this morning, It's this evening— And I'm warning you to Leave me alone Leave me in the Tv then! That wasn't me, this was my clone. This is my office, not my home. Imm never home. 1-800-⌨️ NEVER ALONE Shout out to Amanda, I'm still aneorexic, somehow I was his punching bag, Now he just wants me back Shout out to Alaska I should book some shows out there How's my dad been How's the husband He's a has been. I HAS BEEEEEEEN! How long is this gonna take, you think? I think- I think— I think I just need TWO WEEEEEEEKS. I don't know why, but I needed that. Shout out to Amanda Now I can do algebra. Shout out to Alaska I should go back there Shout out to the past, man I should go back there You're not here for Skrillex, are you? Does it look like I'm here for Skrillex, to you? Whatever you do, just Whatever you do just— Oh shit, here she comes Here she comes Play “stupid” What the fuck's wrong with you Turn off the phone No, I'm stupid! Swiftly stops at seven just to remember: That— isn't it sinister what the plan is To deliver this message to the planet I got the water. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Jorgie!!! Dont cry, mama— I'm Rick James! Don't cry! (I know who you are…) Mama, I'm Rick James Alright, alright, alright What's good— Steve Slattery Uh. John Martin. Really?! Does she serious get us confused?! Are you not like— the same guy. “The Same guy” I feel like this should be in a seperate document. I feel like it shouldn't. It's true! It's true! It's just like this now She's just like this now! THERE THEY ARE. THERE'S TINA TINA SAY WHAT. Nothing. Nothing. Listen— [MAYA RUDOLPH—just has that look on her face] Yeah. I'm DRUNK. Everybody's drunk. *dancing* SOMEBODY GET ME OUT THIS PETH— —uNNHHH PRTY. Where Uptown A at? Sober. Doing my job. Preforming. Oh nice. Which you all should be. IMPOSSIBLE: You have officially rendered us UNSTOPPABLE! —dysfunctional drunken idiots. BANG—BANG— Oh shit, here they come BANG BANG! Chitty chitty TITTIES! SHHH! We're censoring, still This is NBC or Disney or something Everybody should be— We should be streaming it STREAMERS! AND STRIPPERS. Is that all we needed from the dollar store Oh what the fuck. That's crazy that this is all the same party. In. Ents. Idiots, Wait, are those DUDES. It appears so. ARE THERE GUYS HERE?! LOOKS LIKE IT! CHICK FIGHT!! The vocals go around the head to choke you, Woah, dude, I don't know what you go through, To open those throat chakras, Oh, I do know Oh so lowly This is a lot, I can't even. This is the winner since intermittent detention centers mental facilities and interests in domestic and international terrorism, respectively, but To be honest, I should slow down, Format formally for a moment, Go somewhere I don't go, I don't know, I should grow up though, Show up to a show or No. GO, GO— GET IN THE BOAT NO YOURE A GHOST! BE A GHOOOOOOOAAAAAAAATTTT GHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST stop it. Who tf are these tweakers? Just leave them alone. I'm pretty sure there's gonna be like a whole soundtrack to this by the morning or something. WHEN'S THE MORNING SUN!!! COME BACK!!!! Hello, Moon Just wait for a while, I am an army of men; Puppet I'm pulling the strings No man, I'm all on my own That's for now But who knows I can do bad all by myself Come on I'll show you Curtains close, Lights up, Curtains open Lights down One man show I'm a whole One man show I can do bad all by my— Luminous Illuminate me, I am (I am, I am) Luminous Illuminous Illuminous Luminous Go for a run, Soak in the tub You know? One door open, One more close Where you go? You go this way, And I go that, hon Let's do lunch soon Take your number You know what? I'm done with this (I'm done with this stuff, I don't want in no more) I'll show you Curtains close, Lights up, Curtains open Lights down One man show I'm a whole One man show I can do bad all by my— Luminous Illuminate me, I am (I am, I am) Luminous Illuminous Illuminous Luminous It's no wonder you're up with the sun It's one in the morning, You're still making coffee You started a world war —all I want is some water! You wanted a broke heart My scars, all I wanted was love Now what's up? I been up for a month I got up making coffee at One in the morning I still got no words for these verses I read duteronomy Here's some astronomy No more scars on my sky city lights Now I'm way up high You like that, hun? Yeah I'm way, way up I don't it no more I'm so done with this stuff Thought you started a whole war You can have the whole world For a glass of water You broke the part of my heart That was giving a fuck Now it doesn't Now you lost it I don't even want it no more I am an army of men; Puppet I'm pulling the strings No man, I'm all on my own That's for now But who knows I can do bad all by myself Come on Story: The owner of an underground/illegal nightclub pays his talent in drugs—but when the new DJ refuses and asks for cash up front, a dangerous clash is enacted, and ‘the talent' groups together and hatches a plan to take what belongs to them, by staging a robbery at a massive flash-mob style party. Damn. Ok. Well we'll see about this. What's the budget. Crunching. More Maya… Rupoloh. Sure MAYA! —Angelou— or Rudolph? Rudolph; but I can summon Maya Angelou, if you want. No thanks; I did that already in the first season. We might be related or something. MINNIE RIPPERTON We both have the same weird, Afrocentric No-shirt overall wearing Family Photo. I don't understand. Nobody does! This is fucked up. Yeah. This is fucked up. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Tšhegofatšo Ndabane is a writer, podcast publicist for mental health practitioners, and Master of Arts in clinical psychology candidate at the University of Cape Town. Her words have been featured in various international publications including Refinery29, Well + Good, Life & Thyme, and APL Media, amongst others. Deneshia and Joi hopped on a zoom call to record this one! Tšhegofatšo shares her view of resiliency and belonging from a Black South African woman perspective. This conversation is ultimately led by the words of Dr. Maya Angelou who defines Belonging for herself. Dr. Angelou says in A Bill Moyers interview: You are truly free when you realize you belong nowhere, no place, but everywhere. Most importantly I belong to myself. I'm very concerned about Maya. This episode is an exploration of belonging to safe people, places and things. Tšhegofatšo, Deneshia and Joi share some research on belonging and personal loved experiences. What's your definition of belonging? Where do you belong? How do you cultivate this? Share this episode with a friend! Share your thoughts with us in the comments!

This person died in 2014 at age 86. She was a Tony-nominated stage actress, and a calypso dancer for a period of time.. In 2011 she was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. She was a college professor and a ubiquitous presence on the lecture circuit, and also made several appearances on Sesame Street. Throughout her writing, she explored the concepts of personal identity and resilience through the multifaceted lens of race, sex, family, community and the collective past. In 1969 she published her landmark book, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. Today's dead celebrity is Maya Angelou.  This episode originally published February 8, 2023. Listen to the Sound Judgment podcast in which Michael and Amit discuss this Maya Angelou episode  Famous & Gravy is created and co-hosted by Amit Kapoor and Michael Osborne. This episode was produced by Jacob Weiss. For updates on the show, please sign up for our newsletter at famousandgravy.com. Also, enjoy our mobile quiz game at deadoraliveapp.com If you enjoyed this episode, you may also like Episode 71 “Defiant One” (Sidney Poitier) and Episode 61 “Dame Detective” (Angela Lansburyi). Links: Transcript of this episode New York Times Obituary for Maya Angelou ‘Sound Judgment' podcast discussing this episode Maya Angelou's poem at the 1993 inauguration Tracy Morgan's impersonation of Angelou's Hallmark Cards on SNL Maya Angelou for Froot Loops on SNL performed by David Alan Grier Maya Angelou's Life in Photos in the New Yorker “And I Still Rise” Documentary on Maya Angelou Famous & Gravy official website Famous & Gravy on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter Dead or Alive Quiz Game HPB.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This person died in 2014 at age 86. She was a Tony-nominated stage actress, and a calypso dancer for a period of time.. In 2011 she was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. She was a college professor and a ubiquitous presence on the lecture circuit, and also made several appearances on Sesame Street. Throughout her writing, she explored the concepts of personal identity and resilience through the multifaceted lens of race, sex, family, community and the collective past. In 1969 she published her landmark book, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. Today's dead celebrity is Maya Angelou.  This episode originally published February 8, 2023. Listen to the Sound Judgment podcast in which Michael and Amit discuss this Maya Angelou episode  Famous & Gravy is created and co-hosted by Amit Kapoor and Michael Osborne. This episode was produced by Jacob Weiss. For updates on the show, please sign up for our newsletter at famousandgravy.com. Also, enjoy our mobile quiz game at deadoraliveapp.com If you enjoyed this episode, you may also like Episode 71 “Defiant One” (Sidney Poitier) and Episode 61 “Dame Detective” (Angela Lansburyi). Links: Transcript of this episode New York Times Obituary for Maya Angelou ‘Sound Judgment' podcast discussing this episode Maya Angelou's poem at the 1993 inauguration Tracy Morgan's impersonation of Angelou's Hallmark Cards on SNL Maya Angelou for Froot Loops on SNL performed by David Alan Grier Maya Angelou's Life in Photos in the New Yorker “And I Still Rise” Documentary on Maya Angelou Famous & Gravy official website Famous & Gravy on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter Dead or Alive Quiz Game HPB.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to The Nonlinear Library, where we use Text-to-Speech software to convert the best writing from the Rationalist and EA communities into audio. This is: The Intentional Stance, LLMs Edition, published by Eleni Angelou on May 1, 2024 on LessWrong. In memoriam of Daniel C. Dennett. tl;dr: I sketch out what it means to apply Dennett's Intentional Stance to LLMs. I argue that the intentional vocabulary is already ubiquitous in experimentation with these systems therefore what is missing is the theoretical framework to justify this usage. I aim to make up for that and explain why the intentional stance is the best available explanatory tool for LLM behavior. Choosing Between Stances Why choose the intentional stance? It seems natural to employ or ascribe cognitive states to AI models starting from the field's terminology, most prominently by calling it "machine learning" (Hagendorff 2023). This is very much unlike how other computer programs are treated. When programmers write software, they typically understand it in terms of what they designed it to execute (design stance) or simply make sense of it considering its physical properties, such as the materials it was made of or the various electrical signals processing in its circuitry (physical stance). As I note, it is not that we cannot use Dennett's other two stances (Dennett 1989) to talk about these systems. It is rather that neither of them constitutes the best explanatory framework for interacting with LLMs. To illustrate this, consider the reverse example. It is possible to apply the intentional stance to a hammer although this does not generate any new information or optimally explain the behavior of the tool. What seems to be apt for making sense of how hammers operate instead is the design stance. This is just as applicable to other computer programs-tools. To use a typical program, there is no need to posit intentional states. Unlike LLMs, users do not engage in human-like conversation with the software. More precisely, the reason why neither the design nor the physical stance is sufficient to explain and predict the behavior of LLMs is because state-of-the-art LLM outputs are in practice indistinguishable from those of human agents (Y. Zhou et al. 2022). It is possible to think about LLMs as trained systems or as consisting of graphic cards and neural network layers, but these hardly make any difference when one attempts to prompt them and make them helpful for conversation and problem-solving. What is more, machine learning systems like LLMs are not programmed to execute a task but are rather trained to find the policy that will execute the task. In other words, developers are not directly coding the information required to solve the problem they are using the AI for: they train the system to find the solution on its own. This requires for the model to possess all the necessary concepts. In that sense, dealing with LLMs is more akin to studying a biological organism that is under development or perhaps raising a child, and less like building a tool the use of which is well-understood prior to the system's interaction with its environment. The LLM can learn from feedback and "change its mind" about the optimal policy to go about its task which is not the case for the standard piece of software. Moreover, LLMs seem to possess concepts. Consequently, there is a distinction to be drawn between tool-like and agent-like programs. Judging on a behavioral basis, LLMs fall into the second category. This conclusion renders the intentional stance (Dennett 1989) practically indispensable for the evaluation of LLMs on a behavioral basis. Folk Psychology for LLMs What kind of folk psychology should we apply to LLMs? Do they have beliefs, desires, and goals? LLMs acquire "beliefs" from their training distribution, since they do not memorize or copy any text from it when outputting their results - at least no more than human writers and speakers do. They must, as a result, ...

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Explore the empowering resilience of Maya Angelou's iconic poem "Still I Rise" in this episode. Unveiling the layers of strength and defiance, we delve into Angelou's profound verses that celebrate overcoming adversity. Join us as we navigate the rich tapestry of words that continue to inspire and resonate with audiences worldwide.

Dr. Maya Angelou is a remarkable Renaissance woman who is hailed as one of the greatest voices of contemporary literature. As a poet, educator, historian, best-selling author, actress, playwright, civil-rights activist, producer, and director, she continues to travel the world, spreading her legendary wisdom. Within the rhythm of her poetry and elegance of her prose lies Dr. Angelou's unique power to help readers of every orientation span the lines of culture and race. Today she talks about her CD titled “Church: Songs of Soul and Inspiration” in which music is set to her poetry and includes many best-selling musicians and singers such as Patti Labelle, Dionne Warwick, Stephanie Mills, En Vogue, Chaka Khan, The Fire Choir, and many more. This interview was originally taped in June 2003. Info:  MayaAngelou.com

Are you ready to dive into the world of poetry and inspiration with your little ones? Join Sophia Karpman on a journey through the life and legacy of Maya Angelou in our special Black History Month episode designed just for kids!

How do we know when to give people a second chance? Join seasoned educators Steve and Dan Fouts as they delve into the profound wisdom of Maya Angelou's quote, "When somebody shows you who they are, believe them the first time." In this thought-provoking discussion, they explore the application of Angelou's thoughts on personal relationships and the difficult decisions teachers must make in the classroom. Steve recounts the captivating tale of Jarvis, the very inspiration that sparked the creation of Teach Different! Teach Different serves educational institutions, families, corporate entities, and mental health communities. If you think the TD method could be effective in your setting, we'd love to hear from you! support@teachdifferent.com Image Source: Flickr | Website | York College ISLG

In just 86 years Maya Angelou lived dozens of lives. Perhaps best known for her seminal autobiography I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou is one of the most celebrated literary minds in history, whose poetry and prose has touched generations of readers. But before Caged Bird, Angelou danced and sang on and off Broadway, earned the moniker “Miss Calypso” in the 1950s, called dozens of American cities and African nations home, and even became the first Black woman to work as a cable car conductor in San Francisco. On this episode of Making, host Brandon Pope sits down with Rita Coburn, co-director of the Peabody-Award-winning PBS documentary Maya Angelou: And Still I Rise; Randal Jelks, professor of African and African American studies and American studies at the University of Kansas; and Dr. Maxine Mimms, the founder of the Tacoma Campus of Evergreen State College and a longtime friend of Angelou. “Her main word was courage,” Dr. Mimms said, “The courage to love, the courage to walk, the courage to move.” Making tells the story of a different, iconic figure every episode. Subscribe now.

Poetry has long served as a point of inspiration for classical composers. Just think of Beethoven's magnificent setting of Schiller's "Ode to Joy," Schubert's cinematic take on Goethe's "Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel," or Ned Rorem's soulful songs based on the words of Frank O'Hara. And now there's a new work to add to this storied tradition from composer Brian Raphael Nabors. In Upon Daybreak, premiered by the Berkeley Symphony in late 2022, Nabors turns to a poignant poem by the late Maya Angelou, "A Brave, Startling Truth." Rather than set the poem's text to music, however, Nabors distills Angelou's visionary call for a great "day of peacemaking" into a powerful orchestral work that imagines a utopian world without hatred or malice. "In the poem, [Angelou] talks about all the chaos, war, and dystopia that come about from us being humans and destructive," Nabors says on the latest episode of the Classical Post podcast. "But also all the beauty that comes from humanity and what we're able to offer. It talks about this day when all this war mongering ends finally and we realize that the true wonders of the world are ourselves and life itself." Commissioned by New Music USA as part of its Amplifying Voices program, Upon Daybreak has been performed by the Detroit Symphony, River Oaks Chamber Orchestra, and the Boston Landmarks Orchestra since its Berkeley premiere, and the work will make its way to the Seattle Symphony in 2024.  In this episode, Nabors and I talk more about composing Upon Daybreak and what it was like working with the Berkeley Symphony's music director, Joseph Young, on a host of community engagement projects leading up to the premiere. Plus, he shares the important part his spiritual life plays in maintaining the energy to compose, how video games help him overcome creative blocks, and why skin care is always a top priority in his wellness routine. — ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Classical Post® is created and produced by Gold Sound Media® LLC, a New York-based marketing agency for the performing arts industry. Explore how we can grow your audience to make a lasting impact in your community.

Join us on the second day of 2024 for a heartfelt reflection inspired by nature's wonders and the words of Maya Angelou. We explore the theme of shared human experiences, taking cues from the Scorpions' “Under the Same Sun” and Angelou's “Human Family.” Key Takeaways: ✅ The profound impact of empathy in understanding different human journeys ✅ The beauty of shared experiences under the same sky ✅ The importance of maintaining a positive outlook towards diverse viewpoints

Welcome, listeners! Today, we embark on a thought-provoking journey through the realm of perspective. In a world filled with diverse experiences and outlooks, maintaining the right perspective can be a game-changer in how we navigate our lives. Today, we explore quotes that serve as gentle reminders of the importance of perspective and its profound impact on our lives proverbs benefit us in life, they offer timeless wisdom and guidance that can be applied to various situations. Proverbs often convey moral lessons, cultural values, and practical advice, allowing us to gain insights from the experiences and wisdom.  "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude." A quote by maya Angelou reminds us of accepting change within ourselves for the benefit of ourselves.  That quote really speaks to the power we hold within ourselves to shape our realities. It reminds us that we have the ability to change our perspective, even when external circumstances may seem beyond our control. In essence, this quote urges us to shift our focus from what we cannot control to what we can control—our attitude and perspective. Moving on, let's ponder upon a quote from the renowned physicist Albert Einstein: "The measure of intelligence is the ability to change." This quote reminds us that intelligence is not solely about knowledge but also about adaptability. Our ability to transcend fixed perspectives and embrace new ideas and interpretations allows us to learn, grow, and lead fulfilling lives. Our capacity to evolve our perspectives is a testament to our intelligence and willingness to embrace change. Now, let's hear some quotes and proverbs with a powerful message that resonates with us or our previous experiences. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/creative-habits/message

Communication Miss: Deletions, Distortions, Generalizations. Do you feel overwhelmed? Do you understand how much you filter out? Filters are used to eliminate things that are not of value.  Understand how change can happen quickly when we understand the filters, and we change the Belief! We have natural filters that, unchecked, can  cause faulty belief systems, living below our potential, and relationships that never reach their intimate peak. Mr. Black is joined by 2 graduates of Team 248, who will share their first hand experiences.  These are authentic, transformational conversations that bring hope to any situation.  Maya Angelou; Rise Up, Mother Teresa; Anyway, and other motivational quotes and stories. Check out our website www.LikeItMatters.Net.  Be sure to Like and Follow us on our facebook page. Get daily inspiration from our blog www.wayofwarrior.blog. Learn about our non profit work at www.likeitmatters.net/nonprofit.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Original Air Date: January 24, 2018Oprah's heart-to-heart conversation with the late Dr. Maya Angelou continues. Dr. Angelou shares some of her greatest life lessons on aging brilliantly and living with gratitude. She is moved to tears as she recalls the revelation that changed her life forever and reveals the best piece of advice she ever received. Want more podcasts from OWN? Visit https://bit.ly/OWNPodsYou can also watch Oprah's Super Soul, The Oprah Winfrey Show and more of your favorite OWN shows on your TV! Visit https://bit.ly/find_OWN  

Original Air Date: January 22, 2018In the first of a special two-part podcast, Oprah has a conversation with her beloved mentor, the late poet, author, icon, and activist Dr. Maya Angelou. She's also the woman Oprah called her mother, sister, and friend for more than 30 years. Oprah says, "She was there for me always, guiding me through some of the most important years of my life. The world knows her as a poet, but at the heart of her, she was a teacher." Dr. Angelou discusses her last book, "Mom & Me & Mom," delving into one of the deepest personal stories of her life: her relationship with her mother. Dr. Angelou shares intimate memories of her childhood, including the nine words her nurturing yet fiery mother said to her that changed her life forever, challenging her to find strength in the face of adversity. Want more podcasts from OWN? Visit https://bit.ly/OWNPodsYou can also watch Oprah's Super Soul, The Oprah Winfrey Show and more of your favorite OWN shows on your TV! Visit https://bit.ly/find_OWN  

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, we treat you to a re-broadcast of this episode from 2017. Maya Angelou and Martin Luther King Jr. were close friends, years before Angelou became known throughout the world for her memoir “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings." In this, the second our two Maya Angelou podcasts, she offers her personal reflections of Dr. King as a poet and a man with great humility and a sense of humor. She talks about the state of the African-American community decades later, and the importance of using language to uplift (describing an encounter she had with Tupac Shakur to make her point). And in her powerful, unique voice, she reminds us of the eternal relevance of Dr. King's wisdom.

This week on #TheFriendZone, it's a shoot the shit episode. No Hot Button. No segments. Just whatever wants to come out. Brace yourself. Black Business of the Week - https://www.eatnewbreed.com Thank you to our Sponsors: Target - Whatever the reason, it's always the season to stock up on Black-owned brands at Target. Black Beyond Measure. Illuminating Intersectionality - Check out ‘Illuminating Intersectionality' hosted by Fran of Hey Fran Hey, Chef Jade of All Jades and Dr. Tykeia Robinson. Powered by Target https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-1jSUx4duk&t=44s ZocDoc - Go to https://www.zocdoc.com/FRIENDZONE and download the Zocdocapp for FREE. Then start your search for a top-rated doctor today. Many available within 24 hours. PushBlack - Know Your History. Check out Black History Year on Spotify IxoraBB - Visit https://ixorabb.com now to check out their incredible line of products. And as a listener of this podcast, you can save 20% on your first order by using code FriendZone20. Follow us online:

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Perhaps best known for her seminal autobiography I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou is one of the most celebrated literary minds in history, whose poetry and prose has touched generations of readers. But before Caged Bird, Angelou danced and sang on and off Broadway, earned the moniker “Miss Calypso” in the 1950s, called dozens of American cities and African nations home, and even became the first Black woman to work as a cable car conductor in San Francisco. On this episode of Making, host Brandon Pope leads a conversation on Maya Angelou's early days and what made her who she was. Joining him is Rita Coburn, co-director of the Peabody-Award-winning PBS documentary Maya Angelou: And Still I Rise; Randal Jelks, professor of African and African American studies and American studies at the University of Kansas; and a legend in her own right, Dr. Maxine Mimms, the founder of the Tacoma Campus of Evergreen State College and a longtime friend of Angelou.