Podcasts about Barely Breathing

This week the guys from Delerium Psychosis productions talk gabbergrind and all things noisy. Also, special co-host Brian of Baby Chico records talks about the upcoming Barely Breathing fest 4! heavyholepodcast.com Voicemail - 631-837-3274

Y'all, join us for a cinematic celebration! In this special episode, we dive deep into our top films of 2024 with the talented and hilarious Neal Reddy, writer, producer, and actor of the award winning short film "Barely Breathing," and beloved cast member of Queer Eye Season 1.Expect fiery discussions on the year's best movies, insightful commentary from Neal, and inspiring behind-the-scenes stories from his own filmmaking journey.Grab a drink and hear Mackenzie determine that all these movies are actually about drugs, Neal bemoan Wicked the blockbuster (not the musical!), and Lemar ask the tough questions about ass doubles. If you prefer to watch our ugly mugs, this episode VIDEO is live on YouTube AND Spotify!Follow us on Instagram and TikTok to get ep sneak peaks and find out what's coming next. DM us what you want to hear about next or email us at wedrinkandwewatchthingspod@gmail.com.

Hold your breath, coz we're barely breathing to have the one-and-only Mr. Duncan Sheik spring back into our torture chamber! (Yaayyyy!!!) In his return appearance, this Grammy and Tony Award-Winning legend helps us analyze the classic Australian punk band 'Cosmic Psycho' with their eponymous album, before we dissect American Psycho the Musical!Plus, we chat Rush, Texting, Urinal Etiquette, Recording Issues, Union Issues, Piano Issues, Muppets, and sooo much more in this EPIC episode!--SOCIALS--Duncan- IG/Threads: https://www.instagram.com/theduncansheik/ --Second City NYC: https://www.secondcity.com/shows/new-yorkMr J Wags- Twitter: https://twitter.com/MrJWags -- Instagram: https://instagram.com/MrJWagsAround the World in 80 Plays:Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/around-the-world-in-80-plays/id1709294420Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/6M8Yff4VPblqINhu2SSrrgShow Submissions/EGOT Panel Auditions: networkbloop@gmail.com*****Juxtaposing Metal with Musicals - joined by iconic guests from the worlds of Music, Broadway, Hollywood, and more! https://www.thetonastontales.com/listen -- https://www.patreon.com/bloomingtheatricals - https://twitter.com/thrashntreasurehttps://linktr.ee/thrashntreasure*****Help support Thrash 'n Treasure and keep us on-air, PLUS go on a fantastical adventure at the same time!Grab your copy of The Tonaston Tales by AW, and use the code TNT20 when you check out for 20% off eBooks and Paperbacks!https://www.thetonastontales.com/bookstore - TNT20 ***** ★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★

Big Will sits down with Jon from Syrup Head Recordings and Brian from Baby Chico records to discuss the Barely Breathing 3 event August 17 and 18 at Mr. Beerys on Long Island. heavyholepodcast.com Voicemail - 631-837-3274

Neal Reddy and Derek Evans discuss their film Barely Breathing which plays at the Atlanta Film Festival on Friday May 3rd at 7 PM at the Tara Theatre in the "Funny Kind of Sad" shorts block!

Geneviève Lachance is mayor of Saint-Lazare. She spoke to Andrew Carter about the troubles on the Ile-aux-Tourtes Bridge.

“She's going through my bag.” I thought to myself– the warm running shower over the back of my neck returning me fully to my body; It had taken something like an hour to return to myself– still within and yet so far out of my body, that the twisting and turning cosmic purple light of my natural aura became all of me, as, whisked away through space and time, pushed and pulled through all of the trauma I had endured certainly over the last few years alone, but the entirety of my lifetime–it had all been part of something bigger and greater than I could have known–supposedly all in my control, and yet seemingly not-so at all. I could feel her in the other room, checking my bag–she would find the sage that I had meant to burn in the bathroom during my shower, and yet had been in such a state that I only grabbed my clothes, unwilling to go to the gym: my honesty had again betrayed my own safety–earlier, my roommate asking where I had gone in the late night/early morning before, and my response, which was honest, only confirmed why I had come to the conclusion not once but many times that honesty will only ever hurt you —I had learned well and under the excruciating pain of reality that any vampire, vulture, or entity alone would take honesty as weakness, only to be used against you; I had reached the tipping point in being taken advantage of—I was hungry, owed money, and out of sorts—my new roommate was off in a number of ways, but I was no longer willing to be subjected to whatever experiment at wlll—I had for years been a test rat, my suicidal tendencies, notions, and ideations often vilified, but justifiable nonetheless. ‘I tell the truth!” , the words of Bibi Bourelly, of course one of many of Sonny's suspected lovers, rang in my ears sometimes, as I teetered on the grounds of morality in the under relms of poverty, where people as often as ever lied, stole, or otherwise continually broke more codes and societal expectations in order to get by, or even get ahead – “It's deep, but it ain't that deep.”--more words apparently by the “wise” Bibi, one of the handful of the always-priviliaged, raised-rich spoiled brats Sonny kept in his arsenal, himself a mere tool of the psychological torture which I was certain would eventually end my life, but certainly had halted my affinity for any career or ambition in music whatsoever anyway–not that I cared much for anything. I understood now that I was being controlled and manipulated at nearly every corner–sorted into the overall trash pile of other miserable and useless slaves and subhuman beings marked unfit, and of course–after whatever had happened with my former roommate, now had an increasingly irritating annoyance of the pestering new roommate, who was otherwise nice and sweet, but of course to the point of suspicion. I had left my body long enough to think about anything and everything that night—and after the amount of wrong that I had endured, the meltdown bad been a longtime coming. I had been discarded as trash, thrown to the wolves, and completely abandoned by anyone and everyone but God itself, all other forms of love a sheer illusion—another form of attachment I had only learned to sever under the cruel injustice and inequality of the world. My body was merely a shell—all else formed around it a paradox. My roommate often at random brought up events or subjects from my own past that I wished not to talk about, at first altering me to the notion that she may be some kind of therapist or psychologist–maybe even military. She claimed to be Japanese and also have lived in Germany for 20 years–sad herself to have been in the Homeless system for over four years, and “trapped” in the united states unable to work due to a lack of social security number; There were many things about her story I found off or strange and very odd–and so I knew never to trust her or anyone else for that matter– but it was the fact that she had brought up Shamanism first and foremost without me having so much as a word about anything, of course, coupled with the oddity that she would grind her teeth throughout the night as did my estranged ex husband and former roommate: a disease which I learned only affected 10-30% of the population in total: I suspected of course for the entire program to be some covert operation: The State was in fact, the same regime responsible for, just after the death of my son, fueled by lack of sleep from grief – tied me to a bed (though I had bee cooperative and non-violent) overdosed me involuntarily with a strange medication and allowed me to urinate myself, then lay for hours soaked in urine–and only after days of psychological abuse and torture, forcing me to talk to a Mormon Bishop, and sedating me with heavy doses of lithium— which deemed me unable to talk, move, or speak for several days–and caused me excruciating migraines—all for the sake of psychological experimentation. Of course, this was still The United States of America, a Globalist Republic– and of course, I was still a black woman–the most demonized, traumatized, criminalized existence on the face of the earth. My new roommate had talked openly for days about being attacked by some kind of spirit or demon, which forced her to gain weight; a demonic type force that supposedly sat in her stomach for and implanted certain thoughts in the form of voice in her head– at the same time, she had been increasingly adamant that I never burn sage or palo santo–she had already proven herself to be a snitch, as in the early morning hours of my first morning as her roomate, the Operations team flooded in, opened my drawer, and of course confiscated my $8 sage stick, luckily overlooking the palo santo–she of course pretended not to have narced, but over the coming days would allow it to slip that she had indeed told the Operations team of the sage, which caused them to follow up and confiscate it. I found Sage to be crucial to my protection and part of my religious sanctity: That anyhow, I had been made to eventually kill myself or fall prey to the system which would in any other way ensure that I was made to become ill by way of poor nutrition– The system failed to provide vegan or even vegetarian meals, and of course the same system made sure that my food benefits were handed out irregularly–I often had no money to eat at all, and just as well drifted into the memory of one of my last conversations with the host of the air bnb I had stayed at, who also seemed to have been on some kind of agenda–he had also constantly brought up things that I didn't want to talk about, consistently forcing conversations about race relations, the race war, how oppressed black people are, The White Supremacy, and other nightmarish perception-altering and overall negative assertions, leaving me with this: “I had to steal food!”, he said, claiming having once been homeless himself–a story I neither wanted to hear or honestly belied. It had been long since I could trust anyone besides myself, but especially a man–not that color had much to do with it, besides of course my constantly being reminded that I was stuck black. ‘All the more reason not to care.' I thought, my apathy becoming an overriding factor. I was starving–and though not quite in the actual stages of starvation, which I had staved off by eating genetically modified fruit over the last couple of days– which didn't appear to have any nutritional value at all and certainly didn't give my body any energy I could use, especially not to take the grueling one-hour ride to the dirty, overrun gym–which at least had a sauna and was 24 hours–but useless, as the sauna was closed during the overnight hours when I wanted to go, escaping my new roomates controlling habits, forceful talks equipped with code words and subliminal messages, the pesterance of being unable to cleanse the room with sage, and, of course — her almost nightmarish sensitivity to everything, which included light, the music in my headphones being too loud (so much so that I could hear the city noise over anything I could in my headphones, and of course made it impossible to work in ableton, as everything I did as she tried to sleep was “too loud”--even writing was forbidden, as I one had had been typing away at the 7th season's script and she asked that I not type at al– nor could I use my mixer, as the button pressing was “too loud”, and while most of my musical inspiration came at night, I could see that for whatever purpose, this person was being used to manipulate and control me once more- No burning sage, no making mixtapes, no typing… “You have the whole day when I am gone, you can do whatever you want.”, she said As if I myself didn't have things to do during the day–just getting to and from the gym taking stretches of precious time alone–of course met with another method of psychological torture– the constant drilling, hammering, and knocking about in the room directly above mine–which sometimes of course felt like being opened from the inside out, my synestesia poking holes in my sanity-and while that should have been enough of an excuse to spend all of my days at the gym–the gym itself had become a way for the system to control and manipulate my mind, for even as my body grew stronger, my mind grew weak and muddled being followed around by little white girls swinging their hair in my face, people coughing all around, and trash everywhere I had fallen into a heap of despair, as the combination of the date alone, the research I had been doing, the work I wasn't getting done, the money I wasn't making, and the lack of nutrition set in–the night shift operations refusing to allow me to use the can opener, after I had left it atop the microwave and not “put it in his hands”-- a classic misogynistic, controlling black man, he always gave the residents a terrible attitude, but I had no reason myself to dislike him before this moment. “I don't have to let you use the can opener.” He said. My only food for days had come from the food bank, besies the free GMO-fruit the shelter sometimes handed out, which had been making me sick and lethargic; of course, because it had come from a food bank, they required a can-opener–as the luxury of a pop-top had rarely been afforded with such off-brand food, I might have considered myself blessed to have, if it weren't for the “no cans” rule at the shelter: Neither did they provide a kitchen to cook in, and so residents were expected to eat microwave TV-dinners–but of course, there were no vegan and vegetarian options, and even if there had been, I wasn't absolutely sure that I would trust by God to eat it, as the two microwaves buzzed for hours at a time to warm the food fed three-times daily to the zombie like residents, who I sometimes observed in passing on my way in or out of the shelter. “This is my only food.”, I balked. “That's not my problem!” he said. “My food stamps aren't coming regularly: I got this at the food bank and it's the only food I have.”, I explained. “SO?!” He said “You're not even supposed to have that on the premises.” “I know.” , I said. “But it's the only food I have.” The system had been so inconsistent with my food benefits that I never could expect when I would be able to eat again, or for how long–it seemed it was all a sham to force me into the mental health system. I was malnourished, lethargic, and still injured from the fight I had been in just weeks earlier. “That's not my problem.” He scoffed. “So I can't use the can opener?” I asked. He just ignored me, shrugging. On any other day, i might have just brushed it off–but on this night in particular, hunger forged a deep tear into my soul, the weight of all I had been through plummeting down into one nearly-fatal blow – the man was arrogant as always but on this particular night seemed increasingly evil. “Yo, this is fucked up! I can't survive on only bananas and you don't have any Vegan options: my food stamps don't come regularly and I can't eat! This is FUCKED UP.” Even with all I had been through, I had realized I barely blew up–though far from an actual saint, I had been gifted with at least the patience of one, really only ever doomed to explode after a buildup–and it had been months of being what seemed like strategically terrorized: my fight delayed, keeping me trapped in the United States, prone to corporate slavery and no privacy at all, my bills outweighing any income I had the ability to make, trapped inside of my too-fat, too-black body for too long, and of course, being tormented by Skrillex, trapped in the homeless system, hazed by White Supremacists, blacklisted by Insomniac, and sent into an otherwise chaotic and segregated world from which I did not come from–i had been bullied, physically attacked, made to fight, consistently followed and of course, ever-presently chronically reminded of an abusive marriage which had left me homeless, mourning and grieving two dead children, and estranged from the third–who had in the care of his father become morbidly obese, subject to neglect, and unaware of my presense–let alone the love I had for him left–the only love I really had for anything anymore–and not that it mattered; I could not afford to care for him, or myself–and had become uncomfortably numb, sober, cellibate, and brainwashed enough to have once believed that I could succeed in entertainment–though, as it turned out– I had just been another useless subject of mass manipulation, predictive programming, human experimentation, and psychological terrorism– my life, among many didn't matter. I had been deemed useless, and doomed to be discarded at the age of 30. My suspicions had been confirmed; As I had collapsed into a heap of flesh, returning to the room in hunger and fury and throwing the three cans of vegetables to the ground, tears gushed from my eyes as I considerably died in more ways than one, over and over– overcome by the years of torture I had endured from the system itself, for whatever reason, and of course, a breakdown I would have otherwise avoided entirely, had my annoying roommate not earlier reminded me “Is it the 23rd?” and it was indeed the 23rd of May, the anniversary of my son's passing – he would have been 7 or 8, but I had lost count, attempting to erase the memory of my broken, fucked up world. To think, in another world I may have had 7 or 8 year old twins and a husband–which was in fact, all that I even wanted to begin with in the first place; I had given up my dreams of being a household name–a broadway actress, a television star, a world-class musician–I had given up my own dreams long ago. I left my body entirely, curling into a huddled ball in the workchair, tucking my head between my legs and under the desk, my arms in a tight grip underneath my knees–my mind racing and soul ripping from its capsule, hovering above my body and enamored that I had become thin enough to fall into such a position, as if bracing for impact in a plane crash; and suddenly, there I was–all at once, in-and-out of body “Brace for Impact!” The plane crash, of course – and all the other scenes I had yet to write playing over and over in my head– the stories of my innermost imagination shattering and spread across the starlit sky which I became in a fuchsia purple wisp, space and time forming around me–I was neither dead nor alive, and though I could still feel my abdomen firmly pressed against my thighs, I was so far outside of and above it looking down at it, completely gone–and though I could feel myself still breathing shallow, hollow breaths, I could no longer feel the weight of the anger, the sting of the hunger, or the grip of evil around my neck. It was indeed a Holy War–constantly haunted by memories of a past I only wished to forget, followed and prodded by soldiers of an unknown force–military? CIA? I didn't know , but it was certain that I was being watched and studied, my psychic inclinations and seemingly supernatural gifts becoming exploited and exposed throughout my entire life; My roomate had initiated too many conversations that just so eerily suggested that indeed, she too, had been marked with a task– collecting information about my psyche, living habits, preferences, diet, and, of course–history–and though she seemed kind enough and did have brown eyes, i would probably never trust another human being again. She rubbed my back as I sat, still rolled into a fetal position and weeping, for the time having been unable to move; as she stroked my back and rubbed my hair, half dredlocked and th usually shaven side overgrown into a curly patch on my head, I began to feel the soothing touch of another human being for the first time in years–as I had realized only days before on the subway, squeezed so tightly between two other people during rush hour transit that I could feel them both breathing–i noticed the remarkable truth that I had not been loved or touched in so long that this, being squeezed between two breathing humans, was somewhat soothing–and as I breathed myself heavily in and out, I began to return to my miserable body, in the less-than-miserable room we shared, but not so happily that I would ever become comfortable or call it home. I needed space, but couldn't seem to speak– I returned slowly to consciousness as the tension in my back arose to it's normal pressure, as I lifted my head, my neck clicking from the injury from the fightt. “Do you want to talk about it?” I didn't, but i could barely stand to move my head, and I was, indeed “Barely Breathing”, which I noticed, and seemed to have to cry a little bit more, and a little bit harder after a brief moment thinking about Dillon Francis, and though as I had left my body for quite some time and sat scattered across in all the remains of what might have been pieces of The Festival Project I had written for him, or even in the very least which had been so inspired by–a dark crevice had opened up into a black void, which seemed to occupy the space where my soul had once been, and any of the feelings I had kept there with him–For indeed, I had returned to my body, however, part of me was long gone– and I knew I had indeed faced another spiritual death, cast somehow just in a moment into yet another, even deeper realm of the afterlife, with nothing left to do to submit to it. “I'm probably going to kill myself by summer!” , Alex said–and for some reason her words rattled around in my brain superimposed as some sort of code which probably meant: You're going to kill yourself by summer. It felt true, and though I hadn't been pressed so hard against the doors of suicide, my mind had often drifted to a place of remorse for all that had happened- perhaps I was indeed trapped in a shamanic stronghold–and though I myself had been for some time equipped with healing powers, I had been reluctant to use black or Satanic magic to fight whatever had been the cause of my consistent homelessness, isolation, financial ruin, intense hunger– and foraged bitterness towards whatever external forces that seemed to rule over every entirety of my existence; I had been pulled apart, tortured, tormented, and disfigured in such a way that I wished not to live in the greedy, materialistic money-driven world anyhow. One of the napkins I had balled up and tossed into the Whole Foods bag that my roomate had held out for me the night before had been placed in my backpack, atop the bag where I kept the sage I had replaced and had been hiding and two pieces of palo santo–I didn't care so much as what the punishment would be and had chosen religiously to keep protecting myself, and though my freedom had been threatened, “They'll take you a worse shelter!”, my roomate had yelled, after interrogating me about “smoking” in the room— and, not that I would have allowed her to know, I conceded that in the event I was moved to an even worse shelter, I would simply jump in front of a train or from somewhere high up enough that I knew death was imminent, as so many had before and did each day: there wasn't anything worth living for anyway, and I had given up the fight entirely. The Festial Project was a mockery–Skrillex had been used to terrorize me, and Dillon Francis was no different–there was nothing and no one in the world that I could trust, who would ever understand me. But, I kept waking up in my horrible, miserable body–unloved and unwell, and so at the very least, kept burning my sage, saying my prayers, and wishing something would change–though according to the book I had been reading, slaves such as myself were raised to be disposed of at the age of 30. “In that case…” I had used the modest amount of money I had earned to restart my podcast subscription, knowing that it would be on a limited basis: I wasn't making any money, and was still being followed around by demons–which the book stated, were used to control and manipulate my existence at every turn, and it seemed that the Hell that I had been in for years was entirely inescapable, anyway. I had felt that she would use my downtime as I showered and continued to return to my body to check my bags–leaving behind the balled up napkin as a passive aggressive tactic to let me know that she was aware that I had obstinately lied– But if there was one thing I had learned, is that in the Hell I had been born into and pulled through for 30 years, is that honesty will only hurt you–something someone pretty, rich, and privileged like Bibi Bourelly, Sonny Moore, or even Dillon Francis would never understand–or perhaps, for at least the latter two, being men of great influence and power–knew all-too well. Well enough, at least. ‘This means that they will be locked up in a crazy house for the rest of their life. Rather than be put in straight-jackets with other crazy people it would be better for the person to commit suicide.' ‘twice the normal dose of two kinds of lithium carbonate to put her into a lethargic stupor' ‘The programmers are very careful to have heart monitors on the victim, and to have paddles ready to revive the body. ‘ ‘Dissociation is used as a defense to protect a person from overwhelming pain and trauma. It is a natural ability of the brain. Hypnosis or hypnotic trance is a form of dissociation. There are a number of types of dissociation: amnesia, somnambulistic states, localized paralyses, anaesthesias, and hallucinations. Hypnosis can reproduce all of these dissociative states. The mind naturally hypnotizes itself under various conditions. Hypnosis is a valuable tool to move the mind to different neurophysiological states and to get the mind to different levels of the subconscious mind. Hypnosis can also play a role in working around amnesia, since both are types of dissociation. Hyperventilation helps a person induct into a hypnotic trance. Torture, depersonalization, fear and acute anxiety stimulate the body to hyperventilate. Common objects in a person's life that can be hypnotically given a programming meaning include music, tones, colors, the sight of a book or Bible, the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, pictures of God, silk scarfs, jewelry, lights, 93 sounds, TV programs, and countless other things. The limit to this is simply the programmer's creativity. A common hypnotic device for washing away pain is running water. MK Ultra Subproject 128 Delta - This is a Greek letter shaped like a triangle which symbolizes change in calculus. It has become a favorite word to use in naming things for the occult elite. Delta teams are 4 person assassination teams which usually are secret teams. Delta Forces is an elite unit that operates under the Joint chiefs of staff that is made up of highly trained total mind-controlled slaves. Delta models are slaves whose sole purpose is assassination. Delta alters are alters within an Illuminati alter system which are programmed to be assassins. These alters are often some of the deepest in a system and in a Genie bottle or with Umbrella programming.

“She's going through my bag.” I thought to myself– the warm running shower over the back of my neck returning me fully to my body; It had taken something like an hour to return to myself– still within and yet so far out of my body, that the twisting and turning cosmic purple light of my natural aura became all of me, as, whisked away through space and time, pushed and pulled through all of the trauma I had endured certainly over the last few years alone, but the entirety of my lifetime–it had all been part of something bigger and greater than I could have known–supposedly all in my control, and yet seemingly not-so at all. I could feel her in the other room, checking my bag–she would find the sage that I had meant to burn in the bathroom during my shower, and yet had been in such a state that I only grabbed my clothes, unwilling to go to the gym: my honesty had again betrayed my own safety–earlier, my roommate asking where I had gone in the late night/early morning before, and my response, which was honest, only confirmed why I had come to the conclusion not once but many times that honesty will only ever hurt you —I had learned well and under the excruciating pain of reality that any vampire, vulture, or entity alone would take honesty as weakness, only to be used against you; I had reached the tipping point in being taken advantage of—I was hungry, owed money, and out of sorts—my new roommate was off in a number of ways, but I was no longer willing to be subjected to whatever experiment at wlll—I had for years been a test rat, my suicidal tendencies, notions, and ideations often vilified, but justifiable nonetheless. ‘I tell the truth!” , the words of Bibi Bourelly, of course one of many of Sonny's suspected lovers, rang in my ears sometimes, as I teetered on the grounds of morality in the under relms of poverty, where people as often as ever lied, stole, or otherwise continually broke more codes and societal expectations in order to get by, or even get ahead – “It's deep, but it ain't that deep.”--more words apparently by the “wise” Bibi, one of the handful of the always-priviliaged, raised-rich spoiled brats Sonny kept in his arsenal, himself a mere tool of the psychological torture which I was certain would eventually end my life, but certainly had halted my affinity for any career or ambition in music whatsoever anyway–not that I cared much for anything. I understood now that I was being controlled and manipulated at nearly every corner–sorted into the overall trash pile of other miserable and useless slaves and subhuman beings marked unfit, and of course–after whatever had happened with my former roommate, now had an increasingly irritating annoyance of the pestering new roommate, who was otherwise nice and sweet, but of course to the point of suspicion. I had left my body long enough to think about anything and everything that night—and after the amount of wrong that I had endured, the meltdown bad been a longtime coming. I had been discarded as trash, thrown to the wolves, and completely abandoned by anyone and everyone but God itself, all other forms of love a sheer illusion—another form of attachment I had only learned to sever under the cruel injustice and inequality of the world. My body was merely a shell—all else formed around it a paradox. My roommate often at random brought up events or subjects from my own past that I wished not to talk about, at first altering me to the notion that she may be some kind of therapist or psychologist–maybe even military. She claimed to be Japanese and also have lived in Germany for 20 years–sad herself to have been in the Homeless system for over four years, and “trapped” in the united states unable to work due to a lack of social security number; There were many things about her story I found off or strange and very odd–and so I knew never to trust her or anyone else for that matter– but it was the fact that she had brought up Shamanism first and foremost without me having so much as a word about anything, of course, coupled with the oddity that she would grind her teeth throughout the night as did my estranged ex husband and former roommate: a disease which I learned only affected 10-30% of the population in total: I suspected of course for the entire program to be some covert operation: The State was in fact, the same regime responsible for, just after the death of my son, fueled by lack of sleep from grief – tied me to a bed (though I had bee cooperative and non-violent) overdosed me involuntarily with a strange medication and allowed me to urinate myself, then lay for hours soaked in urine–and only after days of psychological abuse and torture, forcing me to talk to a Mormon Bishop, and sedating me with heavy doses of lithium— which deemed me unable to talk, move, or speak for several days–and caused me excruciating migraines—all for the sake of psychological experimentation. Of course, this was still The United States of America, a Globalist Republic– and of course, I was still a black woman–the most demonized, traumatized, criminalized existence on the face of the earth. My new roommate had talked openly for days about being attacked by some kind of spirit or demon, which forced her to gain weight; a demonic type force that supposedly sat in her stomach for and implanted certain thoughts in the form of voice in her head– at the same time, she had been increasingly adamant that I never burn sage or palo santo–she had already proven herself to be a snitch, as in the early morning hours of my first morning as her roomate, the Operations team flooded in, opened my drawer, and of course confiscated my $8 sage stick, luckily overlooking the palo santo–she of course pretended not to have narced, but over the coming days would allow it to slip that she had indeed told the Operations team of the sage, which caused them to follow up and confiscate it. I found Sage to be crucial to my protection and part of my religious sanctity: That anyhow, I had been made to eventually kill myself or fall prey to the system which would in any other way ensure that I was made to become ill by way of poor nutrition– The system failed to provide vegan or even vegetarian meals, and of course the same system made sure that my food benefits were handed out irregularly–I often had no money to eat at all, and just as well drifted into the memory of one of my last conversations with the host of the air bnb I had stayed at, who also seemed to have been on some kind of agenda–he had also constantly brought up things that I didn't want to talk about, consistently forcing conversations about race relations, the race war, how oppressed black people are, The White Supremacy, and other nightmarish perception-altering and overall negative assertions, leaving me with this: “I had to steal food!”, he said, claiming having once been homeless himself–a story I neither wanted to hear or honestly belied. It had been long since I could trust anyone besides myself, but especially a man–not that color had much to do with it, besides of course my constantly being reminded that I was stuck black. ‘All the more reason not to care.' I thought, my apathy becoming an overriding factor. I was starving–and though not quite in the actual stages of starvation, which I had staved off by eating genetically modified fruit over the last couple of days– which didn't appear to have any nutritional value at all and certainly didn't give my body any energy I could use, especially not to take the grueling one-hour ride to the dirty, overrun gym–which at least had a sauna and was 24 hours–but useless, as the sauna was closed during the overnight hours when I wanted to go, escaping my new roomates controlling habits, forceful talks equipped with code words and subliminal messages, the pesterance of being unable to cleanse the room with sage, and, of course — her almost nightmarish sensitivity to everything, which included light, the music in my headphones being too loud (so much so that I could hear the city noise over anything I could in my headphones, and of course made it impossible to work in ableton, as everything I did as she tried to sleep was “too loud”--even writing was forbidden, as I one had had been typing away at the 7th season's script and she asked that I not type at al– nor could I use my mixer, as the button pressing was “too loud”, and while most of my musical inspiration came at night, I could see that for whatever purpose, this person was being used to manipulate and control me once more- No burning sage, no making mixtapes, no typing… “You have the whole day when I am gone, you can do whatever you want.”, she said As if I myself didn't have things to do during the day–just getting to and from the gym taking stretches of precious time alone–of course met with another method of psychological torture– the constant drilling, hammering, and knocking about in the room directly above mine–which sometimes of course felt like being opened from the inside out, my synestesia poking holes in my sanity-and while that should have been enough of an excuse to spend all of my days at the gym–the gym itself had become a way for the system to control and manipulate my mind, for even as my body grew stronger, my mind grew weak and muddled being followed around by little white girls swinging their hair in my face, people coughing all around, and trash everywhere I had fallen into a heap of despair, as the combination of the date alone, the research I had been doing, the work I wasn't getting done, the money I wasn't making, and the lack of nutrition set in–the night shift operations refusing to allow me to use the can opener, after I had left it atop the microwave and not “put it in his hands”-- a classic misogynistic, controlling black man, he always gave the residents a terrible attitude, but I had no reason myself to dislike him before this moment. “I don't have to let you use the can opener.” He said. My only food for days had come from the food bank, besies the free GMO-fruit the shelter sometimes handed out, which had been making me sick and lethargic; of course, because it had come from a food bank, they required a can-opener–as the luxury of a pop-top had rarely been afforded with such off-brand food, I might have considered myself blessed to have, if it weren't for the “no cans” rule at the shelter: Neither did they provide a kitchen to cook in, and so residents were expected to eat microwave TV-dinners–but of course, there were no vegan and vegetarian options, and even if there had been, I wasn't absolutely sure that I would trust by God to eat it, as the two microwaves buzzed for hours at a time to warm the food fed three-times daily to the zombie like residents, who I sometimes observed in passing on my way in or out of the shelter. “This is my only food.”, I balked. “That's not my problem!” he said. “My food stamps aren't coming regularly: I got this at the food bank and it's the only food I have.”, I explained. “SO?!” He said “You're not even supposed to have that on the premises.” “I know.” , I said. “But it's the only food I have.” The system had been so inconsistent with my food benefits that I never could expect when I would be able to eat again, or for how long–it seemed it was all a sham to force me into the mental health system. I was malnourished, lethargic, and still injured from the fight I had been in just weeks earlier. “That's not my problem.” He scoffed. “So I can't use the can opener?” I asked. He just ignored me, shrugging. On any other day, i might have just brushed it off–but on this night in particular, hunger forged a deep tear into my soul, the weight of all I had been through plummeting down into one nearly-fatal blow – the man was arrogant as always but on this particular night seemed increasingly evil. “Yo, this is fucked up! I can't survive on only bananas and you don't have any Vegan options: my food stamps don't come regularly and I can't eat! This is FUCKED UP.” Even with all I had been through, I had realized I barely blew up–though far from an actual saint, I had been gifted with at least the patience of one, really only ever doomed to explode after a buildup–and it had been months of being what seemed like strategically terrorized: my fight delayed, keeping me trapped in the United States, prone to corporate slavery and no privacy at all, my bills outweighing any income I had the ability to make, trapped inside of my too-fat, too-black body for too long, and of course, being tormented by Skrillex, trapped in the homeless system, hazed by White Supremacists, blacklisted by Insomniac, and sent into an otherwise chaotic and segregated world from which I did not come from–i had been bullied, physically attacked, made to fight, consistently followed and of course, ever-presently chronically reminded of an abusive marriage which had left me homeless, mourning and grieving two dead children, and estranged from the third–who had in the care of his father become morbidly obese, subject to neglect, and unaware of my presense–let alone the love I had for him left–the only love I really had for anything anymore–and not that it mattered; I could not afford to care for him, or myself–and had become uncomfortably numb, sober, cellibate, and brainwashed enough to have once believed that I could succeed in entertainment–though, as it turned out– I had just been another useless subject of mass manipulation, predictive programming, human experimentation, and psychological terrorism– my life, among many didn't matter. I had been deemed useless, and doomed to be discarded at the age of 30. My suspicions had been confirmed; As I had collapsed into a heap of flesh, returning to the room in hunger and fury and throwing the three cans of vegetables to the ground, tears gushed from my eyes as I considerably died in more ways than one, over and over– overcome by the years of torture I had endured from the system itself, for whatever reason, and of course, a breakdown I would have otherwise avoided entirely, had my annoying roommate not earlier reminded me “Is it the 23rd?” and it was indeed the 23rd of May, the anniversary of my son's passing – he would have been 7 or 8, but I had lost count, attempting to erase the memory of my broken, fucked up world. To think, in another world I may have had 7 or 8 year old twins and a husband–which was in fact, all that I even wanted to begin with in the first place; I had given up my dreams of being a household name–a broadway actress, a television star, a world-class musician–I had given up my own dreams long ago. I left my body entirely, curling into a huddled ball in the workchair, tucking my head between my legs and under the desk, my arms in a tight grip underneath my knees–my mind racing and soul ripping from its capsule, hovering above my body and enamored that I had become thin enough to fall into such a position, as if bracing for impact in a plane crash; and suddenly, there I was–all at once, in-and-out of body “Brace for Impact!” The plane crash, of course – and all the other scenes I had yet to write playing over and over in my head– the stories of my innermost imagination shattering and spread across the starlit sky which I became in a fuchsia purple wisp, space and time forming around me–I was neither dead nor alive, and though I could still feel my abdomen firmly pressed against my thighs, I was so far outside of and above it looking down at it, completely gone–and though I could feel myself still breathing shallow, hollow breaths, I could no longer feel the weight of the anger, the sting of the hunger, or the grip of evil around my neck. It was indeed a Holy War–constantly haunted by memories of a past I only wished to forget, followed and prodded by soldiers of an unknown force–military? CIA? I didn't know , but it was certain that I was being watched and studied, my psychic inclinations and seemingly supernatural gifts becoming exploited and exposed throughout my entire life; My roomate had initiated too many conversations that just so eerily suggested that indeed, she too, had been marked with a task– collecting information about my psyche, living habits, preferences, diet, and, of course–history–and though she seemed kind enough and did have brown eyes, i would probably never trust another human being again. She rubbed my back as I sat, still rolled into a fetal position and weeping, for the time having been unable to move; as she stroked my back and rubbed my hair, half dredlocked and th usually shaven side overgrown into a curly patch on my head, I began to feel the soothing touch of another human being for the first time in years–as I had realized only days before on the subway, squeezed so tightly between two other people during rush hour transit that I could feel them both breathing–i noticed the remarkable truth that I had not been loved or touched in so long that this, being squeezed between two breathing humans, was somewhat soothing–and as I breathed myself heavily in and out, I began to return to my miserable body, in the less-than-miserable room we shared, but not so happily that I would ever become comfortable or call it home. I needed space, but couldn't seem to speak– I returned slowly to consciousness as the tension in my back arose to it's normal pressure, as I lifted my head, my neck clicking from the injury from the fightt. “Do you want to talk about it?” I didn't, but i could barely stand to move my head, and I was, indeed “Barely Breathing”, which I noticed, and seemed to have to cry a little bit more, and a little bit harder after a brief moment thinking about Dillon Francis, and though as I had left my body for quite some time and sat scattered across in all the remains of what might have been pieces of The Festival Project I had written for him, or even in the very least which had been so inspired by–a dark crevice had opened up into a black void, which seemed to occupy the space where my soul had once been, and any of the feelings I had kept there with him–For indeed, I had returned to my body, however, part of me was long gone– and I knew I had indeed faced another spiritual death, cast somehow just in a moment into yet another, even deeper realm of the afterlife, with nothing left to do to submit to it. “I'm probably going to kill myself by summer!” , Alex said–and for some reason her words rattled around in my brain superimposed as some sort of code which probably meant: You're going to kill yourself by summer. It felt true, and though I hadn't been pressed so hard against the doors of suicide, my mind had often drifted to a place of remorse for all that had happened- perhaps I was indeed trapped in a shamanic stronghold–and though I myself had been for some time equipped with healing powers, I had been reluctant to use black or Satanic magic to fight whatever had been the cause of my consistent homelessness, isolation, financial ruin, intense hunger– and foraged bitterness towards whatever external forces that seemed to rule over every entirety of my existence; I had been pulled apart, tortured, tormented, and disfigured in such a way that I wished not to live in the greedy, materialistic money-driven world anyhow. One of the napkins I had balled up and tossed into the Whole Foods bag that my roomate had held out for me the night before had been placed in my backpack, atop the bag where I kept the sage I had replaced and had been hiding and two pieces of palo santo–I didn't care so much as what the punishment would be and had chosen religiously to keep protecting myself, and though my freedom had been threatened, “They'll take you a worse shelter!”, my roomate had yelled, after interrogating me about “smoking” in the room— and, not that I would have allowed her to know, I conceded that in the event I was moved to an even worse shelter, I would simply jump in front of a train or from somewhere high up enough that I knew death was imminent, as so many had before and did each day: there wasn't anything worth living for anyway, and I had given up the fight entirely. The Festial Project was a mockery–Skrillex had been used to terrorize me, and Dillon Francis was no different–there was nothing and no one in the world that I could trust, who would ever understand me. But, I kept waking up in my horrible, miserable body–unloved and unwell, and so at the very least, kept burning my sage, saying my prayers, and wishing something would change–though according to the book I had been reading, slaves such as myself were raised to be disposed of at the age of 30. “In that case…” I had used the modest amount of money I had earned to restart my podcast subscription, knowing that it would be on a limited basis: I wasn't making any money, and was still being followed around by demons–which the book stated, were used to control and manipulate my existence at every turn, and it seemed that the Hell that I had been in for years was entirely inescapable, anyway. I had felt that she would use my downtime as I showered and continued to return to my body to check my bags–leaving behind the balled up napkin as a passive aggressive tactic to let me know that she was aware that I had obstinately lied– But if there was one thing I had learned, is that in the Hell I had been born into and pulled through for 30 years, is that honesty will only hurt you–something someone pretty, rich, and privileged like Bibi Bourelly, Sonny Moore, or even Dillon Francis would never understand–or perhaps, for at least the latter two, being men of great influence and power–knew all-too well. Well enough, at least. ‘This means that they will be locked up in a crazy house for the rest of their life. Rather than be put in straight-jackets with other crazy people it would be better for the person to commit suicide.' ‘twice the normal dose of two kinds of lithium carbonate to put her into a lethargic stupor' ‘The programmers are very careful to have heart monitors on the victim, and to have paddles ready to revive the body. ‘ ‘Dissociation is used as a defense to protect a person from overwhelming pain and trauma. It is a natural ability of the brain. Hypnosis or hypnotic trance is a form of dissociation. There are a number of types of dissociation: amnesia, somnambulistic states, localized paralyses, anaesthesias, and hallucinations. Hypnosis can reproduce all of these dissociative states. The mind naturally hypnotizes itself under various conditions. Hypnosis is a valuable tool to move the mind to different neurophysiological states and to get the mind to different levels of the subconscious mind. Hypnosis can also play a role in working around amnesia, since both are types of dissociation. Hyperventilation helps a person induct into a hypnotic trance. Torture, depersonalization, fear and acute anxiety stimulate the body to hyperventilate. Common objects in a person's life that can be hypnotically given a programming meaning include music, tones, colors, the sight of a book or Bible, the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, pictures of God, silk scarfs, jewelry, lights, 93 sounds, TV programs, and countless other things. The limit to this is simply the programmer's creativity. A common hypnotic device for washing away pain is running water. MK Ultra Subproject 128 Delta - This is a Greek letter shaped like a triangle which symbolizes change in calculus. It has become a favorite word to use in naming things for the occult elite. Delta teams are 4 person assassination teams which usually are secret teams. Delta Forces is an elite unit that operates under the Joint chiefs of staff that is made up of highly trained total mind-controlled slaves. Delta models are slaves whose sole purpose is assassination. Delta alters are alters within an Illuminati alter system which are programmed to be assassins. These alters are often some of the deepest in a system and in a Genie bottle or with Umbrella programming.

“She's going through my bag.” I thought to myself– the warm running shower over the back of my neck returning me fully to my body; It had taken something like an hour to return to myself– still within and yet so far out of my body, that the twisting and turning cosmic purple light of my natural aura became all of me, as, whisked away through space and time, pushed and pulled through all of the trauma I had endured certainly over the last few years alone, but the entirety of my lifetime–it had all been part of something bigger and greater than I could have known–supposedly all in my control, and yet seemingly not-so at all. I could feel her in the other room, checking my bag–she would find the sage that I had meant to burn in the bathroom during my shower, and yet had been in such a state that I only grabbed my clothes, unwilling to go to the gym: my honesty had again betrayed my own safety–earlier, my roommate asking where I had gone in the late night/early morning before, and my response, which was honest, only confirmed why I had come to the conclusion not once but many times that honesty will only ever hurt you —I had learned well and under the excruciating pain of reality that any vampire, vulture, or entity alone would take honesty as weakness, only to be used against you; I had reached the tipping point in being taken advantage of—I was hungry, owed money, and out of sorts—my new roommate was off in a number of ways, but I was no longer willing to be subjected to whatever experiment at wlll—I had for years been a test rat, my suicidal tendencies, notions, and ideations often vilified, but justifiable nonetheless. ‘I tell the truth!” , the words of Bibi Bourelly, of course one of many of Sonny's suspected lovers, rang in my ears sometimes, as I teetered on the grounds of morality in the under relms of poverty, where people as often as ever lied, stole, or otherwise continually broke more codes and societal expectations in order to get by, or even get ahead – “It's deep, but it ain't that deep.”--more words apparently by the “wise” Bibi, one of the handful of the always-priviliaged, raised-rich spoiled brats Sonny kept in his arsenal, himself a mere tool of the psychological torture which I was certain would eventually end my life, but certainly had halted my affinity for any career or ambition in music whatsoever anyway–not that I cared much for anything. I understood now that I was being controlled and manipulated at nearly every corner–sorted into the overall trash pile of other miserable and useless slaves and subhuman beings marked unfit, and of course–after whatever had happened with my former roommate, now had an increasingly irritating annoyance of the pestering new roommate, who was otherwise nice and sweet, but of course to the point of suspicion. I had left my body long enough to think about anything and everything that night—and after the amount of wrong that I had endured, the meltdown bad been a longtime coming. I had been discarded as trash, thrown to the wolves, and completely abandoned by anyone and everyone but God itself, all other forms of love a sheer illusion—another form of attachment I had only learned to sever under the cruel injustice and inequality of the world. My body was merely a shell—all else formed around it a paradox. My roommate often at random brought up events or subjects from my own past that I wished not to talk about, at first altering me to the notion that she may be some kind of therapist or psychologist–maybe even military. She claimed to be Japanese and also have lived in Germany for 20 years–sad herself to have been in the Homeless system for over four years, and “trapped” in the united states unable to work due to a lack of social security number; There were many things about her story I found off or strange and very odd–and so I knew never to trust her or anyone else for that matter– but it was the fact that she had brought up Shamanism first and foremost without me having so much as a word about anything, of course, coupled with the oddity that she would grind her teeth throughout the night as did my estranged ex husband and former roommate: a disease which I learned only affected 10-30% of the population in total: I suspected of course for the entire program to be some covert operation: The State was in fact, the same regime responsible for, just after the death of my son, fueled by lack of sleep from grief – tied me to a bed (though I had bee cooperative and non-violent) overdosed me involuntarily with a strange medication and allowed me to urinate myself, then lay for hours soaked in urine–and only after days of psychological abuse and torture, forcing me to talk to a Mormon Bishop, and sedating me with heavy doses of lithium— which deemed me unable to talk, move, or speak for several days–and caused me excruciating migraines—all for the sake of psychological experimentation. Of course, this was still The United States of America, a Globalist Republic– and of course, I was still a black woman–the most demonized, traumatized, criminalized existence on the face of the earth. My new roommate had talked openly for days about being attacked by some kind of spirit or demon, which forced her to gain weight; a demonic type force that supposedly sat in her stomach for and implanted certain thoughts in the form of voice in her head– at the same time, she had been increasingly adamant that I never burn sage or palo santo–she had already proven herself to be a snitch, as in the early morning hours of my first morning as her roomate, the Operations team flooded in, opened my drawer, and of course confiscated my $8 sage stick, luckily overlooking the palo santo–she of course pretended not to have narced, but over the coming days would allow it to slip that she had indeed told the Operations team of the sage, which caused them to follow up and confiscate it. I found Sage to be crucial to my protection and part of my religious sanctity: That anyhow, I had been made to eventually kill myself or fall prey to the system which would in any other way ensure that I was made to become ill by way of poor nutrition– The system failed to provide vegan or even vegetarian meals, and of course the same system made sure that my food benefits were handed out irregularly–I often had no money to eat at all, and just as well drifted into the memory of one of my last conversations with the host of the air bnb I had stayed at, who also seemed to have been on some kind of agenda–he had also constantly brought up things that I didn't want to talk about, consistently forcing conversations about race relations, the race war, how oppressed black people are, The White Supremacy, and other nightmarish perception-altering and overall negative assertions, leaving me with this: “I had to steal food!”, he said, claiming having once been homeless himself–a story I neither wanted to hear or honestly belied. It had been long since I could trust anyone besides myself, but especially a man–not that color had much to do with it, besides of course my constantly being reminded that I was stuck black. ‘All the more reason not to care.' I thought, my apathy becoming an overriding factor. I was starving–and though not quite in the actual stages of starvation, which I had staved off by eating genetically modified fruit over the last couple of days– which didn't appear to have any nutritional value at all and certainly didn't give my body any energy I could use, especially not to take the grueling one-hour ride to the dirty, overrun gym–which at least had a sauna and was 24 hours–but useless, as the sauna was closed during the overnight hours when I wanted to go, escaping my new roomates controlling habits, forceful talks equipped with code words and subliminal messages, the pesterance of being unable to cleanse the room with sage, and, of course — her almost nightmarish sensitivity to everything, which included light, the music in my headphones being too loud (so much so that I could hear the city noise over anything I could in my headphones, and of course made it impossible to work in ableton, as everything I did as she tried to sleep was “too loud”--even writing was forbidden, as I one had had been typing away at the 7th season's script and she asked that I not type at al– nor could I use my mixer, as the button pressing was “too loud”, and while most of my musical inspiration came at night, I could see that for whatever purpose, this person was being used to manipulate and control me once more- No burning sage, no making mixtapes, no typing… “You have the whole day when I am gone, you can do whatever you want.”, she said As if I myself didn't have things to do during the day–just getting to and from the gym taking stretches of precious time alone–of course met with another method of psychological torture– the constant drilling, hammering, and knocking about in the room directly above mine–which sometimes of course felt like being opened from the inside out, my synestesia poking holes in my sanity-and while that should have been enough of an excuse to spend all of my days at the gym–the gym itself had become a way for the system to control and manipulate my mind, for even as my body grew stronger, my mind grew weak and muddled being followed around by little white girls swinging their hair in my face, people coughing all around, and trash everywhere I had fallen into a heap of despair, as the combination of the date alone, the research I had been doing, the work I wasn't getting done, the money I wasn't making, and the lack of nutrition set in–the night shift operations refusing to allow me to use the can opener, after I had left it atop the microwave and not “put it in his hands”-- a classic misogynistic, controlling black man, he always gave the residents a terrible attitude, but I had no reason myself to dislike him before this moment. “I don't have to let you use the can opener.” He said. My only food for days had come from the food bank, besies the free GMO-fruit the shelter sometimes handed out, which had been making me sick and lethargic; of course, because it had come from a food bank, they required a can-opener–as the luxury of a pop-top had rarely been afforded with such off-brand food, I might have considered myself blessed to have, if it weren't for the “no cans” rule at the shelter: Neither did they provide a kitchen to cook in, and so residents were expected to eat microwave TV-dinners–but of course, there were no vegan and vegetarian options, and even if there had been, I wasn't absolutely sure that I would trust by God to eat it, as the two microwaves buzzed for hours at a time to warm the food fed three-times daily to the zombie like residents, who I sometimes observed in passing on my way in or out of the shelter. “This is my only food.”, I balked. “That's not my problem!” he said. “My food stamps aren't coming regularly: I got this at the food bank and it's the only food I have.”, I explained. “SO?!” He said “You're not even supposed to have that on the premises.” “I know.” , I said. “But it's the only food I have.” The system had been so inconsistent with my food benefits that I never could expect when I would be able to eat again, or for how long–it seemed it was all a sham to force me into the mental health system. I was malnourished, lethargic, and still injured from the fight I had been in just weeks earlier. “That's not my problem.” He scoffed. “So I can't use the can opener?” I asked. He just ignored me, shrugging. On any other day, i might have just brushed it off–but on this night in particular, hunger forged a deep tear into my soul, the weight of all I had been through plummeting down into one nearly-fatal blow – the man was arrogant as always but on this particular night seemed increasingly evil. “Yo, this is fucked up! I can't survive on only bananas and you don't have any Vegan options: my food stamps don't come regularly and I can't eat! This is FUCKED UP.” Even with all I had been through, I had realized I barely blew up–though far from an actual saint, I had been gifted with at least the patience of one, really only ever doomed to explode after a buildup–and it had been months of being what seemed like strategically terrorized: my fight delayed, keeping me trapped in the United States, prone to corporate slavery and no privacy at all, my bills outweighing any income I had the ability to make, trapped inside of my too-fat, too-black body for too long, and of course, being tormented by Skrillex, trapped in the homeless system, hazed by White Supremacists, blacklisted by Insomniac, and sent into an otherwise chaotic and segregated world from which I did not come from–i had been bullied, physically attacked, made to fight, consistently followed and of course, ever-presently chronically reminded of an abusive marriage which had left me homeless, mourning and grieving two dead children, and estranged from the third–who had in the care of his father become morbidly obese, subject to neglect, and unaware of my presense–let alone the love I had for him left–the only love I really had for anything anymore–and not that it mattered; I could not afford to care for him, or myself–and had become uncomfortably numb, sober, cellibate, and brainwashed enough to have once believed that I could succeed in entertainment–though, as it turned out– I had just been another useless subject of mass manipulation, predictive programming, human experimentation, and psychological terrorism– my life, among many didn't matter. I had been deemed useless, and doomed to be discarded at the age of 30. My suspicions had been confirmed; As I had collapsed into a heap of flesh, returning to the room in hunger and fury and throwing the three cans of vegetables to the ground, tears gushed from my eyes as I considerably died in more ways than one, over and over– overcome by the years of torture I had endured from the system itself, for whatever reason, and of course, a breakdown I would have otherwise avoided entirely, had my annoying roommate not earlier reminded me “Is it the 23rd?” and it was indeed the 23rd of May, the anniversary of my son's passing – he would have been 7 or 8, but I had lost count, attempting to erase the memory of my broken, fucked up world. To think, in another world I may have had 7 or 8 year old twins and a husband–which was in fact, all that I even wanted to begin with in the first place; I had given up my dreams of being a household name–a broadway actress, a television star, a world-class musician–I had given up my own dreams long ago. I left my body entirely, curling into a huddled ball in the workchair, tucking my head between my legs and under the desk, my arms in a tight grip underneath my knees–my mind racing and soul ripping from its capsule, hovering above my body and enamored that I had become thin enough to fall into such a position, as if bracing for impact in a plane crash; and suddenly, there I was–all at once, in-and-out of body “Brace for Impact!” The plane crash, of course – and all the other scenes I had yet to write playing over and over in my head– the stories of my innermost imagination shattering and spread across the starlit sky which I became in a fuchsia purple wisp, space and time forming around me–I was neither dead nor alive, and though I could still feel my abdomen firmly pressed against my thighs, I was so far outside of and above it looking down at it, completely gone–and though I could feel myself still breathing shallow, hollow breaths, I could no longer feel the weight of the anger, the sting of the hunger, or the grip of evil around my neck. It was indeed a Holy War–constantly haunted by memories of a past I only wished to forget, followed and prodded by soldiers of an unknown force–military? CIA? I didn't know , but it was certain that I was being watched and studied, my psychic inclinations and seemingly supernatural gifts becoming exploited and exposed throughout my entire life; My roomate had initiated too many conversations that just so eerily suggested that indeed, she too, had been marked with a task– collecting information about my psyche, living habits, preferences, diet, and, of course–history–and though she seemed kind enough and did have brown eyes, i would probably never trust another human being again. She rubbed my back as I sat, still rolled into a fetal position and weeping, for the time having been unable to move; as she stroked my back and rubbed my hair, half dredlocked and th usually shaven side overgrown into a curly patch on my head, I began to feel the soothing touch of another human being for the first time in years–as I had realized only days before on the subway, squeezed so tightly between two other people during rush hour transit that I could feel them both breathing–i noticed the remarkable truth that I had not been loved or touched in so long that this, being squeezed between two breathing humans, was somewhat soothing–and as I breathed myself heavily in and out, I began to return to my miserable body, in the less-than-miserable room we shared, but not so happily that I would ever become comfortable or call it home. I needed space, but couldn't seem to speak– I returned slowly to consciousness as the tension in my back arose to it's normal pressure, as I lifted my head, my neck clicking from the injury from the fightt. “Do you want to talk about it?” I didn't, but i could barely stand to move my head, and I was, indeed “Barely Breathing”, which I noticed, and seemed to have to cry a little bit more, and a little bit harder after a brief moment thinking about Dillon Francis, and though as I had left my body for quite some time and sat scattered across in all the remains of what might have been pieces of The Festival Project I had written for him, or even in the very least which had been so inspired by–a dark crevice had opened up into a black void, which seemed to occupy the space where my soul had once been, and any of the feelings I had kept there with him–For indeed, I had returned to my body, however, part of me was long gone– and I knew I had indeed faced another spiritual death, cast somehow just in a moment into yet another, even deeper realm of the afterlife, with nothing left to do to submit to it. “I'm probably going to kill myself by summer!” , Alex said–and for some reason her words rattled around in my brain superimposed as some sort of code which probably meant: You're going to kill yourself by summer. It felt true, and though I hadn't been pressed so hard against the doors of suicide, my mind had often drifted to a place of remorse for all that had happened- perhaps I was indeed trapped in a shamanic stronghold–and though I myself had been for some time equipped with healing powers, I had been reluctant to use black or Satanic magic to fight whatever had been the cause of my consistent homelessness, isolation, financial ruin, intense hunger– and foraged bitterness towards whatever external forces that seemed to rule over every entirety of my existence; I had been pulled apart, tortured, tormented, and disfigured in such a way that I wished not to live in the greedy, materialistic money-driven world anyhow. One of the napkins I had balled up and tossed into the Whole Foods bag that my roomate had held out for me the night before had been placed in my backpack, atop the bag where I kept the sage I had replaced and had been hiding and two pieces of palo santo–I didn't care so much as what the punishment would be and had chosen religiously to keep protecting myself, and though my freedom had been threatened, “They'll take you a worse shelter!”, my roomate had yelled, after interrogating me about “smoking” in the room— and, not that I would have allowed her to know, I conceded that in the event I was moved to an even worse shelter, I would simply jump in front of a train or from somewhere high up enough that I knew death was imminent, as so many had before and did each day: there wasn't anything worth living for anyway, and I had given up the fight entirely. The Festial Project was a mockery–Skrillex had been used to terrorize me, and Dillon Francis was no different–there was nothing and no one in the world that I could trust, who would ever understand me. But, I kept waking up in my horrible, miserable body–unloved and unwell, and so at the very least, kept burning my sage, saying my prayers, and wishing something would change–though according to the book I had been reading, slaves such as myself were raised to be disposed of at the age of 30. “In that case…” I had used the modest amount of money I had earned to restart my podcast subscription, knowing that it would be on a limited basis: I wasn't making any money, and was still being followed around by demons–which the book stated, were used to control and manipulate my existence at every turn, and it seemed that the Hell that I had been in for years was entirely inescapable, anyway. I had felt that she would use my downtime as I showered and continued to return to my body to check my bags–leaving behind the balled up napkin as a passive aggressive tactic to let me know that she was aware that I had obstinately lied– But if there was one thing I had learned, is that in the Hell I had been born into and pulled through for 30 years, is that honesty will only hurt you–something someone pretty, rich, and privileged like Bibi Bourelly, Sonny Moore, or even Dillon Francis would never understand–or perhaps, for at least the latter two, being men of great influence and power–knew all-too well. Well enough, at least. ‘This means that they will be locked up in a crazy house for the rest of their life. Rather than be put in straight-jackets with other crazy people it would be better for the person to commit suicide.' ‘twice the normal dose of two kinds of lithium carbonate to put her into a lethargic stupor' ‘The programmers are very careful to have heart monitors on the victim, and to have paddles ready to revive the body. ‘ ‘Dissociation is used as a defense to protect a person from overwhelming pain and trauma. It is a natural ability of the brain. Hypnosis or hypnotic trance is a form of dissociation. There are a number of types of dissociation: amnesia, somnambulistic states, localized paralyses, anaesthesias, and hallucinations. Hypnosis can reproduce all of these dissociative states. The mind naturally hypnotizes itself under various conditions. Hypnosis is a valuable tool to move the mind to different neurophysiological states and to get the mind to different levels of the subconscious mind. Hypnosis can also play a role in working around amnesia, since both are types of dissociation. Hyperventilation helps a person induct into a hypnotic trance. Torture, depersonalization, fear and acute anxiety stimulate the body to hyperventilate. Common objects in a person's life that can be hypnotically given a programming meaning include music, tones, colors, the sight of a book or Bible, the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, pictures of God, silk scarfs, jewelry, lights, 93 sounds, TV programs, and countless other things. The limit to this is simply the programmer's creativity. A common hypnotic device for washing away pain is running water. MK Ultra Subproject 128 Delta - This is a Greek letter shaped like a triangle which symbolizes change in calculus. It has become a favorite word to use in naming things for the occult elite. Delta teams are 4 person assassination teams which usually are secret teams. Delta Forces is an elite unit that operates under the Joint chiefs of staff that is made up of highly trained total mind-controlled slaves. Delta models are slaves whose sole purpose is assassination. Delta alters are alters within an Illuminati alter system which are programmed to be assassins. These alters are often some of the deepest in a system and in a Genie bottle or with Umbrella programming.

“She's going through my bag.” I thought to myself– the warm running shower over the back of my neck returning me fully to my body; It had taken something like an hour to return to myself– still within and yet so far out of my body, that the twisting and turning cosmic purple light of my natural aura became all of me, as, whisked away through space and time, pushed and pulled through all of the trauma I had endured certainly over the last few years alone, but the entirety of my lifetime–it had all been part of something bigger and greater than I could have known–supposedly all in my control, and yet seemingly not-so at all. I could feel her in the other room, checking my bag–she would find the sage that I had meant to burn in the bathroom during my shower, and yet had been in such a state that I only grabbed my clothes, unwilling to go to the gym: my honesty had again betrayed my own safety–earlier, my roommate asking where I had gone in the late night/early morning before, and my response, which was honest, only confirmed why I had come to the conclusion not once but many times that honesty will only ever hurt you —I had learned well and under the excruciating pain of reality that any vampire, vulture, or entity alone would take honesty as weakness, only to be used against you; I had reached the tipping point in being taken advantage of—I was hungry, owed money, and out of sorts—my new roommate was off in a number of ways, but I was no longer willing to be subjected to whatever experiment at wlll—I had for years been a test rat, my suicidal tendencies, notions, and ideations often vilified, but justifiable nonetheless. ‘I tell the truth!” , the words of Bibi Bourelly, of course one of many of Sonny's suspected lovers, rang in my ears sometimes, as I teetered on the grounds of morality in the under relms of poverty, where people as often as ever lied, stole, or otherwise continually broke more codes and societal expectations in order to get by, or even get ahead – “It's deep, but it ain't that deep.”--more words apparently by the “wise” Bibi, one of the handful of the always-priviliaged, raised-rich spoiled brats Sonny kept in his arsenal, himself a mere tool of the psychological torture which I was certain would eventually end my life, but certainly had halted my affinity for any career or ambition in music whatsoever anyway–not that I cared much for anything. I understood now that I was being controlled and manipulated at nearly every corner–sorted into the overall trash pile of other miserable and useless slaves and subhuman beings marked unfit, and of course–after whatever had happened with my former roommate, now had an increasingly irritating annoyance of the pestering new roommate, who was otherwise nice and sweet, but of course to the point of suspicion. I had left my body long enough to think about anything and everything that night—and after the amount of wrong that I had endured, the meltdown bad been a longtime coming. I had been discarded as trash, thrown to the wolves, and completely abandoned by anyone and everyone but God itself, all other forms of love a sheer illusion—another form of attachment I had only learned to sever under the cruel injustice and inequality of the world. My body was merely a shell—all else formed around it a paradox. My roommate often at random brought up events or subjects from my own past that I wished not to talk about, at first altering me to the notion that she may be some kind of therapist or psychologist–maybe even military. She claimed to be Japanese and also have lived in Germany for 20 years–sad herself to have been in the Homeless system for over four years, and “trapped” in the united states unable to work due to a lack of social security number; There were many things about her story I found off or strange and very odd–and so I knew never to trust her or anyone else for that matter– but it was the fact that she had brought up Shamanism first and foremost without me having so much as a word about anything, of course, coupled with the oddity that she would grind her teeth throughout the night as did my estranged ex husband and former roommate: a disease which I learned only affected 10-30% of the population in total: I suspected of course for the entire program to be some covert operation: The State was in fact, the same regime responsible for, just after the death of my son, fueled by lack of sleep from grief – tied me to a bed (though I had bee cooperative and non-violent) overdosed me involuntarily with a strange medication and allowed me to urinate myself, then lay for hours soaked in urine–and only after days of psychological abuse and torture, forcing me to talk to a Mormon Bishop, and sedating me with heavy doses of lithium— which deemed me unable to talk, move, or speak for several days–and caused me excruciating migraines—all for the sake of psychological experimentation. Of course, this was still The United States of America, a Globalist Republic– and of course, I was still a black woman–the most demonized, traumatized, criminalized existence on the face of the earth. My new roommate had talked openly for days about being attacked by some kind of spirit or demon, which forced her to gain weight; a demonic type force that supposedly sat in her stomach for and implanted certain thoughts in the form of voice in her head– at the same time, she had been increasingly adamant that I never burn sage or palo santo–she had already proven herself to be a snitch, as in the early morning hours of my first morning as her roomate, the Operations team flooded in, opened my drawer, and of course confiscated my $8 sage stick, luckily overlooking the palo santo–she of course pretended not to have narced, but over the coming days would allow it to slip that she had indeed told the Operations team of the sage, which caused them to follow up and confiscate it. I found Sage to be crucial to my protection and part of my religious sanctity: That anyhow, I had been made to eventually kill myself or fall prey to the system which would in any other way ensure that I was made to become ill by way of poor nutrition– The system failed to provide vegan or even vegetarian meals, and of course the same system made sure that my food benefits were handed out irregularly–I often had no money to eat at all, and just as well drifted into the memory of one of my last conversations with the host of the air bnb I had stayed at, who also seemed to have been on some kind of agenda–he had also constantly brought up things that I didn't want to talk about, consistently forcing conversations about race relations, the race war, how oppressed black people are, The White Supremacy, and other nightmarish perception-altering and overall negative assertions, leaving me with this: “I had to steal food!”, he said, claiming having once been homeless himself–a story I neither wanted to hear or honestly belied. It had been long since I could trust anyone besides myself, but especially a man–not that color had much to do with it, besides of course my constantly being reminded that I was stuck black. ‘All the more reason not to care.' I thought, my apathy becoming an overriding factor. I was starving–and though not quite in the actual stages of starvation, which I had staved off by eating genetically modified fruit over the last couple of days– which didn't appear to have any nutritional value at all and certainly didn't give my body any energy I could use, especially not to take the grueling one-hour ride to the dirty, overrun gym–which at least had a sauna and was 24 hours–but useless, as the sauna was closed during the overnight hours when I wanted to go, escaping my new roomates controlling habits, forceful talks equipped with code words and subliminal messages, the pesterance of being unable to cleanse the room with sage, and, of course — her almost nightmarish sensitivity to everything, which included light, the music in my headphones being too loud (so much so that I could hear the city noise over anything I could in my headphones, and of course made it impossible to work in ableton, as everything I did as she tried to sleep was “too loud”--even writing was forbidden, as I one had had been typing away at the 7th season's script and she asked that I not type at al– nor could I use my mixer, as the button pressing was “too loud”, and while most of my musical inspiration came at night, I could see that for whatever purpose, this person was being used to manipulate and control me once more- No burning sage, no making mixtapes, no typing… “You have the whole day when I am gone, you can do whatever you want.”, she said As if I myself didn't have things to do during the day–just getting to and from the gym taking stretches of precious time alone–of course met with another method of psychological torture– the constant drilling, hammering, and knocking about in the room directly above mine–which sometimes of course felt like being opened from the inside out, my synestesia poking holes in my sanity-and while that should have been enough of an excuse to spend all of my days at the gym–the gym itself had become a way for the system to control and manipulate my mind, for even as my body grew stronger, my mind grew weak and muddled being followed around by little white girls swinging their hair in my face, people coughing all around, and trash everywhere I had fallen into a heap of despair, as the combination of the date alone, the research I had been doing, the work I wasn't getting done, the money I wasn't making, and the lack of nutrition set in–the night shift operations refusing to allow me to use the can opener, after I had left it atop the microwave and not “put it in his hands”-- a classic misogynistic, controlling black man, he always gave the residents a terrible attitude, but I had no reason myself to dislike him before this moment. “I don't have to let you use the can opener.” He said. My only food for days had come from the food bank, besies the free GMO-fruit the shelter sometimes handed out, which had been making me sick and lethargic; of course, because it had come from a food bank, they required a can-opener–as the luxury of a pop-top had rarely been afforded with such off-brand food, I might have considered myself blessed to have, if it weren't for the “no cans” rule at the shelter: Neither did they provide a kitchen to cook in, and so residents were expected to eat microwave TV-dinners–but of course, there were no vegan and vegetarian options, and even if there had been, I wasn't absolutely sure that I would trust by God to eat it, as the two microwaves buzzed for hours at a time to warm the food fed three-times daily to the zombie like residents, who I sometimes observed in passing on my way in or out of the shelter. “This is my only food.”, I balked. “That's not my problem!” he said. “My food stamps aren't coming regularly: I got this at the food bank and it's the only food I have.”, I explained. “SO?!” He said “You're not even supposed to have that on the premises.” “I know.” , I said. “But it's the only food I have.” The system had been so inconsistent with my food benefits that I never could expect when I would be able to eat again, or for how long–it seemed it was all a sham to force me into the mental health system. I was malnourished, lethargic, and still injured from the fight I had been in just weeks earlier. “That's not my problem.” He scoffed. “So I can't use the can opener?” I asked. He just ignored me, shrugging. On any other day, i might have just brushed it off–but on this night in particular, hunger forged a deep tear into my soul, the weight of all I had been through plummeting down into one nearly-fatal blow – the man was arrogant as always but on this particular night seemed increasingly evil. “Yo, this is fucked up! I can't survive on only bananas and you don't have any Vegan options: my food stamps don't come regularly and I can't eat! This is FUCKED UP.” Even with all I had been through, I had realized I barely blew up–though far from an actual saint, I had been gifted with at least the patience of one, really only ever doomed to explode after a buildup–and it had been months of being what seemed like strategically terrorized: my fight delayed, keeping me trapped in the United States, prone to corporate slavery and no privacy at all, my bills outweighing any income I had the ability to make, trapped inside of my too-fat, too-black body for too long, and of course, being tormented by Skrillex, trapped in the homeless system, hazed by White Supremacists, blacklisted by Insomniac, and sent into an otherwise chaotic and segregated world from which I did not come from–i had been bullied, physically attacked, made to fight, consistently followed and of course, ever-presently chronically reminded of an abusive marriage which had left me homeless, mourning and grieving two dead children, and estranged from the third–who had in the care of his father become morbidly obese, subject to neglect, and unaware of my presense–let alone the love I had for him left–the only love I really had for anything anymore–and not that it mattered; I could not afford to care for him, or myself–and had become uncomfortably numb, sober, cellibate, and brainwashed enough to have once believed that I could succeed in entertainment–though, as it turned out– I had just been another useless subject of mass manipulation, predictive programming, human experimentation, and psychological terrorism– my life, among many didn't matter. I had been deemed useless, and doomed to be discarded at the age of 30. My suspicions had been confirmed; As I had collapsed into a heap of flesh, returning to the room in hunger and fury and throwing the three cans of vegetables to the ground, tears gushed from my eyes as I considerably died in more ways than one, over and over– overcome by the years of torture I had endured from the system itself, for whatever reason, and of course, a breakdown I would have otherwise avoided entirely, had my annoying roommate not earlier reminded me “Is it the 23rd?” and it was indeed the 23rd of May, the anniversary of my son's passing – he would have been 7 or 8, but I had lost count, attempting to erase the memory of my broken, fucked up world. To think, in another world I may have had 7 or 8 year old twins and a husband–which was in fact, all that I even wanted to begin with in the first place; I had given up my dreams of being a household name–a broadway actress, a television star, a world-class musician–I had given up my own dreams long ago. I left my body entirely, curling into a huddled ball in the workchair, tucking my head between my legs and under the desk, my arms in a tight grip underneath my knees–my mind racing and soul ripping from its capsule, hovering above my body and enamored that I had become thin enough to fall into such a position, as if bracing for impact in a plane crash; and suddenly, there I was–all at once, in-and-out of body “Brace for Impact!” The plane crash, of course – and all the other scenes I had yet to write playing over and over in my head– the stories of my innermost imagination shattering and spread across the starlit sky which I became in a fuchsia purple wisp, space and time forming around me–I was neither dead nor alive, and though I could still feel my abdomen firmly pressed against my thighs, I was so far outside of and above it looking down at it, completely gone–and though I could feel myself still breathing shallow, hollow breaths, I could no longer feel the weight of the anger, the sting of the hunger, or the grip of evil around my neck. It was indeed a Holy War–constantly haunted by memories of a past I only wished to forget, followed and prodded by soldiers of an unknown force–military? CIA? I didn't know , but it was certain that I was being watched and studied, my psychic inclinations and seemingly supernatural gifts becoming exploited and exposed throughout my entire life; My roomate had initiated too many conversations that just so eerily suggested that indeed, she too, had been marked with a task– collecting information about my psyche, living habits, preferences, diet, and, of course–history–and though she seemed kind enough and did have brown eyes, i would probably never trust another human being again. She rubbed my back as I sat, still rolled into a fetal position and weeping, for the time having been unable to move; as she stroked my back and rubbed my hair, half dredlocked and th usually shaven side overgrown into a curly patch on my head, I began to feel the soothing touch of another human being for the first time in years–as I had realized only days before on the subway, squeezed so tightly between two other people during rush hour transit that I could feel them both breathing–i noticed the remarkable truth that I had not been loved or touched in so long that this, being squeezed between two breathing humans, was somewhat soothing–and as I breathed myself heavily in and out, I began to return to my miserable body, in the less-than-miserable room we shared, but not so happily that I would ever become comfortable or call it home. I needed space, but couldn't seem to speak– I returned slowly to consciousness as the tension in my back arose to it's normal pressure, as I lifted my head, my neck clicking from the injury from the fightt. “Do you want to talk about it?” I didn't, but i could barely stand to move my head, and I was, indeed “Barely Breathing”, which I noticed, and seemed to have to cry a little bit more, and a little bit harder after a brief moment thinking about Dillon Francis, and though as I had left my body for quite some time and sat scattered across in all the remains of what might have been pieces of The Festival Project I had written for him, or even in the very least which had been so inspired by–a dark crevice had opened up into a black void, which seemed to occupy the space where my soul had once been, and any of the feelings I had kept there with him–For indeed, I had returned to my body, however, part of me was long gone– and I knew I had indeed faced another spiritual death, cast somehow just in a moment into yet another, even deeper realm of the afterlife, with nothing left to do to submit to it. “I'm probably going to kill myself by summer!” , Alex said–and for some reason her words rattled around in my brain superimposed as some sort of code which probably meant: You're going to kill yourself by summer. It felt true, and though I hadn't been pressed so hard against the doors of suicide, my mind had often drifted to a place of remorse for all that had happened- perhaps I was indeed trapped in a shamanic stronghold–and though I myself had been for some time equipped with healing powers, I had been reluctant to use black or Satanic magic to fight whatever had been the cause of my consistent homelessness, isolation, financial ruin, intense hunger– and foraged bitterness towards whatever external forces that seemed to rule over every entirety of my existence; I had been pulled apart, tortured, tormented, and disfigured in such a way that I wished not to live in the greedy, materialistic money-driven world anyhow. One of the napkins I had balled up and tossed into the Whole Foods bag that my roomate had held out for me the night before had been placed in my backpack, atop the bag where I kept the sage I had replaced and had been hiding and two pieces of palo santo–I didn't care so much as what the punishment would be and had chosen religiously to keep protecting myself, and though my freedom had been threatened, “They'll take you a worse shelter!”, my roomate had yelled, after interrogating me about “smoking” in the room— and, not that I would have allowed her to know, I conceded that in the event I was moved to an even worse shelter, I would simply jump in front of a train or from somewhere high up enough that I knew death was imminent, as so many had before and did each day: there wasn't anything worth living for anyway, and I had given up the fight entirely. The Festial Project was a mockery–Skrillex had been used to terrorize me, and Dillon Francis was no different–there was nothing and no one in the world that I could trust, who would ever understand me. But, I kept waking up in my horrible, miserable body–unloved and unwell, and so at the very least, kept burning my sage, saying my prayers, and wishing something would change–though according to the book I had been reading, slaves such as myself were raised to be disposed of at the age of 30. “In that case…” I had used the modest amount of money I had earned to restart my podcast subscription, knowing that it would be on a limited basis: I wasn't making any money, and was still being followed around by demons–which the book stated, were used to control and manipulate my existence at every turn, and it seemed that the Hell that I had been in for years was entirely inescapable, anyway. I had felt that she would use my downtime as I showered and continued to return to my body to check my bags–leaving behind the balled up napkin as a passive aggressive tactic to let me know that she was aware that I had obstinately lied– But if there was one thing I had learned, is that in the Hell I had been born into and pulled through for 30 years, is that honesty will only hurt you–something someone pretty, rich, and privileged like Bibi Bourelly, Sonny Moore, or even Dillon Francis would never understand–or perhaps, for at least the latter two, being men of great influence and power–knew all-too well. Well enough, at least. ‘This means that they will be locked up in a crazy house for the rest of their life. Rather than be put in straight-jackets with other crazy people it would be better for the person to commit suicide.' ‘twice the normal dose of two kinds of lithium carbonate to put her into a lethargic stupor' ‘The programmers are very careful to have heart monitors on the victim, and to have paddles ready to revive the body. ‘ ‘Dissociation is used as a defense to protect a person from overwhelming pain and trauma. It is a natural ability of the brain. Hypnosis or hypnotic trance is a form of dissociation. There are a number of types of dissociation: amnesia, somnambulistic states, localized paralyses, anaesthesias, and hallucinations. Hypnosis can reproduce all of these dissociative states. The mind naturally hypnotizes itself under various conditions. Hypnosis is a valuable tool to move the mind to different neurophysiological states and to get the mind to different levels of the subconscious mind. Hypnosis can also play a role in working around amnesia, since both are types of dissociation. Hyperventilation helps a person induct into a hypnotic trance. Torture, depersonalization, fear and acute anxiety stimulate the body to hyperventilate. Common objects in a person's life that can be hypnotically given a programming meaning include music, tones, colors, the sight of a book or Bible, the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, pictures of God, silk scarfs, jewelry, lights, 93 sounds, TV programs, and countless other things. The limit to this is simply the programmer's creativity. A common hypnotic device for washing away pain is running water. MK Ultra Subproject 128 Delta - This is a Greek letter shaped like a triangle which symbolizes change in calculus. It has become a favorite word to use in naming things for the occult elite. Delta teams are 4 person assassination teams which usually are secret teams. Delta Forces is an elite unit that operates under the Joint chiefs of staff that is made up of highly trained total mind-controlled slaves. Delta models are slaves whose sole purpose is assassination. Delta alters are alters within an Illuminati alter system which are programmed to be assassins. These alters are often some of the deepest in a system and in a Genie bottle or with Umbrella programming.

The unfamiliar feel of snow flurries on my nose caused me to c it oouaoy lowee my glasses, dark and covering the tears in my eyes and shielding me from whatever deceitful demons who might gaze their haunting stares into my soul lol. Boofing at barmitzvas That is a good band name FESTIVAL STYLE HOUSE DJ — EDM- TECHNO-TECH HOUSE- DUBSTEP New to New York from LA, multi-tunic female DJ , multi instrumentalist, and lyricist, vocalist & musician looking to graduate from the bar/restaurant scene to the club/festival circuit. I play house, techno, tech-house, dubstep—progressive house, new wave, alternative, rock intelligent rap/hip hop, trance, psychedelic // club & festival music—beat for parties, clubs & festivals, open to birthdayas, bar mitzvahs, weddings, house warming—if you're looking to dance, turn up, and get lit: I'm your DJ. Custom and curated mixes and playlists by requests, looking for new networking opportunities and experiences. It is romantic When it snows in Manhattan; But When it rains in The Bronx, I wanna throw up THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE: VIDEO GAME >>Trashcan Dumpster Hobo Scavenger Peasant Slave Influencer Investor Entertainer >>> Employer (Slave Owner w/ 10+ Employees) Landlord CFO CEO Ambassador Diety Fallen Descendant ??? Ascended Magician Alchemist Creator Genius God To start the game, you must die. There are several various ways to enter “DEATH” upon starting the game; Each death will result in a separate possibility and ability to affect the outcome and mode of the game. Accidental Death will result in lowest ability gained Homocide Results in medium-level power upgrade/ability Suicide and mode of suicide will result in highest award of capabilities to begin the game Pick Up Items for RP, XP & Bonuses; Items like supplies, clothing, or other necessary items will provide player “PP” or Personality Points; Other items such as gems, crystals, stickers, may be collected as trophies, or used as currency and/or grant KP, or Karma Points; Items such as Vintage Furniture or Records, Artifacts, Art, Vinyl Records, Hats, Sunglasses, or Rare Pants/T-Shirts will gain Player additional points towards leveling toward ascension status Collect songs— pair them by ear (by key or beat matching for extra points — remix, cover, remaster, or sample tracks for extra RP, XP, EP, PP, and LP. Create Original Songs and content to open portals, Music + Time + Travel Forward/Backward by learning to use magical elements to manipulate musical energy Earn Star Power by completing missions in Hollywood Area of Map Gather Tools & Needed Supplies around map Increase Fitness, Stamina, Charisma by becoming more attractive; Running, Gym Routines, Dancing, Marshal Arts, and Surfing (after West Side of Map Opens) Rave Weapons Rave Weapons are earned through completing various missions, series of mini games, tasks, and treasure hunts within the map as it becomes available to the player. Once Instant Manifestation has been acquired, the player must use The Mastery of Cosmic Alchemy to level up each individual rave weapon. Synesthetic Telekinesis Energy Manipulation Time Weaving// Time Traveling// Time Bending Multidimensional Vision “dreamgirl” A surreal and daunting recurring dream becomes a living nightmare scenario, when the mysterious woman from his dream world turns up in his waking life. After a chaotic merry-go-round of “coincidences” in which the man continues to run into the woman from his dreams throughout his day to to day activities, I'm just-- Trapped in this body A nobody In-N-Out, Out of Body, But I already forgot about it I already forgot about it; I'm Just-- Punching the clock, Might purchase a glock, Just to pick myself off; I think about it often- Every time I take my bra off; Caught, Two toddler brawlin, Saw the whole future this morning Through two brown eyes, And about 5 white liars, conspiring to kill me I'm Nobody, in a bathing suit Under a 4/3/2 4-3-2-1 Here comes the train, Jump on: and, Jump off, When you start going fast enough to jump And fall right to sleep I'm just-- Another slave, in a bathing suit; Jesus saves, But he's being a crazy lady Lazy Suzi, (or, Sami, actually) Sits, but not peacefully She's living my dream, yeah Somebody's dream girl, and i'm just Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even No, i'm not the same All I got from my mom was My name, All My shame, And the need to be famous I'm just, Wasting my time, Being a slave, Cause I don't get paid to write I'm not black, I'm not white, I'm not gray, but hey “Hey!” Thank you for saving me I might survive. Got a couple more good years left in your baby Couple more good years, playing the field Got a couple good years left, for the best Get the cream of the crop, baby, ‘Fore you get here; You'll never need, no, Never need a girl like me, no You're looking for a queen, Between you and me; I see it Do your thing, Do your thing-- I'll always be watching, But now I'm not hungry, You're a fiend Believe me, It's easy; I know what you need My eyes are progressing to brown. Up from green, ‘cause I see you, (I see you, I see you) You don't need me, But I need you; I see you (I see you, I see you) So, Do your thing Do your thing Do your thing If that's what you need ‘Cause, that's what you need Find you a Queen; Be a King I believe it, I see. I'll just be here - Whenever, you never I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? Do you miss me? Do you miss me? Never been it (Never been it) But, now it's like Tag: You're it (youre it) You're it (You're it) You're it (you're it) Never been it (Never been it) Then, I got hit: “Ow!” Now it's like Tag: you're it (Youre it) You're it (You're it) (You're it) Never been it, But then, I got hit Now i'm it Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there You see, my dear; Love Left, And Love Lied And Love Lived, And Love Died, And Love, Time after time, Love stood by, And Stood By Love is, and Love was, And Love wil be, All of us, When all of us are One, Once One becomes None, It is said, It is done. ‘What do I have to do to get close to you?' All of a sudden, I was hornier than usual; hornier than I had been, anyway, and especially for the bus. My morning coffee seemed to have finished itself, and my daily routine become ritual, a one hour bus ride to the gym , though the trio itself each day seemed shorter and shorter. You live in my womb, To whomever this concerns— A discerning look, but truly no comfort, No love for the lover; A world full of wonder, and flurries And folk art— McFlurries and culture, You all are the fortunate ones, The fortunate ones. Yo. Yo. I have clocked in some serious hours in deadmau5. Yeah. Yeah. MORGAN. What, Sunni? What? WHERE ARE MY CLIPPERS? Um, your what? MY CLIPPERS, MORGAN! Like—hair clippers? NO! WHY WOULD I HAVE THOSE?! I don't know, I thought you had a barber— NO! LOOK AT THIS: [hands Morgan her phone] YOU BOUGHT A BASKETBALL TEAM. NOT JUST A BASKETBALL TEAM: THE CLIPPERS. What the fuck SO WHERE ARE THEY: THEY SHOULD BE HERE BY NOW! I made this PURCHASE SEVEN MINUTES AGO. Oh, Jesus Christ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

You just can't please a man He'll always love you— For something The, He'll always hate you. For something Cause man is never satisfied Man is never satisfied Man is never satisfied Man is never satisfiiiiied— —with love With love, love With love With love, love HIRO is once again running for his life from an unknown extra terrestrial humanoid species wielding now and arrows—after fighting them off, assuming they have annihilated the entirety of the troop, they turn to walk towards FARRO's bunker, when an arrow pierces through the back of HIRO'S shin; shocked and wounded, they looks over their shoulder shoulder, to see two Fuck, I need to eat and rewrite this scene. You were at the gym for 6 hours?! I guess I was at the gym for 6 hours?! I guess. What did you even do for 6 hours. Fuck. I don't know. Tater tots. UGH. Don't remind me. DONUT FRIEND—-! NOOOOOOOO. SPRINKLES CUPCAKES You want all the cupcakes Lb YES. All the cupcakes. I was trying not to stare, But uhidden under a mess of fantastically blue hair, He hid a familiar enough face that I felt my eyes smoke, and I had to wonder where he was going. fuck this is cool. That's crazy. I use deadmau5 for focus: Interesting. Yes. And apparently, he uses this—or just likes it—but honestly— THIS IS THE COOLEST THING IVE EVER HEARD. What are those two dipshits yapping about They're kids, not dipshits Kids are dipshits They're listening to that new Skrillex album Which one? They good one, or the other one? The other one. Gross. Dipshits. DISPATCHER 911, what's your emergency? Yes. Hello. Hello. What's your emergency. I'd like to report a crimes This is an emergency line, sir— It is an emergency. What's your emergency . Skrillex pooped in my ears for about 30 minutes. Uhh, excuse me— —and i would like that 30 minute of my life backs What's your emergency? This album sucks. (3rd movement$ Every morning, a coffee and water From cross the walk Doesn't matter whether I bought or bothered to acknowledge the la gauge barrier From cross the border Timeframe for and Roland Baseline from Malays noticias Hideoho Hey motherfucker! I'd give up my dream For any one of you three kings And honestly? I'd just sit sweetly, neat and weaving Do my best to suit your needs I'm just a needle In a haystack But the haystack Is made of needles Well, if you need me I guess I'll be here A residency Designed by evil. I didn't mean to Be so mean to you I mean, Things are exactly what they seem And you left me here Lol New York I saw a white baby on the bus: In the Bronx Yeah! First of all, this was the first white person I had seen in three days, since arriving to the Bronx But my first initial thought was “OH MY GOD. A WHITE BABY. ON THE BUS” You don't see that. I want a baby so bad it hurts my nuts. Figure that one out. Second hand touch l SICKO MODE - SKRILLEX REMIX …yeah, what happened to this guy? That guy died. Psh. He's dead. are we really gonna pretended like —-be careful. You be careful. Are we really gonna pretend like this guy didn't make some of the greatest music of all time, and just because he took 9 years to drop these two albums— —careful —you be careful— One of which was POOP WHAT IS THIS. “Don't Get Too Close” This is POOP. HE CONTROLS THE POLICE. Aexplain how Skrillex is Mr. nimbus. Sign this. You have a sick and twisted mind. You're not wrong. I like it. Look out for the blue eyed Porque pine -lol *porcupine What is this Is that like a Aww, it's cute Like a—robotic porcupine THIS ALBUM IS POOP *plays 2.5 seconds* Lollipop tellitunby sounding rapper: Blah blah l lawabnllaahha P00P ITS BETTERR THAN YOUR MUSIC. Uhh. It wouldn't be if I had like a gazillion dollars. Skrillex does not have a gazillion dollars. THE DEVIL Here's a gazillion dollars. SKRILLEX ok. ILLUMINATI here's a gazillion dollars. SKRILLEX ok. WHAT. HE HAS TWOGAZILLION DOLLARA?! Dude he's got like a bazillion dollars. Ooh. WhT. Lol it's hilarious mh Google speaks Skrillex. a bazirr0n dorearsa. 0ohz. (The z is silent) The X is always silent in skrillex. #SKRIRREX Being Sunni Blū SUNNI BLU has a NEW YORK ACCENT Okay, repeat after me: Ok. “I got lost at the mall” I got— No. I got LOST— I GOT LOST AT THE MALL —AT TH —NO. [later] At the studio l: Sunni BLU (perfect New York accent) Sorry. I got lost as the mall! Where you from? Why. You from Brooklyn? You're from Brooklyn. I can tell. Yes. It workedzz. I'm gonna hurt you I don't wanna be like cardi b Livin in the Bronx but it ain't mei just wanna be your shorty I just wanna tell my story Steely Dan Outside the stadium The unfamiliar feel of snow flurries on my nose caused me to c it oouaoy lowee my glasses, dark and covering the tears in my eyes and shielding me from whatever deceitful demons who might gaze their haunting stares into my soul lol. Boofing at barmitzvas That is a good band name FESTIVAL STYLE HOUSE DJ — EDM- TECHNO-TECH HOUSE- DUBSTEP New to New York from LA, multi-tunic female DJ , multi instrumentalist, and lyricist, vocalist & musician looking to graduate from the bar/restaurant scene to the club/festival circuit. I play house, techno, tech-house, dubstep—progressive house, new wave, alternative, rock intelligent rap/hip hop, trance, psychedelic // club & festival music—beat for parties, clubs & festivals, open to birthdayas, bar mitzvahs, weddings, house warming—if you're looking to dance, turn up, and get lit: I'm your DJ. Custom and curated mixes and playlists by requests, looking for new networking opportunities and experiences. It is romantic When it snows in Manhattan; But When it rains in The Bronx, I wanna throw up THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE: VIDEO GAME >>Trashcan Dumpster Hobo Scavenger Peasant Slave Influencer Investor Entertainer >>> Employer (Slave Owner w/ 10+ Employees) Landlord CFO CEO Ambassador Diety Fallen Descendant ??? Ascended Magician Alchemist Creator Genius God To start the game, you must die. There are several various ways to enter “DEATH” upon starting the game; Each death will result in a separate possibility and ability to affect the outcome and mode of the game. Accidental Death will result in lowest ability gained Homocide Results in medium-level power upgrade/ability Suicide and mode of suicide will result in highest award of capabilities to begin the game Pick Up Items for RP, XP & Bonuses; Items like supplies, clothing, or other necessary items will provide player “PP” or Personality Points; Other items such as gems, crystals, stickers, may be collected as trophies, or used as currency and/or grant KP, or Karma Points; Items such as Vintage Furniture or Records, Artifacts, Art, Vinyl Records, Hats, Sunglasses, or Rare Pants/T-Shirts will gain Player additional points towards leveling toward ascension status Collect songs— pair them by ear (by key or beat matching for extra points — remix, cover, remaster, or sample tracks for extra RP, XP, EP, PP, and LP. Create Original Songs and content to open portals, Music + Time + Travel Forward/Backward by learning to use magical elements to manipulate musical energy Earn Star Power by completing missions in Hollywood Area of Map Gather Tools & Needed Supplies around map Increase Fitness, Stamina, Charisma by becoming more attractive; Running, Gym Routines, Dancing, Marshal Arts, and Surfing (after West Side of Map Opens) Rave Weapons Rave Weapons are earned through completing various missions, series of mini games, tasks, and treasure hunts within the map as it becomes available to the player. Once Instant Manifestation has been acquired, the player must use The Mastery of Cosmic Alchemy to level up each individual rave weapon. Synesthetic Telekinesis Energy Manipulation Time Weaving// Time Traveling// Time Bending Multidimensional Vision “dreamgirl” A surreal and daunting recurring dream becomes a living nightmare scenario, when the mysterious woman from his dream world turns up in his waking life. After a chaotic merry-go-round of “coincidences” in which the man continues to run into the woman from his dreams throughout his day to to day activities, I'm just-- Trapped in this body A nobody In-N-Out, Out of Body, But I already forgot about it I already forgot about it; I'm Just-- Punching the clock, Might purchase a glock, Just to pick myself off; I think about it often- Every time I take my bra off; Caught, Two toddler brawlin, Saw the whole future this morning Through two brown eyes, And about 5 white liars, conspiring to kill me I'm Nobody, in a bathing suit Under a 4/3/2 4-3-2-1 Here comes the train, Jump on: and, Jump off, When you start going fast enough to jump And fall right to sleep I'm just-- Another slave, in a bathing suit; Jesus saves, But he's being a crazy lady Lazy Suzi, (or, Sami, actually) Sits, but not peacefully She's living my dream, yeah Somebody's dream girl, and i'm just Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even No, i'm not the same All I got from my mom was My name, All My shame, And the need to be famous I'm just, Wasting my time, Being a slave, Cause I don't get paid to write I'm not black, I'm not white, I'm not gray, but hey “Hey!” Thank you for saving me I might survive. Got a couple more good years left in your baby Couple more good years, playing the field Got a couple good years left, for the best Get the cream of the crop, baby, ‘Fore you get here; You'll never need, no, Never need a girl like me, no You're looking for a queen, Between you and me; I see it Do your thing, Do your thing-- I'll always be watching, But now I'm not hungry, You're a fiend Believe me, It's easy; I know what you need My eyes are progressing to brown. Up from green, ‘cause I see you, (I see you, I see you) You don't need me, But I need you; I see you (I see you, I see you) So, Do your thing Do your thing Do your thing If that's what you need ‘Cause, that's what you need Find you a Queen; Be a King I believe it, I see. I'll just be here - Whenever, you never I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? Do you miss me? Do you miss me? Never been it (Never been it) But, now it's like Tag: You're it (youre it) You're it (You're it) You're it (you're it) Never been it (Never been it) Then, I got hit: “Ow!” Now it's like Tag: you're it (Youre it) You're it (You're it) (You're it) Never been it, But then, I got hit Now i'm it Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there You see, my dear; Love Left, And Love Lied And Love Lived, And Love Died, And Love, Time after time, Love stood by, And Stood By Love is, and Love was, And Love wil be, All of us, When all of us are One, Once One becomes None, It is said, It is done. ‘What do I have to do to get close to you?' All of a sudden, I was hornier than usual; hornier than I had been, anyway, and especially for the bus. My morning coffee seemed to have finished itself, and my daily routine become ritual, a one hour bus ride to the gym , though the trio itself each day seemed shorter and shorter. You live in my womb, To whomever this concerns— A discerning look, but truly no comfort, No love for the lover; A world full of wonder, and flurries And folk art— McFlurries and culture, You all are the fortunate ones, The fortunate ones. Yo. Yo. I have clocked in some serious hours in deadmau5. Yeah. Yeah. MORGAN. What, Sunni? What? WHERE ARE MY CLIPPERS? Um, your what? MY CLIPPERS, MORGAN! Like—hair clippers? NO! WHY WOULD I HAVE THOSE?! I don't know, I thought you had a barber— NO! LOOK AT THIS: [hands Morgan her phone] YOU BOUGHT A BASKETBALL TEAM. NOT JUST A BASKETBALL TEAM: THE CLIPPERS. What the fuck SO WHERE ARE THEY: THEY SHOULD BE HERE BY NOW! I made this PURCHASE SEVEN MINUTES AGO. Oh, Jesus Christ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE: VIDEO GAME >>Trashcan Dumpster Hobo Scavenger Peasant Slave Influencer Investor Entertainer >>> Employer (Slave Owner w/ 10+ Employees) Landlord CFO CEO Ambassador Diety Fallen Descendant ??? Ascended Magician Alchemist Creator Genius God To start the game, you must die. There are several various ways to enter “DEATH” upon starting the game; Each death will result in a separate possibility and ability to affect the outcome and mode of the game. Accidental Death will result in lowest ability gained Homocide Results in medium-level power upgrade/ability Suicide and mode of suicide will result in highest award of capabilities to begin the game Pick Up Items for RP, XP & Bonuses; Items like supplies, clothing, or other necessary items will provide player “PP” or Personality Points; Other items such as gems, crystals, stickers, may be collected as trophies, or used as currency and/or grant KP, or Karma Points; Items such as Vintage Furniture or Records, Artifacts, Art, Vinyl Records, Hats, Sunglasses, or Rare Pants/T-Shirts will gain Player additional points towards leveling toward ascension status Collect songs— pair them by ear (by key or beat matching for extra points — remix, cover, remaster, or sample tracks for extra RP, XP, EP, PP, and LP. Create Original Songs and content to open portals, Music + Time + Travel Forward/Backward by learning to use magical elements to manipulate musical energy Earn Star Power by completing missions in Hollywood Area of Map Gather Tools & Needed Supplies around map Increase Fitness, Stamina, Charisma by becoming more attractive; Running, Gym Routines, Dancing, Marshal Arts, and Surfing (after West Side of Map Opens) Rave Weapons Rave Weapons are earned through completing various missions, series of mini games, tasks, and treasure hunts within the map as it becomes available to the player. Once Instant Manifestation has been acquired, the player must use The Mastery of Cosmic Alchemy to level up each individual rave weapon. Synesthetic Telekinesis Energy Manipulation Time Weaving// Time Traveling// Time Bending Multidimensional Vision “dreamgirl” A surreal and daunting recurring dream becomes a living nightmare scenario, when the mysterious woman from his dream world turns up in his waking life. After a chaotic merry-go-round of “coincidences” in which the man continues to run into the woman from his dreams throughout his day to to day activities, I'm just-- Trapped in this body A nobody In-N-Out, Out of Body, But I already forgot about it I already forgot about it; I'm Just-- Punching the clock, Might purchase a glock, Just to pick myself off; I think about it often- Every time I take my bra off; Caught, Two toddler brawlin, Saw the whole future this morning Through two brown eyes, And about 5 white liars, conspiring to kill me I'm Nobody, in a bathing suit Under a 4/3/2 4-3-2-1 Here comes the train, Jump on: and, Jump off, When you start going fast enough to jump And fall right to sleep I'm just-- Another slave, in a bathing suit; Jesus saves, But he's being a crazy lady Lazy Suzi, (or, Sami, actually) Sits, but not peacefully She's living my dream, yeah Somebody's dream girl, and i'm just Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even No, i'm not the same All I got from my mom was My name, All My shame, And the need to be famous I'm just, Wasting my time, Being a slave, Cause I don't get paid to write I'm not black, I'm not white, I'm not gray, but hey “Hey!” Thank you for saving me I might survive. Got a couple more good years left in your baby Couple more good years, playing the field Got a couple good years left, for the best Get the cream of the crop, baby, ‘Fore you get here; You'll never need, no, Never need a girl like me, no You're looking for a queen, Between you and me; I see it Do your thing, Do your thing-- I'll always be watching, But now I'm not hungry, You're a fiend Believe me, It's easy; I know what you need My eyes are progressing to brown. Up from green, ‘cause I see you, (I see you, I see you) You don't need me, But I need you; I see you (I see you, I see you) So, Do your thing Do your thing Do your thing If that's what you need ‘Cause, that's what you need Find you a Queen; Be a King I believe it, I see. I'll just be here - Whenever, you never I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? Do you miss me? Do you miss me? Never been it (Never been it) But, now it's like Tag: You're it (youre it) You're it (You're it) You're it (you're it) Never been it (Never been it) Then, I got hit: “Ow!” Now it's like Tag: you're it (Youre it) You're it (You're it) (You're it) Never been it, But then, I got hit Now i'm it Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there You see, my dear; Love Left, And Love Lied And Love Lived, And Love Died, And Love, Time after time, Love stood by, And Stood By Love is, and Love was, And Love wil be, All of us, When all of us are One, Once One becomes None, It is said, It is done. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE: VIDEO GAME >>Trashcan Dumpster Hobo Scavenger Peasant Slave Influencer Investor Entertainer >>> Employer (Slave Owner w/ 10+ Employees) Landlord CFO CEO Ambassador Diety Fallen Descendant ??? Ascended Magician Alchemist Creator Genius God To start the game, you must die. There are several various ways to enter “DEATH” upon starting the game; Each death will result in a separate possibility and ability to affect the outcome and mode of the game. Accidental Death will result in lowest ability gained Homocide Results in medium-level power upgrade/ability Suicide and mode of suicide will result in highest award of capabilities to begin the game Pick Up Items for RP, XP & Bonuses; Items like supplies, clothing, or other necessary items will provide player “PP” or Personality Points; Other items such as gems, crystals, stickers, may be collected as trophies, or used as currency and/or grant KP, or Karma Points; Items such as Vintage Furniture or Records, Artifacts, Art, Vinyl Records, Hats, Sunglasses, or Rare Pants/T-Shirts will gain Player additional points towards leveling toward ascension status Collect songs— pair them by ear (by key or beat matching for extra points — remix, cover, remaster, or sample tracks for extra RP, XP, EP, PP, and LP. Create Original Songs and content to open portals, Music + Time + Travel Forward/Backward by learning to use magical elements to manipulate musical energy Earn Star Power by completing missions in Hollywood Area of Map Gather Tools & Needed Supplies around map Increase Fitness, Stamina, Charisma by becoming more attractive; Running, Gym Routines, Dancing, Marshal Arts, and Surfing (after West Side of Map Opens) Rave Weapons Rave Weapons are earned through completing various missions, series of mini games, tasks, and treasure hunts within the map as it becomes available to the player. Once Instant Manifestation has been acquired, the player must use The Mastery of Cosmic Alchemy to level up each individual rave weapon. Synesthetic Telekinesis Energy Manipulation Time Weaving// Time Traveling// Time Bending Multidimensional Vision “dreamgirl” A surreal and daunting recurring dream becomes a living nightmare scenario, when the mysterious woman from his dream world turns up in his waking life. After a chaotic merry-go-round of “coincidences” in which the man continues to run into the woman from his dreams throughout his day to to day activities, I'm just-- Trapped in this body A nobody In-N-Out, Out of Body, But I already forgot about it I already forgot about it; I'm Just-- Punching the clock, Might purchase a glock, Just to pick myself off; I think about it often- Every time I take my bra off; Caught, Two toddler brawlin, Saw the whole future this morning Through two brown eyes, And about 5 white liars, conspiring to kill me I'm Nobody, in a bathing suit Under a 4/3/2 4-3-2-1 Here comes the train, Jump on: and, Jump off, When you start going fast enough to jump And fall right to sleep I'm just-- Another slave, in a bathing suit; Jesus saves, But he's being a crazy lady Lazy Suzi, (or, Sami, actually) Sits, but not peacefully She's living my dream, yeah Somebody's dream girl, and i'm just Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even Barely Alive, Barely Breathing, Barely Human, Maybe, Not even No, i'm not the same All I got from my mom was My name, All My shame, And the need to be famous I'm just, Wasting my time, Being a slave, Cause I don't get paid to write I'm not black, I'm not white, I'm not gray, but hey “Hey!” Thank you for saving me I might survive. Got a couple more good years left in your baby Couple more good years, playing the field Got a couple good years left, for the best Get the cream of the crop, baby, ‘Fore you get here; You'll never need, no, Never need a girl like me, no You're looking for a queen, Between you and me; I see it Do your thing, Do your thing-- I'll always be watching, But now I'm not hungry, You're a fiend Believe me, It's easy; I know what you need My eyes are progressing to brown. Up from green, ‘cause I see you, (I see you, I see you) You don't need me, But I need you; I see you (I see you, I see you) So, Do your thing Do your thing Do your thing If that's what you need ‘Cause, that's what you need Find you a Queen; Be a King I believe it, I see. I'll just be here - Whenever, you never I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? Do you miss me? Do you miss me? Never been it (Never been it) But, now it's like Tag: You're it (youre it) You're it (You're it) You're it (you're it) Never been it (Never been it) Then, I got hit: “Ow!” Now it's like Tag: you're it (Youre it) You're it (You're it) (You're it) Never been it, But then, I got hit Now i'm it Are you with me? Are you with me? Are you in it? Are you in (it)? I don't do enough I don't care enough I don't know enough I don't really care I don't see enough I don't dream enough I'll never be enough I'm not really there You see, my dear; Love Left, And Love Lied And Love Lived, And Love Died, And Love, Time after time, Love stood by, And Stood By Love is, and Love was, And Love wil be, All of us, When all of us are One, Once One becomes None, It is said, It is done. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Barely Breathing was published as part of the short story collection After the Flood, which was released by CCLaP in 2014. The collection represents Part Three of the linked short story collection UPSTATE re-released in 2020 by Tortoise Books (and originally released under the title The New York Stories by CCLaP in 2015). Barely Breathing is read by Tim Walikis (BIO below). INTRO/OUTRO music is Drinking of Me and was generously provided by Monkey Wrench. READER BIO Tim Walikis aka [OMIT], Timo, Slick Wilson, etc…is an artist, sculptor, musician, and Art Dept. Scenic artist for films. Member of local 829. He has exhibited his art in New York and California. Tim has played guitar bass and sang in multiple bands in New York and California. He has been in the Buffalo band Monkey Wrench since 1989. Tim is from Upstate NY, but has lived in San Diego, Los Angeles, Lake Tahoe and Buffalo. https://www.tanzerben.com/blog/upstate-the-podcast

In this episode of Music Therapy we talk with Duncan Sheik!   You might remember Duncan Sheik's 1996 chart topping hit “Barely Breathing.” That song racked up 55 consecutive weeks on the Billboard Hot 100 and earned him a Grammy Award® nomination for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance. In the years since, Sheik has been celebrated for his work in musical theater, including the groundbreaking success of Spring Awakening, which won eight Tony Awards and a Grammy and is also the subject of the just released HBO Documentary - ‘Spring Awakening: Those You've Known.'  Duncan talks about his newest album "Claptrap",  Buddhism, going through a mid-life crisis, his experience working as a musical artist in New York City, and his personal definition of success, all on this week's episode of Music Therapy! Songs featured in episode: "Barely Breathing", "There's No Telling", "Requiescat", and "Maybe" by Duncan Sheik.    Visit musictherapypodcast.com for show notes, past episodes, and upcoming events! Music Therapy Podcast Credits:  Music Therapy is hosted by Jessica Risker, produced by Sullivan Davis of Local Universe, and engineered by Joshua Wentz in Chicago.     

Breath, the science of breath, the essential knowledge of all success stories that survive to be told.

Email: audioofftheshelf@gmail.com. Instagram: @audioofftheshelf Twitter: @AOTS204 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/audioofftheshelf Sonic Youth. “Youth Against Facism.” Dirty. DGC. 1992. CD. LP. Hepcat. “Bobby & Joe.” Scientific. Better Youth Organization, 1996. Vinyl. LP. Dead Kennedys. “Pull My Strings.” Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death. Alternative Tentacles Records, 1987. Vinyl. LP. Biafra, Jello. “Names for Bands (New Improved Version).” No More Cocoons. Alternative Tentacles Records, 1987/1992. CD. LP. Hold Steady, The. “Stay Positive.” Stay Positive. Vagrant Records, 2008. CD. LP. Hold Steady, The. “Barely Breathing.” Heaven Is Whenever. Vagrant/Rough Trade Records, 2010/2020. Vinyl. 2xLP Youth of Today. “Youth Crew.” Can't Close My Eyes. Revelation Records, 1997. CD. LP. Cole, Holly. “On the Street Where You Live.” Blame it on my Youth. Capitol Records, 1991. CD. LP. Naked Aggression. “Bitter Youth.” Bitter Youth. Broken Rekids, 1993. CD. LP. Copyright Disclaimer under Section 107 of the copyright act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favour of fair use.

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Marc is outnumbered as he goes toe-to-toe against not just Seth but also very special guest Patrick who brought this song to our doorstep like the Barely Breathing carcass of a rodent left by a proud cat. The name of that carcass is Walk On The Ocean by Toad The Wet Sprocket.... a strange name for a rodent, we agree. Much to Marc's chagrin, the writer of the lyrics agrees that the song is hogwash. Still, Marc forges ahead. Who wins in your heart? Special Guest: Patrick Norris.

Quizmasters Lee and Marc are joined by Kenya for a general knowledge trivia quiz with topics including Weird State Laws, Space Travel, TV Theme Songs, African Geography, Astronomy, Sports Terms and more! Round One WEIRD STATE LAWS - Which state has their cheese regulated by state law to be "fine, highly pleasing and free from undesirable flavors and odors"? SPACE - In 2012, SpaceX sent the first commercial spacecraft named after what mythical animal to rendezvous and dock with the International Space Station? TV SHOW THEMES - "Having an Average Weekend" by the Canadian band Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet, is the theme song for what ensemble comedic television series, whose first season debuted in 1988 and sixth season debuted in 2022? CARS - Known as the Inspire in Japan, what midsize car model debuted in the U.S. market in 1976 and whose name is synonymous with "harmony"? AFRICAN GEOGRAPHY - The Horn of Africa, the fourth largest peninsula in the world, is comprised of four countries; name three of them. PRIDE FLAGS - In the LGBT community, what sexual identity is represented by a magenta, yellow, and cyan flag? Round Two CHEMICAL ELEMENTS - What poisonous chemical element, used in pesticides, herbicides and insecticides, has the atomic number 33? COMPOSERS - Which Grammy Award-winning singer-songwriter, known for his 1996 debut hit song "Barely Breathing", won two Tony Awards for the Broadway musical Spring Awakening? POP MUSIC - What is the mononym of the original singer-songwriter of "Brand New Key", which she shares with the first names of Scarlett O'Hara's sister-in-law/best friend friend in Gone With the Wind, the late female lead-singer of Euro-Dance duo La Bouche, and the actress who was nominated for 1988's Working Girl? AUTOMOBILES - In 1996, what became the first minivan to be named Motor Trend Magazine's Car of the Year? ASTRONOMY - What type of star is formed when the core of a massive supergiant collapses (resulting in a celestial object that has a mass greater than our sun) and inspired the name of a Nickelodeon cartoon character? The highest mountain on the African continent is Mount Kilimanjaro, with an elevation of 19,341 feet. With an elevation of 17,057 feet, what is the second highest mountain in Africa? Rate My Question BALLPARKS - Which Major League Baseball team was the last to install lights in their ballpark? Final Questions U.S. PRESIDENTS - Eight U.S. Presidents have died in office. Seven have been victim to the so-called 20-year curse, where every U.S. president elected in a year ending in -0 between 1840 and 1960 have died in office. Who is the only U.S. President to have died in office who was not elected in a year ending in -0, serving only sixteen months from 1849-1850? This former military leader was taken out by an intestinal ailment after consuming raw cherries and iced milk after the fourth of July? REGIONAL U.S. FOODS - Which U.S. state is known for its official "nosh" chislic, deep-fried cubes of seasoned red meat on toothpicks served with hot sauce, ranch or Lawry's Seasoned Salt? SPORTS TERMS - Mashie, niblick and jigger are antiquated terms from what sport? Upcoming LIVE Know Nonsense Trivia Challenges June 8th, 2022 - Know Nonsense Challenge - Point Ybel Brewing Co. - 7:30 pm EDT June 9th, 2022 - Know Nonsense Trivia Challenge - Ollie's Pub Records and Beer - 7:30 pm EDT You can find out more information about that and all of our live events online at KnowNonsenseTrivia.com All of the Know Nonsense events are free to play and you can win prizes after every round. Thank you Thanks to our supporters on Patreon. Thank you, Quizdaddies – Gil, Tim, Tommy, Adam, Brandon Thank you, Team Captains – Kristin & Fletcher, Aaron, Matthew, David Holbrook, Mo, Lydia, Rick G, Skyler Thank you, Proverbial Lightkeepers – Elyse, Kaitlynn, Frank, Trent, Nina, Justin, Katie, Ryan, Robb, Captain Nick, Grant, Ian, Tim Gomez, Rachael, Moo, Rikki, Nabeel, Jon Lewis, Adam, Lisa, Spencer, Luc, Hank, Manu, Justin P., Cooper, Sarah, Karly, Lucas Thank you, Rumplesnailtskins – Mike J., Mike C., Efren, Steven, Kenya, Dallas, Issa, Paige, Allison, Kevin & Sara, Alex, Mike K., Loren, MJ, HBomb, Aaron, Laurel, FoxenV, Sarah, Edsicalz, Megan, brandon, Chris, Alec, Sai, Nathan, Tim If you'd like to support the podcast and gain access to bonus content, please visit http://theknowno.com and click "Support." Special Guest: Kenya Zarns.

[Barely Breathing.] S Ū P ∆ C Я E E.™ travels though the infinite inter dimensions of the Multiverse with Gerald, The Bampheramphs, Ascended Masters, Motherf*ckers, Monsters & Sprites & ... Rain on an old roof. I love that sound. “Who wrote barely breathing?” (I'll tell you. ) DJ Shit ] “DJ Khalid—!” “I told you!” Gerald [A Magic Piñata] and S Ū P ∆ Я E E.™ a magical human who has just unlocked her superpowers, travel through time and space in search for answers Battle of the fandoms “Yes, how do you change your height on Google?l More Of Just The Same. Hunter Key: places I remember the memory we once made; He got old and I watched him wither away, wither away If you get old, (I know you won't) But if you did, I'd wither away, Wither away Spend all of my days, taking care and Watching you wither away Wither away Wither away All the mistakes we've made Alley? I think that's her name— Now slither away, slither away I said to the snake; I won't watch you wither away Sounds I love: Puppy feet running on the pavement Dillon's in the wind: Mix/ Key: dust in the wind Love you, anyway You don't have to love me, I'll always love you, anyway You don't have to love me, trust me I'm to fucking ugly, But believe me, baby baby babe— I'll always love you, anyway EXT. RUNYON CANYON, HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA I came here in a dream, when I was three. KETCHIKAN, ALASKA, 1996 Mommy, I need sticky tack. What?! For what?! I don't know. And I didn't know then... Hey! Sticky tack! But I know now. I GOT THE HEART! [2021] ...finally. ---So, what are you gonna do? What are you gonna do? What do I do?! I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say Gerald: Are you God? I ∆M. Oh...wow. Thanks! ...Huh? Gerald: That's...that's all you want? Is just...another pinata? Gerald: Just...for me. I'll make you a pinata. Gerald: Wait...you will? Yes, of course! Gerald: What! NO WAY. YAS. I'M CRAFTY! OH MY GOODNESS. Who is this? I love him. Oh my God. He...is Gerald. “THE DILLON FRANCIS SHOW” HECHO EN MEXICO is it? Why wouldn't it be? I...don't understand. He's been afflicted. Clearly. My goodness. Is he conscious? In which dimension? Any of them? Is he dead? No, not really? What...the fuck? What is this?! Don't look up. It's mista steal your girl: I need you— —yeah you do— To cheat on me. I have no words. That's four. I don't give a FICK. Well FIUHCK. That's creative. So's this: Spanish Dillon Francis. [laughs infinitely.] Okay. That's… can his voice be like, 3 octaves lower than his actual speaking voice? Yes. Okay good. Lol. Lol. Lololol.

After the death of her 5-year-old daughter Lydia in a car accident, there was a period of time when Daphne Greer felt so much guilt she could not even look at herself in the mirror.  In this second part of our interview, she talks about working through that guilt with God's help, dealing with the holidays, and developing a habit of gratitude.  Click HERE to visit Daphne's website, "Grieving Gumdrops".   You can also connect with her on Facebook by clicking HERE, and you can purchase her book "Barely Breathing - 10 Secrets to Surviving the Loss of Your Child" by clicking HERE. To learn more about the While We're Waiting ministry and the free retreats we offer for bereaved parents, click HERE.  

"Spunky and vibrant" are the words Lydia's mom, Daphne Greer, uses to describe her.   She loved shopping, going to concerts, and creating art.   Life changed in the blink of an eye in the summer of 2008 when a car accident took 5-year-old Lydia to Heaven, leaving Daphne riddled with guilt and feeling as though her life was over.   Over time, as God began to mend her broken heart, she wrote a book titled "Barely Breathing - 10 Secrets to Surviving the Loss of Your Child", and we discuss that in our conversation today.  Today's episode includes Lydia's story and the first four "secrets" in her book.  Be sure to come back next week for the conclusion of our conversation.  Click HERE to visit Daphne's website, "Grieving Gumdrops".   You can also connect with her on Facebook by clicking HERE, and you can purchase her book "Barely Breathing - 10 Secrets to Surviving the Loss of Your Child" by clicking HERE.  To learn more about the While We're Waiting ministry and the free retreats we offer for bereaved parents, click HERE.  

Game and Adventure Path by Paizo Publishing- www.paizo.com Background music provided by Syrinscape - https://www.syrinscape.com/ Additonal Background music provided by Tabletop Audio - http://tabletopaudio.com Theme music by Angelo Di Loreto - https://angelodiloreto.com/ Visit us at www.thecrackeddiepodcast.com or email us at show@thecrackeddiepodcast.com Please consider supporting us on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/crackeddiepodcast Grab a shirt to support the cast https://teespring.com/stores/thecrackeddiepodcast Ask us a question for a future episode: https://forms.gle/83xmbYCnwAjeVA5y9

You decide which is the best one hit wonder from 1990s. Today the battle is between Breakfast at Tiffany's and Barely Breathing. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Well, it's going right down to the wire! Charlton are still in with a chance of the playoffs after beating Lincoln 3-1 on Tuesday. Browny and Benjy are back to recap the win and the draw at Accrington, discuss the Chuks Aneke conundrum, and recall a very special occasion when Browny went in goal at Aston Villa. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

By some miracle, Sheffield Wednesday are still hanging on for dear life in the Championship, but that could all change over the next week. Let's discuss that, the news and more!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Abby Fenwick, a talented dancer who is classically trained, as well as a TikTok creator who is willing to be herself!! We discuss the darker side of TikTok comments, dancing as a sport vs just dancing for views, as well as why Shirley Temples are the best drink! Definitely keep up with Abby on her TikTok @Fenwickal as well as her Instagram to follow her journey and maybe learn a thing or two about dance! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

Baby. Back. Biiiitch. We descend into the first of our final 3 characters with Blaine Anderson, a.k.a. Blaine Warbler. For part three, we discuss season 5 and 6 of Blaine's journey as he heads for NY and then back to Lima again on the way to his ultimate goals. At the end, we take all of Blaine's featured songs and reveal the final rankings based on voting from both hosts as well as anyone who participated in the song surveys! For part three, you'll hear #20-1 of Kurt's song rankings.   The 68 songs up for discussion in the rankings are: Solos: 2x18: Somewhere Only We Know 2x20: I’m Not Gonna Teach Your BF 3x01: It’s Not Unusual 3x02: Something’s Coming 3x04: Last Friday Night 3x11: Wanna Be Starting Something 3x14: Cough Syrup 3x15: Fighter 3x16: You Should Be Dancing 3x17: It’s Not Right But It’s Okay 4x01: It’s Time 4x03: Everybody Wants to Rule the World 4x04: Teenage Dream 4x05: Hopelessly Devoted To You 4x06: Beauty School Dropout 4x07: My Dark Side 4x13: Don’t Stop Me Now 4x17: Against All Odd (Take a Look at Me Now) 5x01: All You Need Is Love 5x06: Piano Man 5x07: You’re My Best Friend 5x15: Not While I’m Around 5x20: All of Me Duets: 2x10: Baby It’s Cold Outside (with Kurt) 2x14: Don’t You Want Me (with Rachel) 2x15: Animal (with Kurt) 2x16: Candles (with Kurt) 3x05: Tonight (with Rachel) 3x05: One Hand, One Heart (with Rachel) 3x07: Perfect (with Kurt) 3x09: Extraordinary Merry Christmas (with Rachel) 3x09: Let It Snow (with Kurt) 3x15: Hungry Like the Wolf/Rio (with Cooper) 3x15: Somebody That I Used to Know (with Cooper) 4x02: Boys/Boyfriend (with Artie) 4x04: Barely Breathing (with Finn) 4x07: Heroes (with Sam) 4x10: White Christmas (with Kurt) 4x14: Just Can’t Get Enough (with Blaine) 4x15: Shout (with Brittany) 4x15: Come What May (with Brittany) 4x16: I Still Believe/Super Bass (with Sue) 4x17: Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go (with Sam) 4x22: All or Nothing (with Marley) 5x01: Got To Get You Into My Life (with Kurt) 5x01: Help (with Sam) 5x06: Movin’ Out (with Sam) 5x11: More Than a Feeling (with Tina) 5x14: You Make Me Feel So Young (with Kurt) 5x14: Best Day of My Life (with Sam) 5x15: Broadway Baby (with Rachel) 5x17: Love is a Battlefield (with Kurt) 5x18: Story of My Life (with Kurt) 5x18: Piece of My Heart (with June) 5x20: No Time At All (with June) 5x20: American Boy (with Kurt) 6x01: Suddenly Seymour (with Rachel) 6x03: It’s Too Late (with Kurt) 6x07: Somebody Loves You (with Kurt) 6x13: Daydream Believer (with Kurt) Group Features: 2x06: Teenage Dream 2x09: Hey Soul Sister 2x11: Bills, Bills, Bills 2x12: When I Get You Alone 2x12: Silly Love Songs 2x16: Misery 2x16: Raise Your Glass 3x08: Control 3x11: Bad 3x13: Love Shack 5x02: Hey Jude 5x11: I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For Follow us on Twitter: @choirroompod E-mail us! Feedback, ideas, fact-checks, anything! choirroompodcast@gmail.com Want to help financially support the show? paypal.me/choirroompodcast

Baby. Back. Biiiitch. We descend into the first of our final 3 characters with Blaine Anderson, a.k.a. Blaine Warbler. For part two, we talk through Blaine's time at McKinley in season 3 and 4, as he and Kurt reach some epic highs and crushing lows. At the end, we take all of Blaine's featured songs and reveal the final rankings based on voting from both hosts as well as anyone who participated in the song surveys! For part two, you'll hear #44-21 of Kurt's song rankings.   The 68 songs up for discussion in the rankings are: Solos: 2x18: Somewhere Only We Know 2x20: I’m Not Gonna Teach Your BF 3x01: It’s Not Unusual 3x02: Something’s Coming 3x04: Last Friday Night 3x11: Wanna Be Starting Something 3x14: Cough Syrup 3x15: Fighter 3x16: You Should Be Dancing 3x17: It’s Not Right But It’s Okay 4x01: It’s Time 4x03: Everybody Wants to Rule the World 4x04: Teenage Dream 4x05: Hopelessly Devoted To You 4x06: Beauty School Dropout 4x07: My Dark Side 4x13: Don’t Stop Me Now 4x17: Against All Odd (Take a Look at Me Now) 5x01: All You Need Is Love 5x06: Piano Man 5x07: You’re My Best Friend 5x15: Not While I’m Around 5x20: All of Me Duets: 2x10: Baby It’s Cold Outside (with Kurt) 2x14: Don’t You Want Me (with Rachel) 2x15: Animal (with Kurt) 2x16: Candles (with Kurt) 3x05: Tonight (with Rachel) 3x05: One Hand, One Heart (with Rachel) 3x07: Perfect (with Kurt) 3x09: Extraordinary Merry Christmas (with Rachel) 3x09: Let It Snow (with Kurt) 3x15: Hungry Like the Wolf/Rio (with Cooper) 3x15: Somebody That I Used to Know (with Cooper) 4x02: Boys/Boyfriend (with Artie) 4x04: Barely Breathing (with Finn) 4x07: Heroes (with Sam) 4x10: White Christmas (with Kurt) 4x14: Just Can’t Get Enough (with Blaine) 4x15: Shout (with Brittany) 4x15: Come What May (with Brittany) 4x16: I Still Believe/Super Bass (with Sue) 4x17: Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go (with Sam) 4x22: All or Nothing (with Marley) 5x01: Got To Get You Into My Life (with Kurt) 5x01: Help (with Sam) 5x06: Movin’ Out (with Sam) 5x11: More Than a Feeling (with Tina) 5x14: You Make Me Feel So Young (with Kurt) 5x14: Best Day of My Life (with Sam) 5x15: Broadway Baby (with Rachel) 5x17: Love is a Battlefield (with Kurt) 5x18: Story of My Life (with Kurt) 5x18: Piece of My Heart (with June) 5x20: No Time At All (with June) 5x20: American Boy (with Kurt) 6x01: Suddenly Seymour (with Rachel) 6x03: It’s Too Late (with Kurt) 6x07: Somebody Loves You (with Kurt) 6x13: Daydream Believer (with Kurt) Group Features: 2x06: Teenage Dream 2x09: Hey Soul Sister 2x11: Bills, Bills, Bills 2x12: When I Get You Alone 2x12: Silly Love Songs 2x16: Misery 2x16: Raise Your Glass 3x08: Control 3x11: Bad 3x13: Love Shack 5x02: Hey Jude 5x11: I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For Follow us on Twitter: @choirroompod E-mail us! Feedback, ideas, fact-checks, anything! choirroompodcast@gmail.com Want to help financially support the show? paypal.me/choirroompodcast

Baby. Back. Biiiitch. We descend into the first of our final 3 characters with Blaine Anderson, a.k.a. Blaine Warbler. For part one, we talk through only season 2 Blaine, which many might say is the best Blaine. At the end, we take all of Blaine's featured songs and reveal the final rankings based on voting from both hosts as well as anyone who participated in the song surveys! For part one, you'll hear #68-45 of Kurt's song rankings.   The 68 songs up for discussion in the rankings are: Solos: 2x18: Somewhere Only We Know 2x20: I’m Not Gonna Teach Your BF 3x01: It’s Not Unusual 3x02: Something’s Coming 3x04: Last Friday Night 3x11: Wanna Be Starting Something 3x14: Cough Syrup 3x15: Fighter 3x16: You Should Be Dancing 3x17: It’s Not Right But It’s Okay 4x01: It’s Time 4x03: Everybody Wants to Rule the World 4x04: Teenage Dream 4x05: Hopelessly Devoted To You 4x06: Beauty School Dropout 4x07: My Dark Side 4x13: Don’t Stop Me Now 4x17: Against All Odd (Take a Look at Me Now) 5x01: All You Need Is Love 5x06: Piano Man 5x07: You’re My Best Friend 5x15: Not While I’m Around 5x20: All of Me Duets: 2x10: Baby It’s Cold Outside (with Kurt) 2x14: Don’t You Want Me (with Rachel) 2x15: Animal (with Kurt) 2x16: Candles (with Kurt) 3x05: Tonight (with Rachel) 3x05: One Hand, One Heart (with Rachel) 3x07: Perfect (with Kurt) 3x09: Extraordinary Merry Christmas (with Rachel) 3x09: Let It Snow (with Kurt) 3x15: Hungry Like the Wolf/Rio (with Cooper) 3x15: Somebody That I Used to Know (with Cooper) 4x02: Boys/Boyfriend (with Artie) 4x04: Barely Breathing (with Finn) 4x07: Heroes (with Sam) 4x10: White Christmas (with Kurt) 4x14: Just Can’t Get Enough (with Blaine) 4x15: Shout (with Brittany) 4x15: Come What May (with Brittany) 4x16: I Still Believe/Super Bass (with Sue) 4x17: Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go (with Sam) 4x22: All or Nothing (with Marley) 5x01: Got To Get You Into My Life (with Kurt) 5x01: Help (with Sam) 5x06: Movin’ Out (with Sam) 5x11: More Than a Feeling (with Tina) 5x14: You Make Me Feel So Young (with Kurt) 5x14: Best Day of My Life (with Sam) 5x15: Broadway Baby (with Rachel) 5x17: Love is a Battlefield (with Kurt) 5x18: Story of My Life (with Kurt) 5x18: Piece of My Heart (with June) 5x20: No Time At All (with June) 5x20: American Boy (with Kurt) 6x01: Suddenly Seymour (with Rachel) 6x03: It’s Too Late (with Kurt) 6x07: Somebody Loves You (with Kurt) 6x13: Daydream Believer (with Kurt) Group Features: 2x06: Teenage Dream 2x09: Hey Soul Sister 2x11: Bills, Bills, Bills 2x12: When I Get You Alone 2x12: Silly Love Songs 2x16: Misery 2x16: Raise Your Glass 3x08: Control 3x11: Bad 3x13: Love Shack 5x02: Hey Jude 5x11: I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For Follow us on Twitter: @choirroompod E-mail us! Feedback, ideas, fact-checks, anything! choirroompodcast@gmail.com Want to help financially support the show? paypal.me/choirroompodcast

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by the incredible singer @Nataliejanesings !! This episode we cover what it is like to perform in front of huge crowds, being on American Idol, What making music is like, and much much more! Natalie Jane is also coming out with some new music so definitely keep up with her @Nataliejanesings on Instagram and TikTok! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

From his multi-Tony Award musical Spring Awakening to penning hit singles like "Barely Breathing", Duncan Sheik has experienced considerable success on multiple fronts as a songwriter. However, he says nothing is more important than making art that is, first and foremost, interesting to him. The marketplace will make its demands, but that all-too-often comes at a cost to the artist. On this episode of The Resistance, Duncan Sheik speaks about grappling with his identity as an artist in the face of it all. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Nick Garvey. A talented self-taught musician who can teach you how to do bird calls! This episode we cover how he started on TikTok, what discipline really means, and why dressing up makes any occasion that much better! To lean bird calling yourself and enjoy some amazing covers, head over to @Nickgarvey318 on TikTok, you might just pick up a new talent if you do! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined the incredible dance group @Urfavunnies !! This episode we cover how long it takes to learn these moves, how they found each other, and a lot of Kpop! Make sure to follow them @Urfavunnies on TikTok as well as on Youtube, we guarantee their moves will blow you away! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

Today we have Kolby Knickerbocker on the show. Shay & Kolby discuss his new EP Over and Over.  Kolby hails from Bend, Oregon in the United States where he creates incredibly soulful folk music filled with tributes to community, his family & his experiences. FOR RELEASE February 10, 2021 BEND, OREGON (January 25, 2021) - Kolby Knickerbocker announces the release of the single “Over and Over” on February 10. A modern take on the 50's doowop of Otis Redding and Ben King, the song is dedicated to his wife as a reminder that his love will not waiver. Mixed by Sean Moffitt (Mat Kearney, Josh Groban, Ingrid Michaelson), it's the title track off the upcoming mixed EP due out April 2. Commitment. Stability. Love. A testament that no matter how difficult it gets, no matter how strong the emotion, no matter the challenge, he'll always be there. That's the message Knickerbocker wanted to send to his wife in the song, “Over and Over.” To reinforce the message, he recorded 15 separate vocal parts to recreate a gospel choir effect. The result is intimate, raw, and powerful. Knickerbocker says, “This song is very special to me as I think of my daughter and son when I hear the lyrics. Knowing that they will one day feel the emotion that I have for their mother, my wife, and knowing that they will one day be able to really hear the dedication that we had as a couple is very personal and special to me.” While the title track is about coming back to love and relationship “Over and Over,” the EP's title has a double meaning behind it. The EP is a nod to Knickerbocker's feelings about being a musician. He says, “It can be draining, with long nights and lots of hard work, but I always come back to it because it is something that I love to do. It is endlessly challenging and endlessly fulfilling, so I will come back to writing songs and being a musician Over and Over, no matter how challenging.” About Kolby Knickerbocker Knickerbocker started his professional musical career early on, releasing his first album with Kitty's Musicbox (2004) as a sophomore in college. He has since released an additional full-length album Red Dust (2015) and two EPs, Rodello's Machine (2012) and Animus (2016). Nate Donnis who's received industry attention from the BBC's series “Skins” and the PBS series Roadtrip Nation, appeared on Rodello's Machine. Knickerbocker has received critical acclaim from industry tastemakers including Indie Shuffle and KCRW. His music has been featured in television shows like MTV's Degrassi High, 90210, Heart Signal, and Barely Breathing. https://youtu.be/MWCNThMW9Cw The lyric video to the second single of the Over and Over EP. Lyrics: Pray, God please help me live this day Bring peace and joy Let these memories stay And this I know, To love her always Mmmm… Pray, God please help me live this day Let beauty overwhelm me Take my breath away And when the years have gone Watching the setting sun May these memories Of her Stay beautiful Amen https://youtu.be/Qwsbwcra0ow The lyric video to the title track single, "Over and Over". Lyrics: It's been a long day It's been a long year It's been a long life And I'm still loving you Through mistakes and heartaches Through kisses and words unkind Through silent nights I'm still loving you Lay your head down Breathe in and breathe out Cause I will love you Over and over again Live, laugh, and love Lay your worries aside I will love you Over and over again There is nothing you could say Nothing you could do, to turn me away I will love you the best I can Over and over again Darling, you could leave me You could run for the hills I'll be waiting For you to come home I know your heart is wild And impossible to please So I'll be waiting For you to come home Lay your head down Breathe in and breathe out Cause I will love you Over and over again Live, laugh, and love Lay your worries aside I will love you Over and over again There is nothing you could say Nothing you c...

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Ben Coulter. An igloo builder extraordinaire, skier, hiker, and Alaskan! This episode we cover Alaskan stereotypes, how this ice house obsession started, and much more! To see his amazing polar habitats, make sure to follow him @nebben on TikTok as well as @bencoulterr on Instagram, who knows maybe you will become an igloo builder too, I hope you all enjoy! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by @eric.sierra. A young adventurer! When he's tearing up the running track for college, he is tearing up the slopes, skydiving, and jumping off cliffs all around the map! To see his amazing tricks and adventure make sure to follow him @eric.sierra on TikTok as well as on Instagram, this was a really cool episode, I hope you all enjoy! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

Our Quarterback now and forever, it's time to talk about Finn Hudson. For part 1, we discuss Finn in season 1 and 2. At the end, we take all of Finn's featured songs and reveal the final rankings based on voting from both hosts as well as anyone who participated in the song surveys! For part one, you'll hear #33-17 of Finn's song rankings.   The 33 songs up for discussion in the rankings are: Solos: 1x01: Can’t Fight This Feeling 1x10: I’ll Stand By You 1x10: You’re Having My Baby 1x14: Hello, I Love You 1x18: Jesse’s Girl 2x03: Losing My Religion 2x08: Just the Way You Are 2x11: She’s Not There 2x18: I’ve Gotta Be Me 3x07: Girls Just Want to Have Fun 3x16: More Than A Woman Duets: 1x07: No Air (with Rachel) 1x12: Smile (with Rachel) 1x15: Open Your Heart/Borderline (with Rachel) 1x16: A House is Not A Home (with Kurt) 1x21: Loser (with Puck) 1x22: Faithfully (with Rachel) 2x04: Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (with Rachel) 2x05: Dammit Janet (with Rachel) 2x10: Last Christmas (with Rachel) 2x19: I Don’t Want To Know (with Quinn) 2x22: Pretending (with Rachel) 3x06: Hit Me With Your Best Shot/One Way Or Another (with Santana) 3x09: Santa Claus is Coming to Town (with Puck) 3x11: I Just Can’t Stop Loving You (with Rachel) 3x18: The Rain in Spain (with Puck) 3x22: Glory Days (with Puck) 4x04: Barely Breathing (with Blaine) 4x05: Juke Box Hero (with Ryder) 4x16: Bye Bye Bye/I Want it That Way (with Will) 4x19: Fight For Your Right (to Party) (with Puck) Group Features: 1x18: One 3x21: Paradise by the Dashboard Light 4x14: We’ve Got Tonite Follow us on Twitter: @choirroompod E-mail us! Feedback, ideas, fact-checks, anything! choirroompodcast@gmail.com Want to help financially support the show? paypal.me/choirroompodcast

Our Quarterback now and forever, it's time to talk about Finn Hudson. For part 2, we discuss Finn in season 3 and 4, and beyond. At the end, we take all of Finn's featured songs and reveal the final rankings based on voting from both hosts as well as anyone who participated in the song surveys! For part two, you'll hear #16-1 of Finn's song rankings.   The 33 songs up for discussion in the rankings are: Solos: 1x01: Can’t Fight This Feeling 1x10: I’ll Stand By You 1x10: You’re Having My Baby 1x14: Hello, I Love You 1x18: Jesse’s Girl 2x03: Losing My Religion 2x08: Just the Way You Are 2x11: She’s Not There 2x18: I’ve Gotta Be Me 3x07: Girls Just Want to Have Fun 3x16: More Than A Woman Duets: 1x07: No Air (with Rachel) 1x12: Smile (with Rachel) 1x15: Open Your Heart/Borderline (with Rachel) 1x16: A House is Not A Home (with Kurt) 1x21: Loser (with Puck) 1x22: Faithfully (with Rachel) 2x04: Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (with Rachel) 2x05: Dammit Janet (with Rachel) 2x10: Last Christmas (with Rachel) 2x19: I Don’t Want To Know (with Quinn) 2x22: Pretending (with Rachel) 3x06: Hit Me With Your Best Shot/One Way Or Another (with Santana) 3x09: Santa Claus is Coming to Town (with Puck) 3x11: I Just Can’t Stop Loving You (with Rachel) 3x18: The Rain in Spain (with Puck) 3x22: Glory Days (with Puck) 4x04: Barely Breathing (with Blaine) 4x05: Juke Box Hero (with Ryder) 4x16: Bye Bye Bye/I Want it That Way (with Will) 4x19: Fight For Your Right (to Party) (with Puck) Group Features: 1x18: One 3x21: Paradise by the Dashboard Light 4x14: We’ve Got Tonite Follow us on Twitter: @choirroompod E-mail us! Feedback, ideas, fact-checks, anything! choirroompodcast@gmail.com Want to help financially support the show? paypal.me/choirroompodcast

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by @Winniepoohie. The Bear that dances her heart away! Together we talk about how this idea came to be, is she going to do a face reveal in the future, and how this rapid success has been! Make sure to keep up with them @Winniepoohie on TikTok as well as @Winniepoohiee on Instagram, this was such a fun and unique episode, I hope you all enjoy! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by @Duke.Gomez. The Italian man behind some of the best callouts! Together we how he started, why Tiktok can be the worst, and what the future brings, as well as judging Sanas TikToks! Make sure to keep up with them @Duke.Gomez on TikTok as well as @Dukegomez Instagram, this really was a lot of fun, and I hope you all enjoy! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by the talented siblings behind @Joshiiwuhh. They are an incredible team that creates skits based on your favorite shows! Together we discuss where their inspiration comes from, how their audience has grown over the years, and what the future has in store! Make sure to keep up with them @Joshiiwuhh on TikTok as well as @Joshiiwuh Instagram and YouTube, this really was a fun episode to film and I hope you all enjoy! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as Youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Jonathan, better known as @Yoyojoe_1. He has been a long-time fan and teacher in YouTube's yoyo community! Together we discuss anything and everything regarding competitive yoyoing, from how to score points, and make tricks to what competition is like, and how to pick/improve your Yoyo! Make sure to keep up with Jonathan @Yoyojoe_1 on TikTok and Instagram as well as on YouTube, this was the most Informative episode to date! Also, make sure to stop by Jonathan's yoyo store (yoyochampion.com/yoyojoe) to start your yoyo career! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Sasha Sloan, better known as @Kylosquash, she truly is a pioneer of expressing your fandoms, even going so far as creating an amazing company that allows you to decorate and dress like your favorite characters, called Archive Sunday. Also, she works on The House of Black TikTok series that is all about the sisters in Sirius Black's family in the HP universe. Together we discuss our favorite shows, how Sasha got into these endeavors and what the future holds! Make sure to keep up with Sasha on TikTok @Kylosquash, and on Instagram @Sashaesloan, this really was an amazing episode! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

Duncan Sheik is probably best-known for "Barely Breathing," the hit single from his self-titled 1996 debut album that went Gold, spent more than a year on the charts and earned the singer-songwriter a Grammy nomination. Beyond writing one of the most recognizable songs of the 20th century, Sheik has subsequently released a wealth of tremendous albums with a continually changing and ever-evolving sound. Along the way, he expanded his artistic scope to a career in composing — winning a Grammy and two Tony Awards for his work on Broadway. But long before he was writing world-renowned songs and entertaining audiences in two different musical mediums, Sheik was a kid in South Carolina playing hair metal covers in a talent show. Recently, Sheik spoke to My First Band host Tyler Maas about what he's working on now, his recently released Live at the Cafe Carlyle album and some especially notable moments from his long and accomplished career in music. Over the course of the hour-long discussion, Sheik opened up about his adolescent rock band, formative years writing and recording himself while attending boarding school, playing in the Brown University orchestra pit (and later playing in a band) with Lisa Loeb, the ups and downs that came with sudden mainstream notoriety, defying industry expectations, his unlikely path to musical theater and much more. My First Band is sponsored by Mystery Room Mastering and Lakefront Brewery. The show is edited by Jared Blohm. You can listen to My First Band on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and wherever else you get podcasts. You can also listen to rebroadcasts of previous My First Band episodes on WMSE every Wednesday from noon to 12:30 p.m. CST. Music used in this episode comes courtesy of Devils Teeth ("The Junction Street Eight Tigers") and Duncan Sheik ("Memento").

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Molly Wasserman, better known as @mollymollybot, an amazing TikTok dancer, influencer, and real-life Candace from Phineas and Ferb. Together we discuss the real rollercoaster she has in her back yard, being a ginger on TikTok, her plans to go to school in NYC and more! Make sure to keep up with Molly on TikTok @mollymollybot, and on Instagram @Molly.wasserman this truly is a great episode and I hope you all enjoy!! To keep up to date with the Barely Breathing podcast check out our Instagram @barelybreathingpod and out TikTok @barelybreathingpodcast as well as youtube and Twitter under the same name!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Jordan Flores aka @Yungblores, an amazing TikTok Creator that seems to just build different. His TikTok series talking about which animals he could take in a fight, and his goal to become an animal himself by doing 300 pushups a day build makes him one of the most unique creators on the app. Together we discussed why he left California for UMass, what Greek life has been like, and his plans for post covid, as well as much more! Make sure to follow Jordan on TikTok @Yungblores as well as on Instagram @Jordenblores! To keep up to date with Barely Breathing, follow us on Instagram and Twitter @barelybreathingpod and check us out on Youtube to see the action!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Bri Stuart, better known as @bstuartlittle, an amazing TikTok dancer, influencer, and self-proclaimed "girl just trying to get famous". Together we discuss what fame has been like, life in Connecticut, Craft verses Annie's mac and cheese, and much much more! Make sure to keep up with Bri on TikTok @bstuartlittle, Instagram @Briannaastuart, and youtube by searching Bri Stuart!! This truly is a fantastic episode and I hope you all enjoy!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Santiago, a huge TikTok creator with one of the coolest accounts on TikTok, and German Shepard Boy!! He creates unique and hilarious content!! Together we discuss how he got started with TikTok, what it has been like moving to the USA, and his love of Skateboarding as well as some "interesting" DMs he has received! Make sure to Keep up with Santiago on TikTok @santiago_armando and on Instagram @Santiago_armandoo also make sure to check out the German Shepard Boyz account too @the_german_shepardz fo more amazing content!!

Teh tarik aficionados, Azizah, Azmeer, Hazwani and Fazira as they make sense of how living in poverty during the pandemic truly is a test for those affected. As Malaysians, are we helping out enough? What are type of resources needed to pull one outside of the realm of poverty? And most importantly, can it be done? Join us as we discuss this issue with the effervescent Dr. Muhammed Abdul Khalid, Managing Director of DM Analytics Malaysia, as he gave his thoughts and opinions on the matter as well as what we could do, as Malaysians to play our part to reduce this overwhelming economic gap.

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by Kirstie Hosp, a fantastic spray paint artist, and creator of the Big Bang Banter podcast (a podcast analyzing each episode of The Big Bang Theory). Together we discuss the origin of her work, her love for Disney, and what the new year has to bring! Make sure to keep up with Kirstie on TikTok and Youtube @Onceuponanartist and join her Patreon to learn how to make this art yourself!! Also, check out Onceuponanartist.com to get yourself one of Kirstie's works of art!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by the founder of The German Shepard Boyz, and a reaction content master, who can trace his roots all the way back to musical.ly, Travis Orem!! Together we discuss how the German Shepard Boyz came to be, how he began making videos back in 2015, as well as what dog each of the crew is most like, and much more! Make sure to keep up with Travis on TikTok @Travis_tdog_orem as well as Instagram @Phantomtravis007 and make sure to follow @the_german_shephardz on TikTok to stay up to date on the amazing content these guys make!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by the TikTok brother with the most adorable sister, and a prolific member of The German Shepard boys, Tucker Ramage!! Together we discuss how life on TikTok has been, what the future has in store, as well as what it truly means to be a German Shepard Boy, and much more! Make sure to keep up with Tucker and his sister on TikTok as well as Instagram @Tucker.Ramage and make sure to follow the @the_german_shephardz on TikTok to see what this great group of guys has in store!!

On this episode of Barely Breathing, we are joined by TikTok's very own Tony Stark, Inventor, and real-life superhero Braden Smith! Together we discuss everything from the origin of his account, what TikTok fame has been like, as well as his creative process and what future projects are instore, and much more! make sure to follow him on TikTok @bradensmith02 and Youtube @BradenSmith, to keep up to date on his insane projects!!

Duncan Sheik’s career has not followed a straight line. After studying semiotics at Brown University, he emerged in the mid 1990s as a pop singer songwriter with his hit “Barely Breathing”, and quickly revealed himself to bend toward more literate adult oriented rock. He continued to make records and land himself on the charts but also began exploring composition for film and theater.  The success of 2006's Spring Awakening, a hit rock musical that featured Sheik’s score (and which won the Tony for Best Original Score as well as a Grammy for Best Musical Show Album) planted him firmly in the world of Broadway. He has continued to write for theater, often collaborating with poet and playwright Steven Sater.  Over the years he has explored electronic music, folk music, and enjoyed covering songs by his favorite writers, many of whom were influential to him as a boy.  His new record Live at the Cafe Carlyle, a small format live concert was recorded in the pre pandemic playground of the upper east side, back when people gathered together unmasked and unconcerned to experience something collectively. The record in many ways is an encapsulation of his career - it includes some of the most famous songs from his artist and composer lives, as well as some of his favorite songs by other songwriters.  We talked recently about his career, his songwriting, technology in music, how becoming a father has influenced his work, his life in Covid and what it means to release music in these strange and trying times, and what exactly is semiotics anyway.

Steve Cooper talks with musician Duncan Sheik. Duncan had a Top 20 hit with the song Barely Breathing from his 1996 eponymous debut. He had three more albums land on the Billboard 200 by the end of the next decade, including his fourth full-length, 2002's Daylight. After scoring his first feature-length film, 2004's A Home at the End his career turned toward Broadway with the success of 2006's Spring Awakening, a hit rock musical. It won him the Tony for Best Original Score as well as a Grammy for Best Musical Show Album, both with lyricist Steven Sater. He continued to juggle adult-alternative albums, film scores, and musical theater in the years to follow, issuing his eighth solo album, Legerdemain, in 2015 and moving his musical American Pyscho to Broadway in 2016. For that show, he served as composer, lyricist, and orchestrator. He reunited with Sater for Alice by Heart, a musical adaptation of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland that opened off-Broadway in 2019. He also just released the album Live at the Cafe Carlyle.  

Noel catches up again with Duncan Sheik, whose latest album, Live at the Cafe Carlyle, comes out December 4th. During this political environment, Duncan updated his hit song, Barely Breathing. The Grammy and Tony Award winner also breaks down some of my favorite songs of his. Duncan also talks the state of Broadway.

Another Cheetah's Johnny Yetsconish joins us to talk about possibly the greatest one hit wonder of all time? Barely Breathing by Duncan Sheik. Chris and Johnny discuss their long time love of the song and Chris gives us a behind the scenes story of how a Duncan Sheik deep cut inspired a Punchline song. If you like the show be sure to rate review and subscribe. Email us at onehitthunderpodcast@gmail.com Also follow us on our social media: Twitter: @1hitThunderPod Instagram: onehitthunderpodcast Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/OneHitThunder/ Visit punchlion.com for Punchline Tour Dates, News and Merch Find out more at https://one-hit-thunder.pinecast.co This podcast is powered by Pinecast.

En esta emisión: DJI anuncia nuevos sistemas cardán, Truepic está desarrollando un sistema para verificar la autenticidad de videos e imágenes, y Microsoft hace que los sistema de inteligencia artificial sean más útiles para las personas con discapacidades. En la música: Barely Breathing de Duncan Sheik, Dye It Red de [...] The post ByteTrax EP08 first appeared on DEFRAG.

We are 3 weeks deep into quarantine and the boys are going crazy. The Buffalo Sports scene is absolutely dead - so Sam and Ethan chat about how the NFL Draft will look in the coming weeks, staying up late for no reason, and their board game strategies. Tune in to make sure neither of them lose their minds.

Sorry about taking last week off but I think we can all agree, it's been a weird week for the world. The girls are back again talking through how their lives have changed since this new reality has set in as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. Hold on to your hats 'cause things get a little political lol. But there's a lot to catch up on since the girls' goals have shifted and their lives have moved home. They, of course, share the best advice they have for getting through this and speculate what may come next! Stay safe out there people!!!.Follow us on Instagram @lovemyselfpodcast and Twitter @lovemyselfpodEmail us lovemyselfpodcast@gmail.comwww.lovemyselfpodcast.com. ..Credit:"Severe Tire Damage" Kevin MacLeod

Gambling is all about highs and lows. Sometimes in the same week. After an amazing week last week we come CRASHING back down to Earth. Thankfully Russell MVP Wilson and the Seattle Seahawks saved us from losing everything.At one point we were down to our last bet but when you put a few units on things at +440 (Derrick's hot take) your bank account fills back up quickly. Also, Drew took advantage of a +700 line on Europa League Soccer and hit it for a whole bunch.NFL Action this week includes:SAINTS (-5.5) vs Tampa BayBUFFALO (-6) vs MaimiPATRIOTS (-3.5) vs PhiladelphiaCollege Football Action:AUBURN (+2.5) vs GeorgiaMISSISSIPPI ST (+18.5) vs AlabamaUSC (-6.5) vs CaliforniaParlays:DREW: TEXANS vs RAVENS O 50.5SAINTS vs TAMPA BAY O 50.5VIKINGS (-10.5) vs Denver +597DERRICK:ALABAMA (-18.5) vs Miss StLSU (-21) vs Ole MissOKLAHOMA (-10) vs Baylor+611BET THE HAUS:DREW - NYJ (+1.5) vs WASHINGTONDERRICK - COWBOYS (-4.5) vs DETRIOTHot Takes:Derrick's Hot Take: Bears (-5.5) vs LA RamsDrew's Hot Take: BEARS vs RAMS O 51.5

This is an episode review of Barely Breathing in season one of Roswell NM --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Tune into our Pure Fandom Podcast: ‘Space Cowboys’ Episode 16 as we break down episode 8 of season 1, "Barely Breathing". Tune in for breakdowns and details on: -Our INSANE Alex Manes theory (hint: it has something to do with that crazy flashback) -Why Liz and Michael need more scenes together -Who really could be behind Isobel's blackouts -How all of the bunkers and pieces of the crash could be connected -and more! What did you think of the episode? Comment below or hit us up on twitter @Pure_Fandom and tell us your thoughts! Listen to episodes 1-15 on iTunes, SoundCloud, and PureFandom.com. Watch 'Roswell, New Mexico' on The CW on Tuesdays at 9/8c.

This week we’re discussing episode 8 of Roswell New Mexico, “Barely Breathing.” We do a character by character recap, dig into why the cast of this show is so amazing, and share why we loved this show enough to make a podcast about it!   How did you like this episode? Email: crashdownchatter@gmail.com Twitter: crashdownchattr   Music Credit: District Four Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

Patrick Ehlers is back because fellow guest Jen Kleinrock and I want to make sure he has some exposure to Alex so that he can fall in love with him on both shows. We sort of get our wish as Patrick is exposed to OG Alex's bass-playing, ride-or-die-or-give-blood mentality, and hacker skillz. On the other hand, #RoswellNM Alex doesn't quite deliver the goods, but that could be our fault for laughing for a solid 3 minutes at Sgt. Manes' weak attempt to hide his secret lair rather than focusing on the beginning of Alex's confrontation storyline. Jen, Patrick and I also lament the mom stylings of Mrs. Evans and whether Noah could be any more attractive. (Ok, that last one may have been me in my head, but it was definitely happening)

Roswell New Mexico drama amped up as Isobel went into the POD?! Alex shows who the real man of the family is and we get some compassion from Michael. Watch Jim @thejimalexander, George @mrgeorgekhouri, and Zuri @zurichellece. #RoswellNM #RoswellNewMexico #CWRoswellNewMexico After a decade away from home, Liz Ortecho returns to her native Roswell to care for her ailing father. When she arrives, she reconnects with her high school crush Max Evans, who is now a police officer. Their chemistry is electric, but Liz soon learns something shocking: Max and his siblings are aliens who have kept their abilities secret their entire lives. As they grow closer, Liz struggles to keep the truth from her best friend Maria, and her high school ex, Dr. Kyle Valenti, but concealing the siblings' true identities is more important than ever, as a long-standing government conspiracy and the politics of fear and hatred threaten their lives. Follow us on http://www.Twitter.com/AfterBuzzTV "Like" Us on http://www.Facebook.com/AfterBuzzTV Buy Merch at http://shop.spreadshirt.com/AfterbuzzTV/ --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Tune into our Pure Fandom Podcast: ‘Space Cowboys’ Episode 16 as we break down episode 8 of season 1, "Barely Breathing". Tune in for breakdowns and details on: -Our INSANE Alex Manes theory (hint: it has something to do with that crazy flashback) -Why Liz and Michael need more scenes together -Who really could be behind Isobel's blackouts -How all of the bunkers and pieces of the crash could be connected -and more! What did you think of the episode? Comment below or hit us up on twitter @Pure_Fandom and tell us your thoughts! Listen to episodes 1-15 on iTunes, SoundCloud, and PureFandom.com. Watch 'Roswell, New Mexico' on The CW on Tuesdays at 9/8c.

Things are looking grim for the Indiana Hoosiers currently. After two straight home losses, the Hoosiers hit the road for a matchup at Minnesota. What Indiana team will show up? Josh and Eddie are joined by new HN contributor, Jackson Yeary.

Holland and Kelsey dicuss Season 13 Episodes 13&14 "Who Do You Think You Are" and "Barely Breathing." Maya makes a "scandalous" music video, Alli continues to make poor life decisions when it comes to Leo and Drew is worried about Dallas.

Holland and Kelsey dicuss Season 13 Episodes 13&14 "Who Do You Think You Are" and "Barely Breathing." Maya makes a "scandalous" music video, Alli continues to make poor life decisions when it comes to Leo and Drew is worried about Dallas.

Holland and Kelsey dicuss Season 13 Episodes 13&14 "Who Do You Think You Are" and "Barely Breathing." Maya makes a "scandalous" music video, Alli continues to make poor life decisions when it comes to Leo and Drew is worried about Dallas.

On this episode of Keeping It Positive. We have special guest Ida Mcqueen in. We talk about relaxation and so much more! Take a listen!! Thanks to our sponsors Fitness Xperts in Altamonte Fl. Leave us feedback or email us at Keepingitpositive3@gmail.com

The podcast contains details of abuse and near killing of people. There is also talk of alcohol and violence. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/underboss/support

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid. “ L .Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Courage is not just physical bravery. Hosts Brigitte Jia and Joven Hundal launch this episode by reading the chapter, The Gift of Courage by Afsana Rahman from the forthcoming book, Be the Star you Are! Millennials to Boomers Positive Voices in a Changing Digital World by Cynthia Brian. Afsana writes about the courage of speaking up about any injustice. We cannot stay in silence. Author Rebecca Donovan guests to share her passion for writing for teens to give them a voice. Her newest stand-alone novel is What If. What if you had a second chance to meet someone again? What choice would you make? Rebecca Donovan advocates for young people to be able to express themselves with courage. There are different types of courage, ranging from physical strength and endurance to mental stamina and innovation. Be courageous!

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid. “ L .Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Courage is not just physical bravery. Hosts Brigitte Jia and Joven Hundal launch this episode by reading the chapter, The Gift of Courage by Afsana Rahman from the forthcoming book, Be the Star you Are! Millennials to Boomers Positive Voices in a Changing Digital World by Cynthia Brian. Afsana writes about the courage of speaking up about any injustice. We cannot stay in silence. Author Rebecca Donovan guests to share her passion for writing for teens to give them a voice. Her newest stand-alone novel is What If. What if you had a second chance to meet someone again? What choice would you make? Rebecca Donovan advocates for young people to be able to express themselves with courage. There are different types of courage, ranging from physical strength and endurance to mental stamina and innovation. Be courageous!

I catch up with Grammy and Tony award winner Duncan Sheik, who tells me about his relationship with his hit, Barely Breathing, and the pressures of following up that hit. We talk about his very underrated Covers 80’s album, how he made each song his own and if he gotten any feedback from the artists he covered. Duncan headed to Broadway and wrote the music for the massive hit, Spring Awakening, and later American Psycho. He tells me the differences between writing for an album and for Broadway.

David McNitzky Preaching

David McNitzky Preaching

Duncan Sheik first made a name for himself in the mid-90s with the hit song, "Barely Breathing," and has since reinvented himself as a Broadway composer. He won two Tonys and a Grammy Award for music he composed for the smash Broadway hit, "Spring Awakening," and he also composed music for Broadway's "American Psycho." But when Sheik first started out, performing on stage made him very nervous and it wasn't until he was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism, which involves the practice of a form of mantra meditation, that he got over his fears.

Duncan Sheik is an American singer-songwriter and composer. He is known for his 1996 debut single "Barely Breathing", which earned him a Grammy Award nomination for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance. He has composed music for motion pictures and the Broadway stage, winning Tony Awards for Best Original Score and Best Orchestrations for his work on the 2006 musical Spring Awakening. Tune in and listen to Duncan talk about all things related to his pre-Broadway and Broadway career, including: How four guys in a van made him second guess the pop music world. Why his dislike for musicals made him want to write one. What he’d say to other popular artists who want to write for musical theater. What a Broadway musical should sound like. What to do when you hate your own show. Duncan ushered in a new era of music for Broadway with his score for Spring Awakening.  And in this podcast, you’ll hear just how he did it.   Keep up with me: @KenDavenportBway www.theproducersperspective.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Alive or Barely Breathing?

Rebecca Donovan is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the highly-acclaimed New Adult trilogy, The Breathing Series. Her novels include: Reason to Breathe, Barely Breathing, and the Out of Breath. Rebecca talks to Cynthia Brian about her first book, Reason to Breath, one girl's story of life-changing love, unspeakable cruelty, and her precarious grasp of hope. What are the two beverages that boost our brain power? A clue, one wakes you up and the other relaxes you. In Health Matters, Heather Brittany and Cynthia Brian talk about the two drinks that when consumed in moderation, keep you young and may prevent the onset of Alzheimer's disease. Is our privacy an illusion? With the race to the internet fueled by social networking posts and the data collected about us by the National Security Agency, our secrets may not be confidential anymore. Cynthia Brian investigates the price we pay protecting personal privacy. Photos, links, and more available at StarStyle Radio

Guys, It’s been a while, as Staind might say.  But we’re back in the Canoe for some fun with Drew Mayer!  Drew loves when animals do human things!  We drank some beer!  We talked a lot about gross things!  It … Continue reading →