Podcasts about awoke

Stories in this episode:  3 Hour Stare | SmokingInTheAlley (0:40) Never Going to That Lake Alone Again | throwawaythekey19 (11:39)  Awoke to My Mother Screaming. | pokemomof03 (18:43)  I'll Never Leave the Apartment Door Unlocked Again | Oddly_Moist (23:47)  My campfire story. | mndcndy172 (29:56)  Mom's Crazy Stalker | nomad65555 (35:43)  He Thought I Was Alone | toothpastenachos (41:01)  My Dog Sensed Something About My Daughter's Friend | tharealmouse (44:16)  He Tried to Get in My Car | stupidshitposter4 (49:17)  Where Is Henrietta? | Proverbs2beauty (53:12)  Extended Patreon Content:  Mo-Hell 6 | Ivonne Broken Phone Nightmare | PJ Mystery Man | ASilentAngel Hollywood Blvd | Lusi A Very Bizarre Easter | Sylvia Due to periodic changes in ad placement, time stamps are estimates and are not always accurate. Upcoming LNM Live Tour Dates: 9/19/24 - Salt Lake City, UT @ Metro Music Hall: GET YOUR TICKETS 10/09/24 - Seattle, WA @ The Triple Door: GET YOUR TICKETS 10/30/24 - Portland, OR @ Show Bar: GET YOUR TICKETS 11/09/24 - Houston, TX @ The Secret Group: GET YOUR TICKETS 11/10/24 - Dallas, TX @ Deep Ellum Art Co: GET YOUR TICKETS Follow: - Twitch - https://twitch.tv/crypticcounty - Website - https://letsnotmeetpodcast.com/ - Patreon - https://patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast - Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/letsnotmeetcast/ - TikTok - https://www.tiktok.com/@crypticcounty Check out the other Cryptic County podcasts like Odd Trails, Cryptic Encounters, and the Old Time Radiocast at CrypticCountyPodcasts.com or wherever you get your podcasts!    Get access to extended, ad-free episodes of Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast with bonus stories every week at a higher bitrate along with a bunch of other great exclusive material and merch at patreon.com/letsnotmeetpodcast. This podcast would not be possible to continue at this rate without the help of the support of the legendary LNM Patrons. Come join the family! All of the stories you've heard this week were narrated and produced with the permission of their respective authors. Let's Not Meet: A True Horror Podcast is not associated with Reddit or any other message boards online. To submit your story to the show, send it to letsnotmeetstories@gmail.com.     Your listens Get results you can run your fingers through! For a limited time, Nutrafol is offering our listeners ten dollars off your first month's subscription and free shipping when you go to Nutrafol.com and enter the promo code MEET Get more done with Grammarly. Download Grammarly for FREE at grammarly.com/PODCAST

We Awoke An Ancient Cosmic Horror On Epsilon-12 | Sci-Fi Creepypasta Cosmic Horror Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We Awoke An Ancient Virus On Mars. Now We're Becoming Savages | Sci-Fi Creepypasta Story Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In light of the Trump verdict, thousands of people have realized the sham that is our justice system. Did the Democrats just make the biggest possible mistake? Charlie is joined by Will Scharf and David Sacks to unpack more of the details.Support the show: http://www.charliekirk.com/supportSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In light of the Trump verdict, thousands of people have realized the sham that is our justice system. Did the Democrats just make the biggest possible mistake? Charlie is joined by Will Scharf and David Sacks to unpack more of the details.Support the show: http://www.charliekirk.com/supportSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hello beautiful souls! Angel stories don't always happen all at once or in one day. Sometimes an angel story builds upon itself, one story after another. But when you combine them, these stories make one bigger, more grand angel story. That's what happened to our guest today.    I'd LOVE to share YOUR angel story on the show! If you have an angel story you'd like to share, we'd love to have you on the show! Visit theangelmedium.com and use the contact form to submit your story!   Click HERE to watch this episode on YouTube. Click HERE to read a transcript of this episode. ++++++++++   I'm hosting my first-ever in-person events at Oak Brook, Illinois! I can't wait to see you there. Angel Reiki School June 1 and 2, 2024 (early bird pricing expires May 10) Learn more at TheAngelMedium.com/Get-Certified Spiritual Retreat on October 4 - 6, 2024. Learn more at TheAngelMedium.com/Retreat   Thank you for listening to the Angels and Awakening podcast! Post about today's episode on your social media accounts and tag us @angelpodcast. We couldn't do it without your support. Every purchase and donation helps us run our podcasts and the World's Largest Prayer Network. Thank you! WORK WITH JULIE Angel Membership: https://theangelmedium.com/angelmembership Angel Reiki School: https://theangelmedium.com/get-certified Book A Session: https://theangelmedium.com/readings Buy Julie's Book, Angels and Awakening, on Amazon.com Don't know where to start? Book a discovery call with Julie: https://calendly.com/juliejancius/discovery-call   FREEBIES Angel Newsletter: www.theangelmedium.com Angels and Awakening Podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/angels-and-awakening/id1451424894 World's Largest Prayer Network: https://www.worldslargestprayernetwork.com/ Intuitive Kids Podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/id1650866422   SOCIAL MEDIA Watch out for scammers who impersonate Julie's accounts. Julie will never DM you for a session. All purchases go through www.theangelmedium.com. Instagram: http://instagram.com/angelpodcast/   TikTok: @angelpodcast  Facebook Group: http://facebook.com/groups/angelpodcast  YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/juliejancius   DRAWING WINNER Leave a 5-star positive review of this show or Julie's book, to be entered into a drawing to win a free session: https://theangelmedium.com/gift

Dee Knupp --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/aei-leon/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/aei-leon/support

It's Sleep Awareness Week, and today we're talking about the part of sleep people usually like the least: the part where the alarm clock wakes us up. Or, in the time before alarm clocks, the part where the local "knocker-up" pounded on the doors to get people out of bed. Plus: the story of how rock singer Bret Michaels asked to adopt a huskie named Bret Michaels. A 2,000-Year History of Alarm Clocks (Atlas Obscura) Musician Bret Michaels to adopt dog who saved kitten's life (3 News Now) Now is the time to support our show on Patreon --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/coolweirdawesome/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/coolweirdawesome/support

We Awoke Something Ancient In The Ice. Its Revival Could End Us All | Sci-Fi Creepypasta Story

A year ago to the day, communities in Hawke's Bay and Te Tai Rāwhiti woke to carnage. Cyclone Gabrielle swept through the North Island, causing the deaths of eleven people, widespread devastation and communication blackouts which lasted days. Kate Green has the story.

We are joined by podcaster, DJ, writer and researcher Victor Dalziel.   Victor recounts how listening to podcasts with Dr. Robert Malone and Dr. Peter McCullough awoke him during the COVID-19 pandemic and forced him to re-think his views.   Since then, Victor has built his independent media and podcasting platform, which is now enjoying success on Rumble. Victor also recounts the censorship he faced on YouTube.   He has interviewed the likes of Professor Gigi Foster and many notable doctors and scientists who are part of the Australians for Science and Freedom. Victor also gave a keynote speech at the inaugural ASF Conference late last year.   Victor has developed into a compelling commentator with wit and intellect and this was on full display during this interview.   Follow or contact Victor Dalziel at: https://rumble.com/c/VictorDalziel https://twitter.com/VictorDalziel https://www.instagram.com/vicdalziel     SHOW YOUR SUPPORT for the X-Candidates at ‘Buy Me A Coffee' – Donate or Sign up for our Membership https://www.buymeacoffee.com/xcandidates   Hosted by: ·        Adam Zahra - One Nation candidate for Macarthur (Federal) and Campbelltown (NSW) https://www.facebook.com/adam.zahra.3 https://twitter.com/AdamZahra2023 https://www.instagram.com/zahra4campbelltown   ·        Steven Tripp – Former candidate for Warringah https://www.facebook.com/RealStevenTripp https://twitter.com/RealStevenTripp https://spectator.com.au/author/steven-tripp Follow us on: Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/4GIXhHBogM1McL5EPGP3DT Rumble: https://rumble.com/user/ExCandidates Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/XCandidates Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theXCandidates Twitter: https://twitter.com/theXCandidates YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@XCandidates Gab: https://gab.com/XCandidates Gettr: https://gettr.com/user/XCandidates Truth Social: https://truthsocial.com/@ExCandidates Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-ex-candidates/id1631685864   Please share and spread the word!   #AusPol #nswpol #interview #podcast #politics #commentary #australia #independent #media #covid #pandemic #victordalziel #asf

The Bible explains that there truly is such a thing as “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” and Cindy Mullins, from Lincoln County, Kentucky, has without-a-doubt-in-her-mind experienced that. Cindy is a wife, a mom, a nurse…and dramatically and unexpectedly has lost both her legs and hands. “I can't put my own Chapstick on,” is one of the simple things she is no longer able to do. What happened?

The Bible explains that there truly is such a thing as “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” and Cindy Mullins, from Lincoln County, Kentucky, has without-a-doubt-in-her-mind experienced that. Cindy is a wife, a mom, a nurse…and dramatically and unexpectedly has lost both her legs and hands. “I can't put my own Chapstick on,” is one of the simple things she is no longer able to do. What happened?

Today's slow drag is with “The Man You Love to Hate,” from “The Boy Named If,” released in 2022. The songwriting is credited to Elvis Costello. . . . Show Notes: Appreciation written, produced, and narrated by Remedy Robinson, MA/MFA Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/slow_drag_remedy/ Bluesky Social: https://bsky.app/profile/indoorfirewords.bsky.social Email: slowdragwithremedy@gmail.com   Transcription: https://slowdragwithremedy.weebly.com Podcast music by https://www.fesliyanstudios.com Rate this Podcast: https://ratethispodcast.com/slowdrag   References: Elvis Costello Wiki Resource, “The Man You Love to Hate” https://www.elviscostello.info/wiki/index.php?title=The_Man_You_Love_To_Hate “The Man You Love to Hate” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZU9b4NOQBQ Purchase “The Most Terrible Time in My Life…Ends Thursday” Listen to the audiobook for free at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kq7n1pN8D1Y   "The Man You Love to Hate" Lyrics  I went to a theatre on Silhouette Street It had a taste of decay, and a scent of defeat All of the patrons in the pews were people that I'd killed or used The actors on the stage were equally skilled The players took turns in lighting the fuse One of them said "Now you must choose"   A man of infamy or ill-repute And that's the one that we will execute   None of that mob had turned up late They said, "You'd better concentrate” So, start the show, 'cos we can't wait for The Man You Love to Hate   All of the patrons sitting on pews Were the shades of the ghosts of the once accused There was music that dragged in line and word Not a penny was spent, or a conscience was spared The hero's motives were never in doubt We laughed at the speeches that he would spout Suddenly there arose a shout   Confessions simply tumbled out And marriage vows, that someone mumbled about   None of that mob had turned up late They said, "You'd better concentrate” So, start the show, 'cos we can't wait for The Man You Love to Hate   The closing act The first one billed Into the limelight thrilled   The tale of a ship lured onto the rocks under The cover of darkness, the hold was plundered My mouth was parched my eyes red-rimmed My false light shone  And my ghost light dimmed   I went to a house on Silhouette Street Where I lived once and died once more Awoke a woman I once adored Her husband came to the door In a masquerade of dignity He said, "I'm pleased to meet you but you don't know me" She took my money and handed me the key   The number on the fob was "999"  She whispered that's your room and this is mine But that's a chamber that you can't afford It's one door down, next to the Emergency Ward   None of that mob had turned up late They said, "You'd better concentrate” So, start the show, 'cos we can't wait for The Man You Love to Hate The Man You Love to Hate   I'm a one party state The Man You Love to Hate  The girl you used to care for Without a why or wherefore The country that I loved Is just a problem to solve Until we all disintegrate before The Man You Love to Hate

In this Christmas sermon by Pastor Chris, he reflects on the 200th anniversary of the publishing of "A Visit from St. Nicholas" and shares a Christian parody inspired by the famous poem. The sermon presents a modern retelling of the night before Christmas, where the narrator experiences an unexpected encounter with a scene reminiscent of the nativity. The story unfolds as the narrator discovers a group of people and animals gathered around a newborn baby under the Christmas tree. The baby is identified as the Christ Child, and the narrator is profoundly moved by the experience. The sermon emphasizes the transformative power of encountering Jesus, the Savior, and highlights the true meaning of Christmas – the gift of new life and forgiveness through Christ. Pastor Chris encourages the audience to seek a personal relationship with Jesus and to embrace the real significance of the Christmas season.

Our listener Verity got in touch to share their experience with an Angelic being, and we learn more about the angels that are around us. Have you had a paranormal experience? Get in touch at contact@paranormalactivitypod.co.uk----A Create Podcast Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/paranormal-activity-with-yvette-fielding. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Nearly one full week after Hamas terrorists attacked Israel and sparked a new war, Canadian politicians and institutions have had plenty of time to react, respond with statements and join solidarity rallies. For the most part, support for Israel has been unilateral. But, as always, there are exceptions, mostly—in this case—from left-wing politicians and organizations who seem to be more focused on talking to each other on social media than to the Jewish community. So with some hindsight into the immediate aftermath of the events, but while we're still thick in the war, Avi and Phoebe analyze the institutional reactions—and also the retractions. Joining us is Brenda Fine, a professor of mathematics and statistics who lives in Vancouver and tweets as @moebius_strip. Credits Bonjour Chai is hosted by Avi Finegold and Phoebe Maltz Bovy. Zachary Kauffman is the producer and editor. Michael Fraiman is the executive producer. Our theme music is by Socalled. The show is a co-production from The Jewish Learning Lab and The CJN, and is distributed by The CJN Podcast Network. Support the show by subscribing to this podcast, donating to The CJN and subscribing to the podcast's Substack.

"This is a remix of the sounds recorded at the Mexico Punta Nizuc reef underwater at night by Heather Spence. For the piece I was aiming for the feeling as you wake up from a good night's sleep." Mexican reef reimagined by Doom Scrolling. Part of the Music for Sleep project - for more information and to hear more sounds from the collection, visit https://citiesandmemory.com/music-for-sleep/

On this week's show:Happy Confucius Day We're number one in underage drinkingMiro will not seek re-electionKinky Summer Soirée Awoke to GunfireMacKenzie Scott Donates $20 Million to Champlain Housing TrustOutdoor Gear Exchange to open in Essex ExperienceState to continue sending incarcerated individuals to Mississippi Pipe Dream? What to do with energy plant?New Vermont VillageNEK is struggling to find driver's ed folks(59:56) Break music: Rivan - “Paper Tabs”https://rivan.bandcamp.com/track/paper-tabs Lyndonville covered bridge hit two times in one dayDespite $2.5M investment, dental therapy program has not yet materialized at Vermont Hey Bub, Citizen Cider's New Light Beer, Brews Trouble With StaffStowe Starbucks  brews up controversyWilliston considers lifting backyard chicken banJudge allows challenge to horse farm search warrantTea shop opens in….Rutland?Gazebo project hits a snag in Rutland(1:44:54) Break music:  Justin Levinson - “Madeline for the Win”https://justinlevinson1.bandcamp.com/album/collamer-circle Scumbag Map17-year-old with a BB gun2 captured in Enosburg Falls armed robbery (wcax.com)Double-shooting suspect pleads not guiltyVSP: Man who tried to light Molotov cocktail committed more crimesVT man with history of disturbances arrested againCafe RisqueDefendant accused of assaulting 8-year-old skips trial as jury waitsFormer president of Dorset library busted with embezzling Kayaker busted with 26 lbs of cocaineMeet Ellie May, therapy dog at BTV10 unhappiest states in the US revealedThanks for listening!Follow us on Facebook: facebook.com/VermontCatchup Follow Matt on twitter: @MatthewBorden4 Contact the show: 24theroadshow@gmail.comIntro/Outro Music by B-Complex

Please. Give me your iPhone. No! No? (Takes I phone.) Is there a reason you don't want me having this? …no. No? —it's full of stuff. “Stuff.” Yes. It's— “Stuff.” Yes. — —and things. I know. Look. We had a deal. We had no “deal” We had a deal. This train just goes on forever, you know; Whether you're on, or off it— So get off, and back on at the wrong stop Once, if not just for the discovery Of another supermarket, Where you shop for strawberries and Groceries Good flex, God; I got a gang of em I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets Sometimes, You just got to know where to go If you don't trust your gut, You'll just never get, Never get it right. Alright, alright, I started it Alright, right— I gotta get it right, I gotta get ; I'm the worst at introductions Oh and, So bad at Goodbyes Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol Why, Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes By my eyes God, I love the way I love the way, I love the way you Love me God, I love The way you The way you Love me You forgot about me, didn't you? You forgot all about me You forgot all about it— All about it Al about it It's not the same, anymore Since you gave it a name, is it? There's nothing I can do To help me, help you This is all I can do, To help me, love you I have to remove you; I have to remove you In a room— Full of beauty— In a world, Full of woes I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue Nobody ever wanted it, like I do— Like I do I lose the last dose of you on my tongue, And I'm all full of love again; I never saw anything like it, I was a modem, still plugged into the wall An anonymous post partum unremarkable Post-party proclamations and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast Evading transportation authorities Unworried the informant sleeping under me Oh, Now she wants to song— Oh, look— And now, she has a song to sing A point to make, A wrong to ring; The man she brings along Is bad for her Oh, she's gotta work (She loves to work, She's got to work it) What kills her makes her stronger What doesn't kill her makes her stronger All she does is Carry on And Carry on And Carry on. Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.” Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?! Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this! Mrs, Sheffield! -1flushing queens, fah ‘dis. Very well worth it, I got all the way to broklyn And way beyond my means for this It's well outta my means. It's out of my hands, now. That boy called you “grandpa” How is it all over? When I bet to God I was, Just in your lap at this party, And you were under me slippin on some sort of Lager or Something Weren't you? Yeah, I was just there, too I was just there, too— I was just there, too— Oh, now she has a song… All of a sudden.— But it's not all of a sudden at all It's not all of a sudden There's nothing, is there? Oh, There's something, surely I went to bed late; But I'm getting up early. I see the way he looks at me— —take it easy, baby We could have the whole room waiting Like a stoner at a stop sign My bad, My eyes lie to me All the time Driving me mad Telling me I want you inside me My bad My bad Well, I want you in my bed But I haven't had one yet I'm thinking Purple Mattress; Or is that mids, to you kids Like Timmy ho's Or my mustang civic It's a custom, yeah Nobody has it yet It's a hybrid Like I am —I am a bit off subject, now (My bad) We never had sex in my bathroom (That was your house) I took a mouse to the mountain (My bad) My writing is getting more Acid-centric, Lysergic acid diethylamide; I didn't buy any, But I haven't the need anymore, Really I just wake up like this: That is, when I wake up (I have long nights, kids) My bad I want to see you very briefly Without your briefs, You know what I mean? Me neither— Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies Repeat this sequence I keep my deepest secrets Where I need it Right up my slime, Where my spleen is— Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since (Or dreamed since) In this Endless emission, Ignition sequence begins When The Lean splits Under the blood moon; An eclipse. I drift off a lot— Just thinking of your penis My daydreams are not very safe for the public I think they're X-rated or worse, Even thinking of you as a person, Or worse: As my husband once, as my lover— Lovers have all the fun, anyway Hm All the things that I'd do to you After you put me through— You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Please. Give me your iPhone. No! No? (Takes I phone.) Is there a reason you don't want me having this? …no. No? —it's full of stuff. “Stuff.” Yes. It's— “Stuff.” Yes. — —and things. I know. Look. We had a deal. We had no “deal” We had a deal. This train just goes on forever, you know; Whether you're on, or off it— So get off, and back on at the wrong stop Once, if not just for the discovery Of another supermarket, Where you shop for strawberries and Groceries Good flex, God; I got a gang of em I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets Sometimes, You just got to know where to go If you don't trust your gut, You'll just never get, Never get it right. Alright, alright, I started it Alright, right— I gotta get it right, I gotta get ; I'm the worst at introductions Oh and, So bad at Goodbyes Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol Why, Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes By my eyes God, I love the way I love the way, I love the way you Love me God, I love The way you The way you Love me You forgot about me, didn't you? You forgot all about me You forgot all about it— All about it Al about it It's not the same, anymore Since you gave it a name, is it? There's nothing I can do To help me, help you This is all I can do, To help me, love you I have to remove you; I have to remove you In a room— Full of beauty— In a world, Full of woes I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue Nobody ever wanted it, like I do— Like I do I lose the last dose of you on my tongue, And I'm all full of love again; I never saw anything like it, I was a modem, still plugged into the wall An anonymous post partum unremarkable Post-party proclamations and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast Evading transportation authorities Unworried the informant sleeping under me Oh, Now she wants to song— Oh, look— And now, she has a song to sing A point to make, A wrong to ring; The man she brings along Is bad for her Oh, she's gotta work (She loves to work, She's got to work it) What kills her makes her stronger What doesn't kill her makes her stronger All she does is Carry on And Carry on And Carry on. Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.” Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?! Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this! Mrs, Sheffield! -1flushing queens, fah ‘dis. Very well worth it, I got all the way to broklyn And way beyond my means for this It's well outta my means. It's out of my hands, now. That boy called you “grandpa” How is it all over? When I bet to God I was, Just in your lap at this party, And you were under me slippin on some sort of Lager or Something Weren't you? Yeah, I was just there, too I was just there, too— I was just there, too— Oh, now she has a song… All of a sudden.— But it's not all of a sudden at all It's not all of a sudden There's nothing, is there? Oh, There's something, surely I went to bed late; But I'm getting up early. I see the way he looks at me— —take it easy, baby We could have the whole room waiting Like a stoner at a stop sign My bad, My eyes lie to me All the time Driving me mad Telling me I want you inside me My bad My bad Well, I want you in my bed But I haven't had one yet I'm thinking Purple Mattress; Or is that mids, to you kids Like Timmy ho's Or my mustang civic It's a custom, yeah Nobody has it yet It's a hybrid Like I am —I am a bit off subject, now (My bad) We never had sex in my bathroom (That was your house) I took a mouse to the mountain (My bad) My writing is getting more Acid-centric, Lysergic acid diethylamide; I didn't buy any, But I haven't the need anymore, Really I just wake up like this: That is, when I wake up (I have long nights, kids) My bad I want to see you very briefly Without your briefs, You know what I mean? Me neither— Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies Repeat this sequence I keep my deepest secrets Where I need it Right up my slime, Where my spleen is— Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since (Or dreamed since) In this Endless emission, Ignition sequence begins When The Lean splits Under the blood moon; An eclipse. I drift off a lot— Just thinking of your penis My daydreams are not very safe for the public I think they're X-rated or worse, Even thinking of you as a person, Or worse: As my husband once, as my lover— Lovers have all the fun, anyway Hm All the things that I'd do to you After you put me through— You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Please. Give me your iPhone. No! No? (Takes I phone.) Is there a reason you don't want me having this? …no. No? —it's full of stuff. “Stuff.” Yes. It's— “Stuff.” Yes. — —and things. I know. Look. We had a deal. We had no “deal” We had a deal. This train just goes on forever, you know; Whether you're on, or off it— So get off, and back on at the wrong stop Once, if not just for the discovery Of another supermarket, Where you shop for strawberries and Groceries Good flex, God; I got a gang of em I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets Sometimes, You just got to know where to go If you don't trust your gut, You'll just never get, Never get it right. Alright, alright, I started it Alright, right— I gotta get it right, I gotta get ; I'm the worst at introductions Oh and, So bad at Goodbyes Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol Why, Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes By my eyes God, I love the way I love the way, I love the way you Love me God, I love The way you The way you Love me You forgot about me, didn't you? You forgot all about me You forgot all about it— All about it Al about it It's not the same, anymore Since you gave it a name, is it? There's nothing I can do To help me, help you This is all I can do, To help me, love you I have to remove you; I have to remove you In a room— Full of beauty— In a world, Full of woes I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue Nobody ever wanted it, like I do— Like I do I lose the last dose of you on my tongue, And I'm all full of love again; I never saw anything like it, I was a modem, still plugged into the wall An anonymous post partum unremarkable Post-party proclamations and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast Evading transportation authorities Unworried the informant sleeping under me Oh, Now she wants to song— Oh, look— And now, she has a song to sing A point to make, A wrong to ring; The man she brings along Is bad for her Oh, she's gotta work (She loves to work, She's got to work it) What kills her makes her stronger What doesn't kill her makes her stronger All she does is Carry on And Carry on And Carry on. Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.” Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?! Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this! Mrs, Sheffield! -1flushing queens, fah ‘dis. Very well worth it, I got all the way to broklyn And way beyond my means for this It's well outta my means. It's out of my hands, now. That boy called you “grandpa” How is it all over? When I bet to God I was, Just in your lap at this party, And you were under me slippin on some sort of Lager or Something Weren't you? Yeah, I was just there, too I was just there, too— I was just there, too— Oh, now she has a song… All of a sudden.— But it's not all of a sudden at all It's not all of a sudden There's nothing, is there? Oh, There's something, surely I went to bed late; But I'm getting up early. I see the way he looks at me— —take it easy, baby We could have the whole room waiting Like a stoner at a stop sign My bad, My eyes lie to me All the time Driving me mad Telling me I want you inside me My bad My bad Well, I want you in my bed But I haven't had one yet I'm thinking Purple Mattress; Or is that mids, to you kids Like Timmy ho's Or my mustang civic It's a custom, yeah Nobody has it yet It's a hybrid Like I am —I am a bit off subject, now (My bad) We never had sex in my bathroom (That was your house) I took a mouse to the mountain (My bad) My writing is getting more Acid-centric, Lysergic acid diethylamide; I didn't buy any, But I haven't the need anymore, Really I just wake up like this: That is, when I wake up (I have long nights, kids) My bad I want to see you very briefly Without your briefs, You know what I mean? Me neither— Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies Repeat this sequence I keep my deepest secrets Where I need it Right up my slime, Where my spleen is— Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since (Or dreamed since) In this Endless emission, Ignition sequence begins When The Lean splits Under the blood moon; An eclipse. I drift off a lot— Just thinking of your penis My daydreams are not very safe for the public I think they're X-rated or worse, Even thinking of you as a person, Or worse: As my husband once, as my lover— Lovers have all the fun, anyway Hm All the things that I'd do to you After you put me through— You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Rev. Dr. Derrick Harkins has made his mark in government, religion, and media. The former director of the Center for Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships at the Department of Housing and Urban Development under President Biden, has also served as director of Interfaith Outreach for the Democratic National Committee, where he also led faith outreach during […] The post July 22, 2023 – Staying Awoke with Derrick Harkins first appeared on State of Belief.

I get raw and vulnerable in this episode and talk about how traumatic times brought out the psychic in me. How my childhood experiences influenced my choices as a young woman that eventually led me to rebuild my life and live my soul led purpose.

Yoshino is a multi-hyphenate artist and the host of Artist Decoded. Yoshino's short story “And Then Awoke The Butterfly” can be read at Yoshino's Diary on Substack. Yoshino's Links: yoshinostudios.com yoshino.substack.com instagram.com/yoshinostudios twitter.com/yoshinostudios

You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him. The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance With no one on them, But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once, Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool— It was just an illusion; Another simplistic collision of infinite What was your name again? I'll have to ask my ex— —husband… Cause one time, someone loved me. As it turned out, I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances— I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end. At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them. ‘They are green sometimes'. I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was. I'm sorry, God; Or whoever's watching All I wanted was love With the one who would want me; Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it Off in a rocket ship; What was the cost of it? Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window A kiss, just an instant to lick up a hit of the acid I missed wishing just as simplisticly To live again I'd end it if, The reason weren't so stupid It's not you, I've just been used too much to do this Overruled: This never happened So I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to laugh I had to love him, only Cause I had to love myself, for a moment The door was open, I went walking in, Then closed it; Only now I'm here alone— At least I own it And I only wanted Love From someone who wanted To love me And I only wanted a hug; But I guess I kind of got it If you want, you know I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket I forgot which one it was I fell in love with, After all, I'm only nothing “It was nothing” It was fun It was another father, son and brother; Oh, no wonder— Life is so wonderful Falling in love with the digital runoff Of someone with all of it Everything I ever wanted Everything I was, and wasn't Just to front the cost, Just never good enough To come of One, again All I wanted was love From the one who wanted to love me; Now all I got is— A closet full of skeletons, A cause of death, And a hot topic, If this is Martyrdom ‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream' now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought. I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know.

Finally, F1 has returned, and we kick off the 2023 season at the Bahrain International Circuit with a Post Race episode of In The Paddock F1 w/ Greeny and the Cheese.  

when he awoke though it was already broad daylight - #3341 by chair house 02062023.mp3when he awoke though it was already broad daylightいつだって穏やかで優しく美しいフランです。ではでは．．☆☆☆☆☆■ＰＳ１：いろいろありますけどお休みにします。なんか疲れ気味。■ＰＳ２：野暮用の作業完了。印刷作業も完了。幸いに、プリンターが頑張ってくれました..

*** Please experience New Album Information: 23rd selection album *** #3341: Feb. 6, 2023: When he awoke though it was already broad daylight (this title is from "The Tales of Miyazawa Kenji") Today's pure primal piano music here. Happy if this music makes you feel peaceful.. : ) Looking for absolute natural beauty every day for Piano Ten Thousand Leaves. Target number is 4536 and 3341(73.7%) achieved today. Find my project.. : ) This piece may might have good 1/f fluctuation characteristic although I stopped investigating it each piece. I'm now making Archive site of Piano Ten Thousand Leaves project by utilizing #wordpress. Basically nice direction I've already gotten.. : ) Currently 1100 pieces already achieved. But this week I need to do something else, so I'm going to stop this task for a bit. ######## NEW 23rd SELECTION ALBUM JUST RELEASED ######## "Golden Light" - the 23rd selection album of piano ten thousand leaves Youtube: Full(20 songs, 50 minutes) and Free 4K Video with Super Beautiful Motion Graphics of Artgrid https://youtu.be/3Gc813k8eec Youtube: Digest of "Golden Light" music video. 12 minutes in 4K https://youtu.be/GB7oBTB0yOo spotify https://open.spotify.com/album/6kJ3Xoy0jSjx1AmUNyKu6T apple music https://music.apple.com/jp/album/golden-light-piano-ten-thousand-leaves-volume-23/1662304120 amazon music https://www.amazon.com/music/player/albums/B0BRJ258Z7?&_encoding=UTF8&tag=tcjaz-22&linkCode=ur2&camp=247&creative=1211 Line Music https://music.line.me/webapp/album/mb0000000002b2e80a AWA https://s.awa.fm/album/948948aecf74cfc9ee19 Other Every music streaming services in the world https://linkco.re/QebcGtzF?lang=en

Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it” (Genesis 28:16). We love you, family. Stay blessed.

When this wonderful social-worker-turned-social-justice-warrior-turned-sane-person reached out to me, I immediately bit the bait. Sara shared stories of being groomed into ideological thinking in her social work degree, finding solace in the "repost" button on Facebook, and training her algorithm to show only the juiciest of political clickbait. As she now navigates life as someone who can reflect upon her own behavior and thinking, Sara gives us valuable insight into just how powerful social media can be.Subscribe to Angry's Substack at: https://theangrybehavioranalyst.substack.comFollow Angry on Instagram @theangrybxanalystCheck out Angry's services at theangrybehavioranalyst.com

Yesterday I spoke of temperature relativity.  Cold front is crossing the peninsula today.  Awoke to 60 and the thermometer is steadily falling…has dropped to 58 as I write this. Opening up all the windows today as the high is to be around 70.  Yesterday we hit 87 for a high here.  The Music Authority LIVE STREAM Show & Podcast...listen, like, comment, download, share, repeat…heard daily on Podchaser, Deezer, Amazon Music, Audible, Listen Notes, Google Podcast Manager, Mixcloud, Player FM, Stitcher, Tune In, Podcast Addict, Cast Box, Radio Public, and Pocket Cast, and APPLE iTunes!  Follow the show on TWITTER JimPrell@TMusicAuthority!  Please, are you listening? Please, are you sharing the show & podcast?  Please, has a show & podcast mention been placed into your social media?  How does and can one listen in? Let me list the ways...*Listen LIVE here - https://fastcast4u.com/player/jamprell/ *Podcast - https://themusicauthority.transistor.fm/   The Music Authority LIVE STREAM Show & Podcast!  Special Recorded Network Shows, too!  Different than my daily show! *Radio Candy Radio Monday Wednesday, & Friday 7PM ET, 4PM PT*Rockin' The KOR Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 7PM UK time, 2PM ET, 11AM PT  www.koradio.rocks*Pop Radio UK Friday, Saturday, & Sunday 6PM UK, 1PM ET, 10AM PT!  November 17, 2022, Thursday, page one…Orbis 2.0 - TMA SHOW OPEN THEMEMrMouray - 01 Pretty In Ink [What's The Stouray] (Bullseye Records of Canada, Inc.)Brenden Benson - 05 Whole Lotta Nothin' [Low Key]@Ruin The Night - 09 Answers [Sound The Alarm] (Rum Bar Records)Cody Melville - 10 Dogs In This Town [Dogs In This Town]The Golden Rail - 04 - Under New York Skies [Songs From Empty Streets] (koolkatmusik.com)Lemon Drop Gang - Now Is Goodbye [I'm Not the One] (Rum Bar Records)Brian Modafferi - Counting The Numbers [Soon To Be Released]Red Cabin - 09 The Look [White Morning]Ward White - 07 Born Again [Ice Cream Chords]Blackbirds F.C. - Angela [Magiclands]The Tambourine People - 04 Next Bus To The Sun [Tambourine Love]Bruce Moody - The Closer I Get [Forever Fresh!]The Morning Line - Back on Earth [Scene] (Red on Red Records)Orbis 2.0 w Vinnie Zummo & Dennis George- 03. Spot On [This Just In...]@JebbsMusic - Parachute (feat. @Emily Ewing & @A. Michael Collins) (Jeremy Edmond)The Greek Theatre - 07_Even You Will Find A Home My Son (Alt. Mix) [Demos & Alternative Mixes] (koolkatmusik.com)Thrift Store Halo - Another Day [1996 - EP]The Amplifier Heads - The Man Who Invented Rock And Roll [Rectifier] (Rum Bar Records)@The Heavy Heavy - 06 Why Don't You Call [Life And Life Only]Popular Creeps - 08 Split Decision [All Of This Will End In Tears]The Well Wishers - Idiot Smile [Blue Sky Sun]

S6 Ep36 AWOKE VINTAGE: founder, Liz Power -  on starting her first vintage store in Brooklyn 10+ years ago, how the vintage scene has changed since, and a special announcement!  JOIN OUR PATREON COMMUNITY: https://www.patreon.com/prelovedpod  Listen and subscribe on: iTunes | Spotify | Stitcher | Google Play | or wherever you get your podcasts! Please rate & review the show so more vintage lovers find this community. Pre-Loved Podcast is a weekly interview show about rad vintage style with guests you'll want to go thrifting with. Find the show at @emilymstochl on Instagram and @PreLovedPod on Twitter. Pre-Loved Podcast: Awoke Vintage Today is a very special episode because it's our LIVE show from New York this past week, featuring Liz Power, founder of Awoke Vintage — and a special guest, you'll want to tune in to learn more! Awoke Vintage started as a small brick and mortar store in Williamsburg, New York in 2012. Following the success of the Williamsburg store, Awoke has expanded to 3 locations across New York. In this Pre-Loved Podcast episode, we'll reflect on 10+ years of vintage in New York. In this episode we talk about Liz's story to starting a vintage shop, what the secondhand scene looked like in Brooklyn 10+ years ago, and how she makes business decisions for Awoke Vintage today – all that and more, plus a special surprise announcement, so  Let's dive right in! *This episode is sponsored by Galaxy.  A big thank you to Galaxy for supporting Pre-Loved Podcast! You can begin your curated shopping experience and take the style preferences quiz now at shopgalaxy.com. All the Episode Links: @awokevintagebrooklyn Awoke Vintage Buy Nothing group Woke on a Whaleheart @oliviarodrigo @bedford.vintage @emrata @watchingnewyork @re_generation The How To of Business podcast @theuntrendshop Olivia from Bedford Vintage on Pre-Loved Podcast The E-Myth Revisited * JOIN THE PATREON COMMUNITY and get the Pre-Loved Podcast News Flash: https://www.patreon.com/prelovedpod  A special thanks goes out to my Patron Insiders: Patty Weber Beverley Docherty of Wolfe Pack Vintage Danny of Galaxy Live Kathy Brand Lucero Buendia Steven Vogel Mary-Elizabeth Land Tricia Zelazny Leslie V. Lisa of Queenie & Pearl Pre-Loved Podcast is created by Emily Stochl. Follow me on Instagram, Twitter, and my blog. 

This week joining Jordan and Brian is a very special guest who's battle-rap blitzing, biting bars, and humorous wordplay earned him many local accolades and respect. Hip-hop artist and hilarious showman Kohlton "K Dot" Seagrave joined us today to talk about his upcoming projects, debut an exclusive sneak peek track, and talk about his most recent album "About Damn Time" featuring the single "Awoke".This week K Dot joined us to talk about the secret life of figs, the new A.I. Rapper NF Meka, how real men do real work, and we clowned on Bhad Bhabie and Lil Pump.This is one show you won't wanna miss!Check out all this and more on this week's episode of the Kokomo Press Podcast!

James talks about the state of soaps and soap fans online!

Hey, we truly appreciate you all for listening to our podcast! Here is the Season FinallySponsors Do you know someone with excellent customer service skills looking for a freelancing opportunity y? Ou  Friends at Query and talk has partnered with Arise to provide clients with the best customer service agents. Head on over to queryandtalk.com and applied today.Were you looking for somewhere to study Torah outside, listening to our podcast? Got any questions you need to answer too? Visit our family at the Kingdom of Kings. Join the course where you learn like an IV league Scholar. The class is held every Saturday, with a QA session at the end. Us this link to get 20% off.What was that you don't want to be employed for every? You have a fantastic business idea and don't know where to start. Call Juliet Dakpo at Senme branding. She helps your brand and get that business up and running quickly. No  Tech, don't worry, she got you. Go to our resource page @ yahnotreligion.com and join the 100s of people who are quitting their jobs to be an entrepreneur. Tell her YNR sent you and get a special discount.You started that business, but now you don't have enough time in a day to get everything? Give Divine Executive a try. They get your calendar in order and take the load off to get the necessary personal care you deserve. Let them know that YNR sent you, and she gave you something special.Support the show

Hey, we truly appreciate you all for listening to our podcast! This research went deep but don't worry; we got an even hotter one coming next month. We are back on track, and if you want to know who the hack is, Marth Nell Bullock, you will have to listen to the show. Here is a list of our sponsors.Sponsors Do you know someone with excellent customer service skills looking for a freelancing opportunity y? Ou  Friends at Query and talk has partnered with Arise to provide clients with the best customer service agents. Head on over to queryandtalk.com and applied today.Were you looking for somewhere to study Torah outside, listening to our podcast? Got any questions you need to answer too? Visit our family at the Kingdom of Kings. Join the course where you learn like an IV league Scholar. The class is held every Saturday, with a QA session at the end. Us this link to get 20% off.What was that you don't want to be employed for every? You have a fantastic business idea and don't know where to start. Call Juliet Dakpo at Senme branding. She helps your brand and get that business up and running quickly. No  Tech, don't worry, she got you. Go to our resource page @ yahnotreligion.com and join the 100s of people who are quitting their jobs to be an entrepreneur. Tell her YNR sent you and get a special discount.You started that business, but now you don't have enough time in a day to get everything? Give Divine Executive a try. They get your calendar in order and take the load off to get the necessary personal care you deserve. Let them know that YNR sent you, and she gave you something special.Support the show

Like this podcast? Please help us by writing a review Like this podcast? Please help us by writing a review

Hey, we truly appreciate you all for listening to our podcast! In this episode, we take a moment to answer our daughter burning questions. There is nothing like a daddy-daughter time filled will love and wisdom. Come with us while we answer her question and drop some knowledge simultaneously. Don't worry; we will be back to business a usual next month. That kitchen was hot, but we are bringing some bombs, so stay tuned. Until next time, Have a YAH guide day. Sponsors Do you know someone with excellent customer service skills looking for a freelancing opportunity y? Ou  Friends at Query and talk has partnered with Arise to provide their clients with the best customer service agents. Head on over to queryandtalk.com and applied today.Were you looking for somewhere to study Torah outside, listening to our podcast? Got any questions you need to answer too? Visit our family at the Kingdom of Kings. Join the course where you learn like an IV league Scholar. The class is held every Saturday, with a QA session at the end. Us this link to get 20% off.What was that you don't want to be employed for every? You have a fantastic business idea and don't know where to start. Call Juliet Dakpo at Senme branding. She helps your brand and get that business up and running quickly. No  Tech, don't worry, she got you. Go to our resource page @ yahnotreligion.com and join the 100s of people who are quitting their jobs to be an entrepreneur. Tell her YNR sent you and get a special discount.You started that business, but now you don't have enough time in a day to get everything? Give Divine Executive a try. They get your calendar in order and take the load off to get that much need personal care you deserve. Let them know that YNR sent you, and she gave you something special.Support the show (https://www.paypal.com/donate/?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=3KPMSZMJVANGA)

Genesis 9,10 and 11. Noah and his family are a fun bunch. They went through the end of the world together, they love animals. Also, they made some pretty fucking great wine if you ask us! Come, let's read from the word of GOD. In today's episode Noah get's drunk and lets it all hang out for his family to enjoy. 

We're all familiar with the song, "Mary Did You Know", which questions if Mary knew who this baby she carried really was? Have you ever considered Joseph's perspective of that first Christmas though? Join us as we look to the word and learn how Christ's coming brings hope to our brokenness.

More great books at LoyalBooks.com

In the season 2 finale, John Moffet is joined by the Marathon Goddess, Julie Weiss.  Tune in to hear the story of how running helped Julie overcome deep depression and gave her a purpose after her father's sudden death from pancreatic cancer.  Julie channeled her grief into a commitment to run 52 marathons in 52 weeks to raise money and hope in the fight against pancreatic cancer.  Learn more about Julie Weiss:https://marathongoddess.com/https://www.instagram.com/marathongoddess/Thanks to our episode sponsor, Roka! Use code "SLB" for 20% off your purchase at Roka.https://www.roka.com/

Anyone else attempting to navigate life with words like "woke" and "cancel culture" floating around? We discuss what these terms actually mean, and  give a little insight into on what the kingdom perspective looks like in comparison.

We're back from a week off with a lot to cover! We talk Black Widow, Loki, Suicide Squad reviews, Jackass Forever, Kanye not releasing his album, QOTW, Simon Biles withdrawing from competition, The Bucks winning the NBA Finals, early predictions for next year, NBA rule changes, Kyrie calling his new shoes "trash", NFL's rules on vaccinations, Aaron Rogers staying in Green Bay, Houston open to trading Deshaun Watson, Madden 99 club an SO MUCH MORE!

Episode 23: We are now in Scorpio Season! As we edge closer to my birthday and the end of MProper Mimi's 1st season we are taking another look back at what 2020 has done to and for us this year. Mimi's friend Dana has been a busy bee advocating for social justice, educating us and sharing informative articles and books to read about Black history and current events. All of this has been taking place during the Covid-19 Quarantine of 2020. Join MProper Mimi and Dana as they reminisce over the last couple of months on how Covid-19 awoke the activist in them. As you will hear, there is no shortage for the many different ways that we can each step up to work towards justice and equality. The important thing to remember is that it starts with you. We should all campaign to bring about political or social change for those things we are passionate about and the people we love. I would love to hear from you on ways that you too, have begun to advocate for yourself or others throughout this pandemic. One Love! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/mpropermimi/support