Podcasts about cuh

Fáilte ar ais chuig eagrán nua de Ar An Lá Seo ar an 9ú lá de mí Bealtaine, liomsa Lauren Ní Loingsigh. I 1986 bhuail airí agus múinteoirí arís an mhaidin sin I gcóir uair na cinniúna cainteanna faoi mhargadh chun díospóireacht a shocrú. I 1997 cheap daoine nach raibh Sinn Féin chun a bheith ag na cainteanna leis na páirtí eile nuair a bhí siad chun tosú arís I mí an Mheithimh. I 2010 thosaigh an timeacht rothaíochta do charthanas le John Redfern I ndeisceart an chontae agus d'ardaigh siad 10 míle euro do CUH. D'fhág 65 duine baile Thiobraid Árann agus chuaigh siad chuig Na Ceanna Beaga I nDún Na nGall tríd lár an tír. I 2012 bhuail 55 mná ag an Meet and Train Group ar an chéad oíche. Tháinig siad le chéile ag an raon reatha agus bhí siad an sásta gur tháinig an méid is mó mná agus cheap siad ó é sin go mbeadh sé gach seachtain. Sin Falco le Rock Me Amadeus – an t-amhrán is mó ar an lá seo I 1986. Ag lean ar aghaidh le nuacht cheoil ar an lá seo I 1965 I rith turas ceol sa Bhreatain chan Bob Dylan I gcóir dhá oíche sa Royal Albert Hall. Bhí The Beatles go léir sa lucht féachana. I 1992 bhí Bruce Springsteen ar an teilifís don chéad uair I dTuaisceart Meiriceá ar Saturday Night Live le Tom Hanks. Agus ar deireadh breithlá daoine cáiliúla ar an lá seo rugadh aisteoir Noah Centineo I Meiriceá I 1996 agus rugadh amhránaí Billy Joel I Meiriceá ar an lá seo I 1949 agus seo chuid de a amhrán. Beidh mé ar ais libh an tseachtain seo chugainn le heagrán nua de Ar An Lá Seo. Welcome back to another edition of Ar An Lá Seo on the 9th of May, with me Lauren Ní Loingsigh 1986: Ministers and teachers met again this morning for what was to make or break talks on a draft deal to settle the long running schools dispute. 1997: Sinn Fein was unlikely to be at the multi-party talks when they were due to resume on June 3rd. 2012 – Getting the miles in as the Meet and Train Group at the Canon Hayes Recreation Centre Running Track attracted 55 Ladies on its very first night! The Ladies who came together at the Running Track were delighted that so many turned out and hoping for it to be a weekly event.  2010 - The first run of the charitable biking event with John Redfern of the South Tipp took place, raising 10,000 euro for Cork University Hospital. 65 bikes left Tipperary town and headed out to Killybegs in Donegal via the Midlands .  That was Falco with Rock Me Amadeus – the biggest song on this day in 1986. Onto music news on this day In 1965 During a UK tour Bob Dylan played the first of two sold out nights at London's Royal Albert Hall. All four members of The Beatles were in the audience. 1992 Bruce Springsteen made his North American network television debut on Saturday Night Live with host Tom Hanks. And finally celebrity birthdays on this day – actor Noah Centineo was born in America in 1996 and singer Billy Joel was born in America on this day in 1949 and this is one of his songs. I'll be back with you next week with another edition of Ar An Lá Seo.

Anna witnessed yesterday's car chase, throw back to Neil's interview with Richard Satchwell, Leslie Ann shares the heartbreaking story of the death of her daughter Abi in CUH.

PJ hears from listeners about the problems getting to, into and parking at the CUH which need to be sorted to do justice to a great hospital Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In the first game of a PacWest doubleheader, the Chaminade Silverswords softball team held off a furious rally from the Hawaii Pacific Sharks to win in extra innings and snap a 13-game losing streak. HPU pitcher Taylor Thompson (3-4) took the loss despite pitching 7+ innings and only allowing 2 earned runs. Ava Walker (1-4) earned the win for Chaminade, throwing 5.0 innings and striking out three batters for her first victory of the season. Swords 3B Miranda Diaz went 1-for-3 at the plate and drove in two runs for CUH while Desiree Bravo brought in the game-winning run with an RBI groundout in the top of the 8th inning. HPU SS Taryn Hirano went 4-for-5 at the plate, scoring a run and driving in another in the loss for the Sharks.

A consultant, whose car was stolen from Cork University Hospital, is appealing to people in Kerry to contact gardaí if they see the vehicle in this county. Dr Najam Iqbal is an emergency physician at CUH and previously worked in University Hospital Kerry. On Sunday, January 5th, his car was stolen from CUH's staff car park. His car is a silver Toyota Aqua, registration number 151 D 53153.

Dr Eoin Fogarty, Consultant in Emergency and Retrieval Medicine at CUH describes what the hospital has been looking life over the past few days.

PJ chats with Alice De La Coeur about the excitement at CUH as Santa visits and he even gets to talk to the big man himself! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh no, he's Skrillex. [Skrirrex] run awaaaayyyyyyyy! {Entet The Multiverse} Well, that was fun. Here's the deal, we're gonna give you a whole new look— a whole new Waaahh. Everything. I've been in new york two years and still haven't been to the brooklyn bridge ‘cause I don't want to fight the sudden urge to impulsively throw myself off of it. Notes: My first sketch: buffering. But I don't know how to pull off that little round thing in sketch form. I'm sure it can be done…somehow. Why are we writing sketches? Just trying something… different Two Pilot Scripts peloton arrival My general obsession with these curtains I am obsessed with these curtains George Carlin's magnificent body lol now when they slam the door there's a comforter under it so the mad stays outside. Dumb fucks. Whatever I lose respect at home wrecker. She seemed nice tho. That's how they operate. Man this judge gon forreal give this lil white girl 3 million dollars for doing some only fans shit for her boss— for free. I'm sorry ya'll, white folks really are lazy. They went and invented work from home, but you ever realize that was really only for the white people— all the white peoples have cushy stay at home jobs where all they do is zoom all day and they got all the ugly brown motherfuckers out here on mopeds delivering groceries and shit? You ever notice that? Please. You had better hope the judge in this case is not me, if you actually want to win this motherfucker. I would look at this case and go “Married man.. uh huh…two kids… uh huh— you thought you were in love—huh. Gave you a promotion. Uh huh. Screenshots. I see— and then you did what for him on a zoom call? Oh no, honey, huh uh. Case dismissed. You did wrong. You went and prayed on a married man, child! You know they are weak! You know this! How does that make the company owe you $3 million? HOW IS IT THE COMPANY'S FAULT THAT YOURE A HOE!? Huh uh. Take your dirty tennis shoe lazy instacarttttttt orderin ass eating-out-every-night BACK TO WORK!! And GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Slam that shit one more time, hoe! She's taking this homewrecker thing too seriously. When I said “you're a homewrecker” I didn't mean “Slam the door until It falls off”, I more meant How does being a hoe deserve you $3 million?! IT DONT. That's some shit! Can't trust these niggas— But you fo sho can't trust these hoes. I'm just sayin. We get the whole negro spiritual? The whooooole negro spiritual. Cause all this #metoo bullshit . You know any white judge in they white mind is gonna be all “This poor little victim.” Whatever! She ferocious! Got a snake and everything! Can't trust noooooobody. Nobody. NOBODY. My lawsuit legitimate. I got motorcycles all up and down the block all day and all night to the point where I'm starting to be just as ugly on the inside, as these motorcycle motherfuckers are on the outside— I got a twitch now— Pisses me off. I developed a tremor. It was just mind games at first, but now my body in jeopardy!? Kill yo self. Karma gon whoop yo ass now it's icy and shit. SSSSSTTTTH, That's the back of a truck on yo' engine revving weak dick ass. ——sssssssss—CUH. Outta here. Fucktards. And you know what!? I'm black. I'mma go to the judge with all these recordings And all these reports, And all these statements— And he's gonna look me up and down and go— “You know a lot of people would be lucky to have what you have.” That's what they say. That this bullshit is a stroke of “luck”. And it is. When it's quiet. But for the time being— When there's no motorcycles, There's a homewrecking Snake wrangling; Door slamming hoe next door— And she wants to be FRIENDS. So you know what: I'm a be her friend. For as long as I'm single. I fuck around and get a man? I'm ghost. I'm gone. Whatever. She finna get $3milliomnf For being a slimy old Snake ass Manipulative Husband stealing Hoe And move on up. Just as a reminder to us all That all you have to do to get away with murder Is be a little white girl. You take the high road, And I'll take the low road And I'll be a gettin there before yeeeeee. Ok. So the Irish weren't playing— The song literally say: You take the high road (The moral high ground) And I'll take the low road (The hoe road) Oh shit. I gotta keep reading this shit . I couldn't have made it up better myself. ANOTHER MAGICIAN! I told you magic had something to do with it. Oh, it's— Probably nothing; You know you don't like it When cold hard dependence Just knocks on your door When you're standing butt naked The front door was opened, You've been quite lethargic, And after all the trauma The Cold War is over It's dark, damp and crowded A laugh, not a gesture, A swallow, not a falcon A sparrow, not a letter A mistress?! Oh pardon, sire. A partridge, a harpist— A hard alcoholic, And no one knows what comes after. Ya are honest or what? What's up, faggots? I'm at church, for Christ sakes! It's my day off, and God Almighty and I are in a High stakes game, alright, Keep driving me crazy, keep driving the crime rate up, and in time you'll be behind bars, And out of my way. The Red Dawn has come upon And now the west has won, sequestered every equestrian Shit I lost it Just wait for it. Damn this blondie is awesome. Embezzeled every pedestrian? That might work… —that resembles It's so nice to meet you. I'll shoot you. What. Don't touch me, I'll shoot you. With what. Silver pistol, jacket pocket. Wow. It's nice to meet you, too. How did you get that in here? I walked in. Through security? I didn't go through security. The worst part about living in New York City, Is all the smartest people are concentrated— To the rich areas. The outskirts is just a bunch of dumb motherfuckers banging on shit, and in their small world, they're important. In their small world, they run shit. That's when I realized that in order to maintain a world where I'm important— And I run shit, I have to stay away, and above these dumb motherfuckers. I— —Ahem—whatever. It's time for some SMUT VEE.. That's a good nickname. Maaaan. How long's it gonna take me to write this show? Maybe forever. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz Have you ever started watching a video and thought, “I don't know if I can watch this” Because of the narrator's voice? By the way, If you can listen to those tik tok videos with robot AI captions, you should get yourself checked for a micro chip. You might be a robot. Anyway, Have you ever decided, Like, three seconds into the video that the dude's voice is just—so shitty that it might make the video shitty? No? Just me? {Enter The Multiverse} I nearly cleaned out the little free library after discovering that on the top shelf there were a slew of cookbooks, and more additions to the bottom. I hadn't been out in three days, but it seemed there was still some high level effort to theorize on how to go about siphoning my personal energy from inside of the apartment— I was still being followed. As I cleared the little library, dividing the take between my three bags, a blur of an ingrate human being passed from my right, explicitly and with purpose letting out a loud and obnoxious open-mouth cough— immediately, I coughed back, knowing that in time, the things I had been subjected to by these people would come back at them with roaring force—why not help along that karmic justice by paying it forward now, besides of course, the fact that I had for two more days been silent. ‘Disgusting fucking creatures.' And just with that, the opened-mouth coughing of a low-level gangstalker, I was proud that I had considered my purchase both urgent and imminent; there was no certain way to go about shutting myself away from the world besides doing it, and now with winter's chill gripping at the nose and fingertips, a cold wind whipping about and ice afoot, all the more reason to step aside and inside to resume creation—and the less time I spent on the street level with the roach and rat like people — much too far from the glittering and glamour filled luxe of Manhattan to be refined, well behaved, or mild mannered, they much emulated a lesser species by their habits and limitations. it was a frequency I strayed far away from, however— I had made it easy for them to stalk me on this particular morning, while although leaving for groceries at close to five or something of the like, and still being followed even then by the strange and shadowy type that at least stayed silent and kept great enough distance that it didn't bother too much, (besides the knowing that it never seemed seemed what time it actually was), that if I left my apartment at all, I would be followed; But, I had doubled back for the books after just by habit, though with a heavy load of groceries—baking goods and other heavy things I normally didn't buy, plus breakfast foods for the long haul, a self-initiated lockdown— and I knew that the later into the day it got, the more ‘sims' (a term I had deemed the robotic gangstalkers sent about remote controlled by their devices, whether they were doing it with intention or by force, or not.) They seemed at the disposal of the controllers, and while some of the sims were just weird, robotic drone-like people, many of them seemed dangerous—their frequencies almost creating such a friction that it seemed a disease to be in their presence. It had become clear that though docile and complacent, human beings had become weaponized by force, and the only thing keeping a revolution from emerging or a civil war from breaking out, was the intense divisiveness amongst people. People chose to remain as slaves, in utter complacency. I was skinnyish from running and awaiting the arrival of my Peloton, however. There was still 24 hours between now and then, the arrival of the beast and though I had spent the day before completely off grid, instead enjoying my now small library—though needing to be properly re-sorted, as collecting more literature had made a mess of things, (and though I had picked up a toy Hello Kitty Ukulele as wall decoration), I still somewhat refused to buy rugs or other practical decor or furniture, such as bookcases or even a bed. I was being stalked, followed and regularly tortured by sound and vibration interference— frequencies aimed directly into my abode, especially at times when I had wanted to rest, and though I could have avoided entirely at least some of these awful people by just leaving a little earlier, I then would have missed the all-too-beautiful reddened hues of the east coast sunrise; I had actually never seen such a ruby red light cast upon the Brooklyn brownstones, and although the people were sometimes ugly (the open-mouthed coughing ingrates, that is), the red and gold sunlight over the fallen leaves and east coast architecture almost made it worth it—and with any reckoning, my coughing back at the nasty little monster was a telltale sign that eventually, I'd either start beating the shit out of people when they coughed at me in public — or — I'd eventually craft a world without them in it by staking away from them, and taking long breaks from practicing behaviors and habits they exhibited. I no longer wanted to fit in, or become popular, or accepted, as I had finally realized that it was just as it always was, back in school: the popular people, even in music, “art”, and what was supposed to be “culture” weren't very bright—they were just brighter than enough of the people around them to get ahead by just enough whether by looks, money, or sometimes but rarely now, even, superior talent. They had been elected as representatives of the masses—the common man, the not-too-smart; the easily manipulated, and the docile. The superficial next generation was programmed to be limited to what had already happened; a stalemate in ingenuity, high art, and evolutionary consciousness in culture had been reached, as observed by dealings with the public world, as I studied their listening habits, social normalcies, and collective behaviors. The less time spent interacting with these ‘sims' and drones, the more in-depth my thoughts began to flourish—seeing in full color spectrums and patterns, acting and thinking in ways I was blessed to be abnormal in. I was no longer complacent in a world full of material greed and commercial competition, no longer feigning for mere objects that simply with decent credit anyone could go well into debt for—and most did. Instead, I would wear my same recycled clothes, keep to myself and my business, and craft from within some kind of masterpiece the world itself could no better inspire than I on my own. I was now the proud owner of a small library—and into my list of small but sacred prized possessions, two pilot television scripts from the era before which Television had deteriorated, in the onslaught of streaming culture; these two pilot scripts, neatly bracketed and crammed in between classic novels and cookbooks, were my happiest find since the treadmill, and of course— the Omega Juicer I still wasn't sure would ever work, but at least, watching the 11-year-old instruction video had given me a proper laugh, and besides not having the patience to further explore whether I had put it together incorrectly, or if it simply no longer operated, it was a device worth further considering spending time in order to try to make it work, before spending something awful on a machine of equal or lesser value. The treadmill had worked right away, and I was now clocking in segmented runs of about 4 miles a day— working my way up to seven, with the actual notion and belief that it was those Madonna-length runs which had manifested this apartment, and, that with the Peloton and those runs combined perhaps, if I were to stay in New York, an apartment in one of those tall shiny buildings in Manhattan would manifest itself—only second, of course, to a house in the Hollywood Hills. As for America, there was nowhere else I could I should be, I thought, and something strange had happened without my noticing—without any promotion whatsoever, I had garnered an unusually high amount of streams on I Love New York— surprisingly, with global response. I had gained followers and listeners in London, Germany, and Spain— top countries for dance music, and as I studied my metrics, I realized that the type of music I found easiest to make was performing the best; House and Techno snobs never changing, I had found a niché, and, another interesting point I had gathered was to find the Uptown A, without any promotion or live performance, was gaining traction and followers. Though minimal, without any effort, the numbers climbed all on their own. I found it astonishing that with no promotion at all, somehow, the album had circulated. Now I wished I had the focus and prayed for a way to finish the short film, or, collection or videos with a vague storyline which connected them together—however anyone wanted to see it, if they ever would. I was still largely out of storage space, and the phenomenon that the psychological terror attacks seemed to happen most frequently while online and even connected to my own private network, the more time I spent online the more time I spent under the blankets of honking horns, ravaged by motorcycles and modified engines, though—I found none of these people to be impressive or very powerful; their being counterproductive only alluded to the simple fact that it had become clear more people were born or made through neglect of some sort to be more useless than not— and so in effect, had to make use of themselves in other ways. I was almost trying to forge an alliance with the neighbor, but there was still some deepseated mistrust that probably had less to do with her race than her gender acclimations. I attempted not to judge, but it tormented me that anyone could knowingly sleep with a married man in exchange for a job and then expect 3 million for it was beyond me. Her unexpected visits and eagerness to see inside of my apartment was a discomfort, but to discover the likelihood of her induction to the wealthy— a millionaire status— angered me, but I was sure it was meant to, in that she herself was either some sort of plant, or a gangstalker who had been sent to gaslight in some sort of way— procuring information in one way or another or simply to plant seeds in my mind that hadn't needed to be there. It seemed she was in need of something—information, and that her motivations went beyond curiosity, however misjudged I might have been. Her actions seemed provocative and invasive, and however—the restlessness was already out of hand. I did my best to keep the peace, knowing all too well that a privalaged person made upset could be damaging and destructive. I had lived long enough to understand that, in fact, a cute little white girl could get her way with just about anything, using their ideal status and high regard as a tool of manipulation. I had no doubt that she would probably get her way— millions of dollars for doing nothing and being offended by it/- or even further, that it was all just an elaborate story crafted to further crank my brain, in addition to the motorcycles, the door slamming, and of course being followed to the gyms here-and-there and having had the entire year of living here being a nearly intolerably, noise filled nightmare. She had, after all, gone through wild and extraneous efforts to forage her way into being friends or something of the like, and, in my final attempt at being human, I thought to at the very least try to understand the idea of friendship, though probably having become forever unable to actually attain it. Friendship required trust, and, after hearing about her lawsuit, apparently for having had an extramarital affair with her married boss, with whom she “believed” was “in love with her”, it was perhaps the initial feeling of discomfort which had foundationally placed this person in the danger zone—that there was ‘just something' I couldn't trust about her—and I wondered as a future business owner how it might be the company's fault for her obvious moral defects. Further solidifying every reason to never pursue a married man, I pondered this; that in the modern practice of validating feminine toxicity and masquerading it as ‘justice' or ‘feminism' only further keeps women away as a whole from obtaining equality— on the moral high ground that one should not sleep with her boss, or should immediately report threatening behavior rather than to allow it in exchange for professional promotion, it only seems that the tactic of manipulation has to at some point come into play when indeed, over a period of time, one has gathered enough evidence to factor in a judgement that the company should compensate them. One should not be simply compensated for their willingness to display affection and exchanges of intimacy in a work environment if not reported at first concern; I was old enough to know better, so I figured certainly anyone given a few years in either direction should have a clear understanding of such. I had dealt numerouy with narcissists and manipulators all of my life, and it almost seemed an immediate red flag that she seemed to want so much to be friends, especially after having audibly reported me for various discrepancies—besides the obsurdity that she had decisively slammed doors as a means of getting attention. Perhaps it was some sort of sponsorship of sorts, indeed that she was a gangstalker herself and was being incentivized to act in such ways. For weeks, we had fallen into the habit of overendowment by way of gift exchange. Still, these were blurred lines; and I thought it best to be ‘friends' with a dangerous person rather than actual enemies. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and of course—keep it light, and simple, and on the surface. She might have known my line of work, but nothing else, and it seemed that I might actually have the advantage here— besides her being Caucasian, obviously of privelege and wealth and my being multiracial. I knew more about her than she did about me, and, under the suspicion alone that she was a plant, and with the confirmation of my theory that she had also been burning sage, (now having done so admittedly knowing that the other neighbors would suspect and report me), and the apparent falling out with the other neighbors over something I had neither asked, nor was interested about— perhaps the simple fact was, I distrusted her immediately just with the intrinsic sense that she was untrustworthy; the type of woman who would knowingly sleep with a married man, and worse— with the intention of monetary gain in mind. The type of woman you don't want around your husband, period. In that way, perhaps it was simply that I was traumatized, once having been severely cheated on and lied to by a serial cheater and later wifebeater, that it was impossible to not see myself as ‘the wife'. Though now happily divorced and not quite straying from single, though planning to somehow be married again even if it was in the style of Elizabeth Taylor or, Richard Pryor—or even Marilyn Monroe, just repeating the process in insanity, I realized, however impractically, that I enjoyed being married, and monogamous—and even if this did make me a simple and easy target for infidelity, I had learned something very simple and wholesome about myself; I was a good woman. And I enjoyed that. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

PJ talks to Gavin who says the CUH is chaotic and what it needs is a multi-storey carpark. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Having recycled 50,000 bottles so far one of the three Johnnies Johnny Collins chats to PJ telling him they have raised 7K for CUH charity. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Lisa speaks to Neil about her surgery abroad which left her with sepsis, a discussion on the state of the buses in Cork, and the 3 Johnnies – porters from the CUH – about their new fundraising scheme. Cork, it's time to talk, weekdays from 9am. The Neil Prendeville Show on Red FM.

Overcrowding and a lack of privacy at CUH - it's time to pack away those pods...Kate and her sister need help - they're managing but what if something happened...Camogie legend Anna Geary says the skort has to go & lots more Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Jerry who works in the CUH has in idea for cheering up Lauren, an EDS patient. Mail cards to Lauren Walsh 1B, Room 10, CUH, Wilton, Cork Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Neil continues to hear stories of people's experiences of CUH & the healthcare system, an update from yesterday's stroke patient Finbarr, and a chat with Dysphagia Chef Niamh Condon. Cork, it's time to talk, weekdays from 9am. The Neil Prendeville Show on Red FM.

Victor Shine from the Cork City Fire Brigade on yesterday's arson attacks in Cork City, a look into staffing & hygiene conditions in CUH, and Neil speaks to Finbarr who is currently in hospital recovering from a stroke. Cork, it's time to talk, weekdays from 9am. The Neil Prendeville Show on Red FM.

A highlight on the working conditions of cleaning staff in CUH, reaction to RTÉ Chair Siún Ní Raghallaigh's resignation, and Liz Dunphy reports on the 2 men charged in connection to a €33 million drug seizure. Cork, it's time to talk, weekdays from 9am. The Neil Prendeville Show on RedFM.

Jerry tells PJ his friend Lauren has been in CUH for 13 weeks & will be in over Christmas, she would love to receive some cards. LAUREN WALSH, WARD 1BCUHWILTONCORK Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Jackie from Friendly Calls says that they have had a very busy year making sure people who are lonely get a daily call.The current electricity credit isn't available to John, he's not happy being penalised for not using enough electricity. Lauren has spent the last 13 weeks in CUH & will be there for Christmas, her friend John is asking for people to send her a card & lots more Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

At just 15 years old, Aidan Burke professionally known as 'Burkie', hailing from Bandon, Ireland, is making waves as a hip-hop artist with a purpose.Burkie's music is deeply rooted in his personal experiences. In 2022 while his mother was in the ICU in CUH, the loss of a close friend to suicide inspired him to write this track.As a heartfelt tribute to the loss of his friend, Rían De Brún, "We Ain't Mad at Ya" was released on his 1st year anniversary.Recorded at M.5 sound studio with COCO, Burkie's music is a testament to his passion and dedication. Collaborating with N'D which added an emotional vocal hook, taking the song to the next level.Burkie and his father, David, shared their story on the Two Norries podcast, advocating for suicide prevention and mental health awareness. You can listen to the track here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3khhF39AUCwBurkie's Social Media @burkie_officialWhy not become a Patron of the Two Norries to help us help you and others?We're always happy to receive donations which all go towards bills, production costs, maintenance and everything else it takes to keep the podcast alive.Donations can be as little as €1 or as much as you can afford. To sign up simply visit: https://www.patreon.com/thetwonorries, thank you. Two Norries Podcast Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Mark came back to CUH to thank the doctors and nurses who saved his life.. This is fostering week - Anne says foster carers aren't getting the support they deserve.. Gumbleton. Is that the best Cork name ever? Can we find a Gumbleton to talk to & lots more Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

PJ talks to Cllr Ken O'Flynn about the impending closure with services being relocated to CUH. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Join Brian, Justin, Brett Weaver, and Bryce in the Green Room.  Unironically and ghostly good. Yeah, there's some spoilers for The Righteous Gemstones season 3. RIP to Paul Reubens. Bibbi Webbft! Wiwi Waahh! Brett got rear-ended. 25 years ago was actually 1998. Cuh dey bo Plus, Bryce talks about the snoozy Spa GP and rumors of more cost cap violations. World's Greatest Con season 3! Go! https://shows.acast.com/worlds-greatest-con LFG Marbles! https://marbles.win/ Get a bonus episode every week only at https://www.patreon.com/greatnight and enjoy the preshow and postshow in all the public feeds! Not watching the show? Follow us on YouTube to see all the goods! http://watchgreatnight.com Email us! GreatNightPod@gmail.com

Join Brian, Justin, Brett Weaver, and Bryce in the Green Room.  Unironically and ghostly good. Yeah, there's some spoilers for The Righteous Gemstones season 3. RIP to Paul Reubens. Bibbi Webbft! Wiwi Waahh! Brett got rear-ended. 25 years ago was actually 1998. Cuh dey bo Plus, Bryce talks about the snoozy Spa GP and rumors of more cost cap violations. World's Greatest Con season 3! Go! https://shows.acast.com/worlds-greatest-con LFG Marbles! https://marbles.win/ Get a bonus episode every week only at https://www.patreon.com/greatnight and enjoy the preshow and postshow in all the public feeds! Not watching the show? Follow us on YouTube to see all the goods! http://watchgreatnight.com Email us! GreatNightPod@gmail.com

Lisa tells Pj about the Teddy Bear picnic she held for the kids in CUH. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

PJ talks to Donal O'Keefe about the story of Ukrainian soldier Oleksandr Hrihorash who stepped on a landmine and is grateful to the CUH and the people of Fermoy Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

We got even more questions from IG and touched on the Target store drama and closed it with some cholo swag Cuh! Instagram; https://instagram.com/shadeofbrownpod?r=nametag Tiktok; https://www.tiktok.com/@shadeofbrownpod Use code (Shadeofbrown) for 10% off on Dubby Energy at https://www.dubby.gg Support, other platforms https://anchor.fm/shadeofbrown --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/shadeofbrown/support

We sat down with DFW Media that came down from DFW to chat with us on the pod and talked about his recent video shoots in Houston. On this podcast we talked about how he started 4-5 years ago recording on his phone, to recording for Junior H on tour, to now going all in on the truck scene. You will get to know more about his background and his thoughts on different aspects in life that he has encountered. Thank you for watching!

Caragh tells PJ and Elmarie the care her dad gets in the CUH and Marymount has helped him keep going since 2021 Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

PJ talks to Eimear Hallahan who is so grateful to staff in CUH and Crumlin who saved the life of her tot James who got sepsis. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Tadhg Daly, CEO Nursing Homes Ireland; Dr. Chris Luke, Former Consultant in Emergency Medicine at CUH and the Mercy University Hospital in Cork and the Royal Liverpool University Hospital.

He's Baaack!! Everyone's favorite light skinned ( other than Drake and J Cole) is back from his hyperbolic baby training! The boys get back to what they do best by rambling on a litany of things they have missed in Cuh's absence. Topics are but not limited to : Shia Lebouf's toxicity Transformers Beast Wars Nintendo Tournament Pull Out Street FIghter 6 Beta Tekken 8 and Baki da Grappla Black Panther Black Adam Guardian of Khandac The Scorpion King Gundam Free to Play and so much more Listen and learn Fuck around and Find out IT IS The Nerd Plate!!! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/nerd-plate/support

Aoife Hegarty and Leona Bermingham on the CUH incineration of baby organs, Neil chats with Kirby Kearns living in Qatar, and reaction to a woman's bad experience while out with her daughter. Tune into the Neil Prendeville Show weekdays from 9am on Cork's Red FM.

Episode 39: Redefining what is possible in Neuro-rehab with immersive digital therapeutics Our Guest: Angela Greene, Lead US Therapy Integration Manager at MindMaze speaks to us about how their solutions are redefining in a way that is not only accessible, affordable, and engaging for patients, but also seamlessly fits into physician workflows. In the News: ‘GABBY GIFFORDS WON'T BACK DOWN' (CNN) This new documentary tells the story of the former Arizona congresswoman who survived an assassination attempt in 2011 and became an activist for gun violence prevention. Giffords, whose speech was impaired by her injuries, also works to promote more understanding around the language condition aphasia. See cnn.com to learn how to watch. Taoiseach opens new stroke unit at Cork University Hospital. The new 24 hour service at CUH is expected to provide care for around 1,200 patients each year and will be available seven days a week. Show Credits: Music intro credit to Jake Dansereau, connect at JAKEEZo on Soundcloud @user-257386777.   Our intro welcome is the voice of Caroline Goggin, a stroke survivor and our first podcast guest! Please listen to her inspiring story on Episode 2 of the podcast. Thank you Caroline! Until next time, be sure to give the show a like and share, +follow and connect with us on social or contact us to be a sponsor or guest on the Know Stroke Podcast. Connect with Us and Share our Show on Social: Web: https://www.know-stroke.org Twitter: https://twitter.com/KnowStroke_Pod Facebook https://www.facebook.com/knowstrokeorg/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/knowstroke/ YouTube: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGTcGBT1dctRk7YQhLzBP-k_sQk6gY-Nt Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/company/knowstrokepodcast/

"Everybody around us got a payrise - why aren't we considered worthy?" - housekeepers at CUH are feeling hard done by...Calvin uses an e scooter - he didn't know they are illegal, but where he works there's no public transport and he can't drive...Is it too early for Christmas lights - absolutely not we say - bring it on & lots more Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Neil chats to CUH housekeeping staff on not getting a pay increase, Lord Mayor Deirdre Forde on the frightening incidents over the weekend, and callers on the passing of Vicky Phelan. Tune into the Neil Prendeville Show weekdays from 9am on Cork's RedFM.

Opposition is mounting to a merger between two Cork schools - students and their parents say they knew nothing until a few weeks ago... What dump do we go to - what incineration site - one Dads pain over the organ retention at CUH.. Fix the 226 - a public campaign has begun to sort out the bus to Kinsale & lots more Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This episode is brought to you by Cumo Bowman Productions featuring Alabama's own King South...... As we prepare for the live performance King South sits down with the HTG Crew to enlighten us about his life, talent, and future moves.......This one for the books King South definitely delivers a great interview CUH.......#podcast #podcasting #podcaster #podcastlife #podcastersofinstagram #podcastshow #newpodcast #podcastlove #blackpodcast #applepodcast #podcastinglife #podcasthost #comedypodcast #spotifypodcast #googlepodcasts #itunespodcast #podcastnetwork #podcastjunkie #musicpodcast #podcastsofinstagram #greenville #864 #Hennessy #jbp #youtube #blackpodcast

This week, your favorite Dumpster Boy is away, so Patrick, Jeremiah and special guest Kiki have the pink slip to Save Trash Cinema, so it's only fitting to live our podcast a quarter mile at a time and cover the 2001 cinema-shifting beginning of the saga, THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS.    Remeber: FIGHT BIG BOX OFFICE, SAVE TRASH CINEMA, CUH!

Lisa's husband Jamie was rushed to CUH from Bantry General for an urgent operation but spent 2 days waiting there with nothing happening. Lisa says staff are amazing but the system must change. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Baby Emma got a world first big transplant and is just fine so Helen is overjoyed. Lisa's husband has been in a "pod" in CUH for two days. Eurovision fans in Cork have started the party for Liverpool already. And more... Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Neil chats with Brian Warfield of The Wolfe Tones and many callers on the recent controversy surrounding the Women's Irish Soccer team. He also chats with Laura about an incident at CUH where she thought her father had passed away. Tune into the Neil Prendeville Show weekdays from 9am on Cork's Red FM.

PJ talks to Dr Chris Luke as Cork gets bad news on delays in CUH & Mercy Emergency Depts. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

NMAN: We first get a call from Nman's friend Bob Sweet, with quite a surprising reveal, but we also get to play EVERYONE'S FAVORITE GAME!Return Of The Chipmunks: Ed McMahon Chipmunk shows up as well as Chipmunk Kermit and even Chip and Morty! It's another classic Jim and Them moment.Fired From Wing Stop: First we have a few palette cleansers before we get to a man on a revenge mission for being fired from Wing Stop!AGE!, GRAVITY!, OUTER SPACE!, NATHAN FOR YOU!, FINDING FRANCES!, TV-MA!, CURSING!, ZOINK!, NMAN!, TWITCH!, SUBTEMBER!, BOO CREW 2022!, RUN DMC!, COPYRIGHT!, PATREON!, TOP 20!, STARCRUISER FOOTAGE!, THEME PARK JINGLE!, REAL ONES!, ZOINK!, SPIN THAT WHEEL!, WHEEL UNFORTUNATE!, SAFE!, JEFF!, NICKELBACK CAR RAP!, SHAVE YOUR EYEBROWS!, BOX OF SNAKES!, THEME SONG!, ALICE IN CHAINS!, COFFIN!, SHIRT!, HERE COMES THE MONEY!, BLINKATHON!, H-TOWN!, KENNY OMEGA!, VMAS!, LALISA!, MCA!, FREAKATHON!, WAYNE'S WORLD!, DRIVE THRU!, MELVIN!, CAST OF CHARACTERS!, HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT!, NEW CO-HOST!, STEREOTYPES!, TOPIC!, ANGLE!, PUNCHLINE!, STEREOTYPE!, ED MCMAHON!, CHIPMUNK!, CHIPMUNK KERMIT!, CHIP AND MORTY!, POWER HOUR!, MIXER!, SOUND EFFECTS!, HYPE TRAIN!, FELL ASLEEP!, AIN'T NEVER SCARED!, WOKE UP TOUGH!, BABY POWDER!, SMACK!, PUNCH!, WORD TO MY MOTHER!, WIDE AWAKE!, DOO DOO!, HANDLE!, CAR!, SHIT!, CUH!, CKY!, JACKASS!, PALETTE CLEANSERS!, BRUH!, PAGLIACCI!, FIRED FROM WING STOP!, B-DUBS!, ROACHES!, BUGS!, TIKTOK!, LIP SYNC!, FILTER!, VOICE!, T-DOOKIE!, BABY ROACHES!, VIBE WAS BAD!, LAWSUIT!, ACCIDENT!, FOLLOW THROUGH!, SAM KINISON!, STEALING PEOPLE'S MONEY!, BOB DYLAN!, DAN SCHNEIDER!You can find the videos from this episode at our Discord RIGHT HERE!

PJ and Fiona discuss an account from a listener of daily attacks while working in a hospital and Michelle Kingston from the CUH & INMO adds her voice to calls that this must end. Our GDPR privacy policy was updated on August 8, 2022. Visit acast.com/privacy for more information.

The TransMissions/Empire Of Rust special event continues! Cuh cuh CRITICAL HIT! The lipoles are gone and our heroes continue their trek through the debris field towards the ancient building. What horrors await our intrepid adventurers, and will Monty survive his curiosity? Tune in to find out! We want to hear your feedback! Post a comment here or email feedback for Empire Of Rust directly to rust@transmissionspodcast.com! Want some TransMissions swag? Check out our online shop, powered by TeePublic! Like what we’re doing and want to help make our podcast even better? If you already support us, thank you! Show Notes: Intro [0:00:00] Chapter 1 – Castle In The Sky [0:07:30] Chapter 2 – The Mouth Of Mortilus [0:15:32] Chapter 3 – Unnatural Darkness [0:26:05] Chapter 4 – The Devil’s Workshop [0:46:13] Closing [0:54:25] If you enjoy Empire of Rust, please rate us and subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Stitcher, and… Continue reading The post Empire Of Rust Special 09 – To Kill a Shrikebat appeared first on TransMissions Podcast Network.

The TransMissions/Empire Of Rust special event continues! Cuh cuh CRITICAL HIT! The lipoles are gone and our heroes continue their trek through the debris field towards the ancient building. What horrors await our intrepid adventurers, and will Monty survive his curiosity? Tune in to find out! We want to hear your feedback! Post a comment here or email feedback for Empire Of Rust directly to rust@transmissionspodcast.com! Want some TransMissions swag? Check out our online shop, powered by TeePublic! Like what we’re doing and want to help make our podcast even better? If you already support us, thank you! Show Notes: Intro [0:00:00] Chapter 1 – Castle In The Sky [0:07:30] Chapter 2 – The Mouth Of Mortilus [0:15:32] Chapter 3 – Unnatural Darkness [0:26:05] Chapter 4 – The Devil’s Workshop [0:46:13] Closing [0:54:25] If you enjoy Empire of Rust, please rate us and subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Stitcher, and… Continue reading The post Empire Of Rust Special 09 – To Kill a Shrikebat appeared first on TransMissions Podcast Network.

Dr Kenny found a lump, being diagnosed in Summer 2021, she had surgery going on to being taken care of by her colleagues in CUH. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Cork Singer/Songwriter Lyra Talks to Neil About Her Ever-Increasing Fame, A Night To Remember in the Emergency Department at CUH, and Neil Receives a TikTok Challenge. Tune into the Neil Prendeville Show weekdays from 9am on Cork's RedFM