Podcasts about diety

Nathan Raynor

Jak się odnaleźć pomiędzy własnymi uprzedzeniami a potrzebą miłosierdzia? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na V niedzielę Wielkiego Postu. Komentarz przetłumaczyła i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

co oznacza być prawdziwie blisko Boga i jak odnaleźć w Nim Ojca, a nie tylko surowego Pana? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica na IV niedzielę Wielkiego Postu, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego przez Elżbietę Wróbel! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Co to znaczy "wydać owoce" i co trzeba zrobić, żeby owocować? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na III niedzielę Wielkiego postu, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego przez Elżbietę Wróbel! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Are you in danger of believing in or embracing an inferior version of Jesus? Could the Jesus you affirm be a version of Jesus made in your own image? In this message Pastor Jeremy Writebol shows us three mistakes we can make in relating to and knowing Jesus. 

Na czym polega prawdziwa niewinność? Co nam pozwala wytrwać w trudnościach? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na II niedzielę Wielkiego Postu! Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Skoro pokusa nie omija nawet Syna Bożego, to może ma jakieś znaczenie dla naszego życia duchowego? Posłuchajcie komentarza do Ewangelii na I niedzielę Wielkiego Postu autorstwa o. Alvaro Grammatica. Komentarz przetłumaczyła i odczytała - jak zwykle - Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Dark Fantasy || (11) Death is a Savage Diety | Broadcast: January 30, 1942A tale of witchcraft and black magic, based on the novel by Scott Bishop. The system cue has been deleted. 18 years ago Delores' aunt Warnna was married to a wealthy man from Haiti but when he found out that she was planning to rid of him to inherit his wealth he made a will leaving all his money to the daughter of his best friend who happened to be Delores. The aunt was using her ancient jungle powers to kill all those around Delores but Warnna also had a spell cast upon her.: : : : :My other podcast channels include: MYSTERY x SUSPENSE -- DRAMA X THEATER -- COMEDY x FUNNY HA HA -- VARIETY X ARMED FORCES -- THE COMPLETE ORSON WELLES .Subscribing is free and you'll receive new post notifications. Also, if you have a moment, please give a 4-5 star rating and/or write a 1-2 sentence positive review on your preferred service -- that would help me a lot.Thank you for your support.https://otr.duane.media | Instagram @duane.otr#scifiradio #oldtimeradio #otr #radiotheater #radioclassics #bbcradio #raybradbury #twilightzone #horror #oldtimeradioclassics #classicradio #horrorclassics #xminusone #sciencefiction #duaneotr:::: :

Jak długo Ziemia będzie w stanie nas karmić. Czy można ufać dietetykom. Dlaczego marnujemy żywność i ile to nas kosztuje. O promocjach i sztuczkach marketingowych, które zmuszają nas do kupowania tego, czego nie potrzebujemy. O dietach, które są tylko dietami - i niczym więcej. O zabieraniu się za rzucanie mięsa. O daniach z owadów i o tym czy E zabija. O czytaniu i rozumieniu tego, co piszą na etykietach. I o tym, że czasem można zjeść gotowe danie z pobliskiego sklepu. A nawet kawałek czekolady. // Przemysław Kowalczewski // technolog żywności, dietetyk; Katedra Technologii Żywności Pochodzenia Roślinnego, Uniwersytet Przyrodniczy w Poznaniu -------- Wesprzyj nas, będzie nam miło i pomożesz tworzyć podcast: - abonament, czyli duża wdzięczność: www.patronite.pl/drugawersja - kawka w podziękowaniu za odcinek: www.buycoffee.to/drugawersja -------- My na www: www.drugawersja.pl  My na Spotify: https://spoti.fi/3MWjX9v My na fejsie: www.facebook.com/drugawersja My na YT: https://www.youtube.com/@podcast_poznanski My na insta: www.instagram.com/druga.wersja My na tiktoku: https://www.tiktok.com/@drugawersja

Można przeżyć życie wpatrując się wyłącznie w to, co jest powodem cierpienia i smutku. A jak to zmienić? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na VIII niedzielę zwykłą. Przetłumaczyła go dla nas i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Czy miłosierdzie komukolwiek się należy? A jeśli się należy, to z jakiego powodu? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na VII niedzielę zwykłą. Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

www.bartoszjaniszewski.pl

Can Buddhists become Freemasons? We'll answer that and other questions on the individualistic nature of Buddhist practice with WB Rev. Kanjin Cederman, a Buddhist priest and a Freemason, who embodies this unique blend of Eastern and Western traditions. He'll be sharing his insights on how these two paths can intertwine, the potential challenges and rewards of walking both, and the lessons they offer for finding common ground in a world often divided by belief.Show notes: Rev. Kanjin Cederman is the head minister of the Choeizan EnkyojiVisit the Craftsmen Online website to learn more about our next Reading Room event, New York Masonic History and our Masonic Education blog!Join us on Patreon. Start your FREE seven day trial to the Craftsmen Online Podcast and get instant access to our bonus content! Whether it's a one time donation or you become a Patreon Subscriber, we appreciate your support.Follow the Craftsmen Online Podcast on Spotify.Subscribe to the Craftsmen Online Podcast on Apple Podcasts.Follow Craftsmen Online on YouTube, hit subscribe and get notified the next time we go LIVE with a podcast recording!Yes, we're on Tik Tok and Instagram.Get our latest announcements and important updates in your inbox with the Craftsmen Online Newsletter.Email the host, RW Michael Arce! Yes, we will read your email and may even reach out to be a guest on a future episode.Sponsor offer: Don't forget to use the promo code CRAFTSMEN to receive free shipping with your first order from Bricks Masons!Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/craftsmen-online-podcast--4822031/support.

What do you do when you are curious about or don't understand something? Many will investigate and go deeper looking for answers. But some won't. What do you do? In this message, pastor Jeremy Writebol invites us to investigate the claims that Jesus makes about himself and consider who he is. 

Jesteście pewni, że wiecie, co to znaczy "łowić ludzi"? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica naV niedzielę zwykłą! Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Czy świętość zawsze musi odznaczać się nadzwyczajnością i cudownością? Czy trzeba się po nią wysoko wspinać? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na Święto Ofiarowania Pańskiego, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego dla nas przez Elżbietę Wróbel! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

A Dangerous ThursdayFirst a look at the events of the dayThen The Shadow starring Orson Welles and Agnes Moorehead, originally broadcast January 30, 1938, 87 years ago, The Poison Death.   A madman threatens to poison the entire city...and signs his threat...The Shadow!Followed by Dark Fantasy, originally broadcast January 30, 1942, 83 years ago, Death Is a Savage Diety.  A tale of witchcraft and black magic, based on the novel by Scott Bishop. Then This is Your FBI starring Stacy Keach, originally broadcast January 30, 1953, 72 years ago, The Red Headed Blackmailer. A blackmailer shakes down a married women again and again over old love letters.  But he ends up dead.  Last show of the series. Followed by Quiet Please starring Ernest Chappell, originally broadcast January 30, 1949, 76 years ago, Northern Lights.   A love story about time travel and talking caterpillars.Finally, Superman, originally broadcast January 30, 1942, 83 years ago, Lita the Leopard Woman.  Clark Kent and Lois Lane have a meeting with The Leopard Woman.  Clark overhears her plans to a have a Nazi submarine torpedo an American tanker.Thanks to Honeywell for supporting our podcast by using the Buy Me a Coffee function at http://classicradio.streamIf you like what we do here, visit our friend Jay at http://radio.macinmind.com for great old time radio shows 24 hours a day

Co i komu mają głosić uczniowie Jezusa? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na III niedzielę zwykłą. Przełożyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Mój najnowszy kurs: https://tiny.pl/rw56-m41

Co to jest "syndrom końca miesiąca" i dlaczego Bóg nie ma z tym nic wspólnego? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na II niedzielę zwykłą. Komentarz przetłumaczyła i odczytała dla nas, jak zwykle, Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Co to znaczy "być ochrzczony ogniem"? Co ma wspólnego z nami chrzest Jezusa w Jordanie? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na Niedzielę Chrztu Pańskiego, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego przez Elżbietę Wróbel! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

- Tak radykalny krok ze strony posła przez część wyborców jest odbierany jak swoiste przyznanie się do winy (…), świadczy o tym, że osoba, która się na to decyduje, ma coś do ukrycia, nie chce odpowiadać przed wymiarem sprawiedliwości - mówił w Polskim Radiu 24 dr Andrzej Anusz (Instytut Piłsudskiego).

Boże narodzenie, atmosfera świąteczna, nawet niezależna od pogody, wszystko to upamiętnia tajemnicę wcielenia, która okazuje się dla nas nie tylko darem, ale i wyzwaniem. Jakie to wyzwanie i co zależy od tego, czy je przyjmiemy, czy nie? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na II niedzielę okresu Bożego Narodzenia, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego przez Elżbietę Wróbel. Razem z Elą życzymy wszystkim Szczęśliwego Nowego Roku! Robert Hetzyg, wydawca podcastu Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Co jest ważniejsze: Bóg, czy religia? Gdzie szukać Jezusa? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na Niedzielę Świętej Rodziny! Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Po co właściwie Maryja poszła do swojej krewnej? A co my mamy do zaoferowania naszym bliskim w tym świątecznym czasie? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na III niedzielę Adwentu. Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Wszystkim słuchaczom Suplementu składamy najlepsze życzenia: niech Słowo, które przyjęło ludzkie ciało, będzie Wam w tym czasie szczególnie bliskie i niech wydaje w Was obfity owoc! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Jaką nową jakość przynosi Królestwo Boże? Dla kogo właściwie jest Dobra Nowina? Takie to niby oczywiste kwestie porusza o. Alvaro Grammatica w swoim komentarzu ewangelicznym na III niedzielę Adwentu, przetłumaczonym przez Elżbietę Wróbel. Posłuchajcie! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Proč se opary vytváří a zase se vrací? „Herpes viry máme v sobě pořád, a jakmile se rozčílíme nebo jsme oslabeni rýmou, potěší se, že můžou vyrazit,“ říká lékařka Irena Kudrnovská.

Proč se opary vytváří a zase se vrací? „Herpes viry máme v sobě pořád, a jakmile se rozčílíme nebo jsme oslabeni rýmou, potěší se, že můžou vyrazit,“ říká lékařka Irena Kudrnovská.

KEENAN is the head of the league's research and development team. KEENAN WELL, Ya'll sho' chose the wrong girl to fuck wit! Why do you say that? KEENAN Well, i'mon just let ya'll figure that out on ya own. [KEENEN exits shaking his head solemnly, and begins singing ‘Amazing Grace' , first humming.] Hmmmmm—hmmm—how sweet the sound— Wait! Keenan! Who is this girl?! Who is she?! —hmmm—hmmm—hmmm—hmmmmmmmm LIKE MEEEEEEE! What are we up against Oh. you'll see. I woooonceeee was lost— Wait! SEEYA! [out of nowhere he has pulled out an old style stick bundle and throws it over his shoulder, continuing to hum while chewing on a long stick of straw.] —-hmmmm—-hmmmm. …where is he going!? (Meta) Seems like he's going somewhere with that thing hanging over his back! What are those things even called, anyway? Who knows? I think I know, but it might be racist. [suddenly, offstage/camera a bell begins to ring— One— Two— Three chimes.] That seems odd. Yes, very strange. [Suddenly, all the NBC pages at once upend their nests,] what the— Why are there so many of them. I don't know. Did their skirts get shorter? Hush. So many pages. MEANWHILR, unst 30 Rock. Hold on, pause. These weirdo cops have reverb on their whoop whoops. Facts. Are you sure this is still the 10th dimension. I'm positive. Really! You're sure! Couldn't possibly be lower. Maybe. What about higher. Higher!? Since when. WHAT'S YOUR NAME. Uh-FRANKLIN. Don't lie to me. How would you pronounce this name? I wouldn't. Hm. Excuse me. What. How would you say this? Like, out loud— Uh huh. Pass. Dammit! Hey—uh— RACHEL DRATCH What, dammit; what?! I just sat down with my bagel! I know but— I need your help— interpreting something? What is it? Gibberish? Not really, it's— I'm an expert in Gibberish— I know; but— Classical and neo-modern. Yeah, it's not that. What is it. Alien, I think. Which species. Species. WHICH— ugh— give me that! [she snatches the paper and produces a monocle for further inspection.] Since when did you get a monacle? since when changed insurance companies which supplies said ‘monocologists' and covers such expenses sans-coh-pay. You mean copay? Shut up. Hm. Looks to be Unrealian in orgim but I could be mistaking this dialect. What. Could also possibly be AAHHMEK. Ahmek? Ano, AAAAH— nevermind. Is this an actual apostrophe? Beg your pardon. The apostrophe— is it human derived, or the human pseudo translation replacement for a afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh? Say again. Is it an actual apostrophe, or is the mark mean to insinuate the commonly used extraterrestrial character afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh? …I don't know. WELL, then—I'm afraid I can't help you until you forgive that out— What. Depending on what the mark is, those could be two veerrrrry different things. Would you just, Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to presume the consumption of my RAISINBagel. You know what. -_- -_- -_- …fine. [he snatches the paper and walks away angry—RATCHEL DRATCH begins to shmear her bagel, mumbling] —wants me to translate, but doesn't know the difference between an apostrophe, and a afahmblunsenphOuallentprprh. Please! {Enter The Multiverse} Unlike the girl next door, my lawsuit was legitimate. I strolled passed the usual subjects on my way back to the apartment from my begrudged outings; I had left with the intention of putting my money into a cheap record player, but had after all decided against it—I was saving for a new computer so that I could actually record vocals for my music, which would deplete my budget after living expenses for the month into nothing, and though I knew it would be something like next-to-nothing for the next little while anyway, it wouldn't matter. Now that I knew I was right, I continued compiling the evidence against these motorized terrorists—I didn't actually want to sue, but at this point it seemed it was my only choice— my lowly “status” should not mean that I was allowed to be tortured continually—and, unlike the girl next door, I was not seeking damages for something I had asked for, or brought onto myself; the horrendous sound in the apartment seemed as if it was aimed directly toward me with my synesthesia in mind, and with some amount of pride I refused outright to go the way I was expected to and file a disability claim. I wasn't disabled— I was, however, unable to preform my full work duties as a recording artist without being interrupted by motorcycles, project cars, and otherwise, all of which I suspected were operated by the same group of people— some ugly little brown lackeys who felt entitled in one way or another, and paraded around as if they owned the neighborhood. Benefiting from American business, but anti-American; the opposite of peaceful and respectful—not that America had made its name on the basis of respect, and so it seemed that something, out of balance and off kilter for hundreds of years iknretropect, was bound to change. They were rude, arrogant, and loud—bringing al of the 3rd-world mindset and none of the humility or charm of the actual 3rd world with them; as arrogant as one might think, a gross reflection of the toxic masculine as a whole. They might not have been ugly at all if they were respectful or decent—but they ran about acting like terrorists, revving their engines, and banging, and clashing, and being ugly—employing young boys to stand on the corner and sell their off market drugs after having one of their smoke shops closed down. The more time I spent outside dealing with people at all, the more ill I felt. I craved more time offline and off the grid, and though the general disenchantment of New York would continue pouring through the cheaply made windows, I realized that I would be more well-to-do with a typewriter (so that I could continue to write for long periods of time offline and without my phone) and a record player (to drown out the noise and play along to on my drum machine, and still— there were more things to do, always drowning in bills and often wondering how long I'd have to forfeight health in exchange for the decency of what some might cal luxury, but others foundational. As for myself, these things, simple staples to health and wellness, were beginning to be foundational. {Enter The Multiverse} “As Seen on TV” She doesn't even have a name My pussy is cleaner than a motherfucker This ain't no community like Donald Glover Ya'll niggas actin childish, Gambino— If you wanna turn it on, Then send a c-note (I'm in south side) What she want Peloton What she on peloton What she got peloton What she on Peloton I FOUND KIT! I found KIT. Great, now did you burn that letter? What. Burn it. [does] Oh, that is such a relief. Jesus. Okay. This shit does get weird and deep. —so that's why we're going offline… You wouldn't believe this, I found the kid swinging from a tree. Ridiculous. And if you tie it like this— Ah. Look, it won't slip. So…this is your hobby, huh. One of many. They don't call you the Ace for nothin, do they. (Innocently, with curiosity) “Of Granduer” —Do they? The sound of a chandelier sparkles as the giant lamp swings back and forth, as if an earthquake has just happened. You wouldn't believe this. What. On the television. Okay, so I found this “Kit” guy— Twice. Twice you asked, and twice I told you. Well, I didn't think to look directly at Johnny Carson, exactly. But here— And this: You actually were. Tell me again what your name is. Just sign me an autograph: What. Me? Sure, why not? I want your autograph! Do people still ask for autographs? Often enough. Remarkably, even, at airports, and of course, unexpectedly at— GODDAMMIT, we're back at the rock! GODDAMMIT. Well. Well what! Somebody check what year it is. FUCK. [super long censored beep.] [The Festival Project ™] It was the first time since my childhood I felt like something was too long away—but finally, I was in the final stretch. The Peloton would be delivered sometime in the morning, and now that my internet had shut itself off— I'd refused to pay the bill and opted for getting a new computer so that I could record, rather it— Give me a second, I'm fucking obsessed with these curtains. Bro but second to the curtains is the fucking grass. No, its—tuft. Turf, huh? Interesting… I told you she was some sort of a spy. Whatever. I had long considered turning my living room into a media center, and had thought to reinvent my entire space in fungshuei, but now more than anything I just wanted it to look like that. {Enter The Multiverse} Something is wrong with her . She sits by her door ALL DAY and just fucking talks. And I know she's by her door Because she's RIGHT AT THE DOOR I hear this crystal clear Anytime I go near my door And she's like BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH BITCH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR somewhere in a parallel of time Your ancestors Are beating the hell Out of my ancestors And your other ancestors Are stealing my other ancestors land You're on borrowed time And in borrowed space GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE DOOR. Man, Living sandwhiched between two Karen's Is like the equivalent Of having two demon fucking little sisters That hate you And tell on your for everything. Slamming doors and shit just to fuckin Throwing shit around Bitch. You are crazy. And that's the thing about white girls Their crazy is socially acceptable As normal behavior I guess when you just have the best things in life thrown at you forever— When things the rest of us consider luxury and opulence is just “regular” to you, You get a little set in your ways. My neighbor is infuriating. I'm like WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS BY THE DOOR SHES LIKE SNARFSNRFSNARF I'm like goddamn, Somebody send like a Camden or a fuckin “Chase” Over this way. Somebody take this bitch on a date And away from the door. Whole two bedroom apartment This bitch is glued to her door. She a robot. The door is metal. She just enters the apartment and gets glued stuck to the door “I guess I will have to snarf snarf from here. “She's a smart one” I don't believe in smart white girls. There's regular white girls And fucking serial killers. The serial killers are considered “the smart ones” I guess it does take a considerable amount of intelligence to just exist to catch bodies That's what they call the smart ones The ones who level up by just Mowing everyone else down. Gotta give them that. White girls will ruin your whole life Blink two little blue-green eyes twice— And if they're big and round enough The brown eyed white girls can get away with the shit, too— But they're fucking murderers. It's okay. I lived with white people long enough in my life to love them. But in living with and around them— I notice they all say the same thing which indicates to me that racial injustice might not actually be their fault— They might be killing niggas on accident. Just complete accidents White people say shit like “I can't feel” What. “How does it feel—to feel.” WHAT?! “Explain to me the concept of ‘emotions'” Ah hell nah— And these people have all the disposable income? It's not their fault. They just— are like that. They're wired different. They can't feel, And their first instinct is to kill everything different or perceivably deadly. It's not their fault It's intrinsically They have extremely fragile genes Very weak gene pools. Have you ever noticed how white people are always sick? Always?! Weak gene pools. Years of breeding narcisistically. Traits that are reminders of themselves, or people they grew up around. This is not racism, it's just science. “Oh, I love blue eyes because my grandmother has blue eyes” White men commonly marry women who remind them of their mothers and sisters. If that's not fucked up, I don't know what is. Then I realized that incest porn and teeny porn are amongst the highest watched types of porn. Hmm. Gee. I wonder why. Men are gross. But white moms need to start being more like black and Hispanic moms if they want to ensure the continuance of their genetics into evolution. You need to give your kids some mommy issues. That way, when they grow up, they feel the need to add variation to the gene pool in order to strengthen it, and move towards evolution. It's true. I lived with maybe the whitest man I ever knew for almost 6 months; I don't think he was specifically intentionally trying to kill me— But everything he did— And I mean everything, up to a certain point was like …I don't know, man. It really seems like this dude is trying to like exterminate me in some sort of way. It was bad. The energy was weird. He was like dirty, Fucking lazy, He was a lot. I was like, “Damn what the fuck it's like the longer I stay around the worse it is” But the weirdest part, was that he didn't seem to be aware that he was doing it Either that or he was a really good actor… “What do you mean?” Had me confused. But that's the thing about the whites. They do the whole thing with mind games They fuck with your mind. It's the most powerful weapon, actually— Because if you continually attack a person's mind, The rest crumbles around them without you even touching them. I'm sure this is what my neighbor is trying to do. It's a mind thing I get near the door, she just hurries up and opens her door, opens the door real wide, big apartment, everything's white, big ass fucking place But she's always by the door; Mind games. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching The Tonight Show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute? What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree!? She's gonna make more than me in ALL the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil— You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weight He lost his mind; so i'm— — lets round up— Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew! PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said, “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that: Not “too much” kanye— 'Just enough' Kanye, He said, “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular! That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever: He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship: Now, ill say— I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me. Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead.” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like, damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstoodconditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human spieces as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Kiedy na pytanie "co słychać" słyszymy w odpowiedzi "stara bida", to wiadomo, że jesteśmy w Polsce. :-) No, ale też nikt zamiast "co słychać" nie mówi u nas "raduj się, pełen łaski!". O tym, co bywa, i co mogłoby być powodem naszej radości mówi w swoim komentarzu do Ewangelii na Uroczystość Niepokalanego Poczęcia Najświętszej Maryi Panny o. Alvaro Grammatica. A komentarz Przetłumaczyła i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is. Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but— I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything! Oh, come on. I should be meditating. The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating. Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window. Here's hoping she's dressed this time! [F-f-f-f] Nope. Synopsis “The child within” A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements— In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly. So that's where I left off. Pretty much— Doesn't this lady just— Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later. I wrote this days ago; I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe— Whatever. More coffee. I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee— Compliments of the Television people, of course. What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something? You mean Charlie's Angeles! No, I mean like actual CIA. What was she even doing? I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer. Posh. So very, {Enter The Multiverse} NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. Cause it's shark week. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?! I Dont know yet. I know better than to Click a photo of you, when I've been thinking of you Too much Aren't you –At least Curious (To say the least, but–( Learned enough The first time Second time Third time Fourth rung don't care Time's up Problem solved I know better (Just a touch.) I know better The world is mad I know better Fingers crossed I know better I'm all alone I know better I know better I heard my neck break at the end of the rope I heard a gunshot in the distance We all wondered which sounded better The rock i'm under (A curse, or a spell?) A blood bond ritual An occult oath, it's Too many simpletons, Singletons, scratch and sniff, motion pictures Who art thou? Who art I not? Very well. No more, if you would remain. As I must. And yet, I have come to end thy reign. Very well. Oh, again? Oh, as always. I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade. Many ears. –and many hearts. Take mine, an honor. Your head, i'd rather. Say again. I'd rather your head. Very well. Dismiss, you. They are as one. A fair right. It's not as bad as you think. It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it. What is this stuff?! Don't worry about it. There are tears. No remains. No remains. None at all? I'd rather burn than buried. And your Kingdom? –I'd rather burn than buried. Or–? Or buried than burned, but gone at all. Gone at once. As with this. So it is. It's not in the blood; You won't find it. –I'll find it. Not that way. __ GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB. You're so fucking–stupid. I'm a genius. Not for long! You're a dead man. Your highness! And who is this? His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours. On what charges?! Dismissal at once. On my time! –and tell no others of this. –and you? Steady well in my greeting. And how? A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel And wages of ageless. So it doesn't matter! So it doesn't. So it can't–matter Shouldn't have to. Somebody just kill this poor fuck already. On it. Oh, I get it. It's his face. L E G E N D S - ASCENSION Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this! I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and– This place should be spotless. It is…spotless. {Enter The Multiverse} When you think you're hearing voices, But you're actually telepathic.; I think it's getting worse now; I wish I was just manic I think I need a manager; I think I need some magic, I think I got a half an oz Just sitting my my backpack That's a lot of cocaine, man. It's not that much. It's more than regular. That's fair. Way, way more. More than usual. I am very wasted. Just let me touch your face And let the age sit in Take in the day The cage sits in a mailbox And it withers with my divedends, Still, I'm writing Heroism, hedonism Circumstance, Frantic as an orgasm, And laughs just as much hard as that I came in color These marginal differences, I've been levitating, Marrying the thought of just l Decapitating every nation. Severed heads as one, To stand the wicked bodies Oaths if over oceans stand as borders Who deserves to sail For failures craving fortunes? Withstand this, I mark true— On your duty of my decaying Stands as justice, and still this You haven't fortuned, For arrogance is the truest of humor And wit to none, wiser thinking He is or are that may Be stronger in the notion that There is no other but himself! And so I pardon! Dear, your honor Fight for festherwate for masterpieces Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless, Wise and withered none, but lying waking Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary; There you wait for judgement, And call I, Boundless as you found her As one, And I say— There, there; There you are in marked for God, Calls none but I, others Seeking in the wate of judgement. Fair and Farrows of the ache And bound I, still now To causing none but fortune, Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us To, in hundreds number There I wait, And there I come, still Now in time, You are we And I are Together Not tied, But marked as one, As such, this now Is where embarked Dither will you. Whatever the fuck that means. Must mean something. You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same JIMMY KIMMEL I made a list. That was fast! JIMMY KIMMEL To be honest, I already had it for awhile. How long's awhile? JIMMY KIMMEL Pretty much forever, basically. As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable. RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”) Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel? Yeah. RYAN REYNOLDS Yikes, well—you know how these things go. Buckle up. CBS We saw her first! NBC No way, we've had east end locked down for two years! CBS And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us. OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!! SETH ROGEN Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal… I gotta get more Quaaludes. How are you already out? I does what I does. Continuity. AND! Introducing the new SIM JIM 420! With new and improved continuity feature! Continuity. Wow. He seems so real. So lifelike. Almost just like the real thing. Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway? *shrugs, dismissively* Continuity. Why does he just keep repeating that phrase? Well, he's stuck in a loop right now; We're currently upgrading his sentience chip. Oh, nice. MEANWHILE… MWAHAHAHAHHA NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP, THE WORLD WILL BE MINE. AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. WHICH SIM IS THAT? {enter the multiverse} The dangerous one. L E G E N D S CUT TO: And who is THIS?! That's bird-mom. So you know each other?! Hello, Jimmy. I just told you, that's bird mom. Beg your pardon. God, what the fuck is wrong with you? I, uh— How—long have you known each other? Like, forever, probably. Sit down. Gosh. So rude. No manners. What the fuck is going on. Sit down before I clip your wings. I don't have my wings out… Exactly. [he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting. Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the— Yeah. Classic. I love this one. Hehehe. [The Festival Project ™] What's going on? Some Illuminati thing. A what? [a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented. Chill out, it's just a ritual. “Just a ritual!” You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something, Bet your ass I'm gonna do it. WHAT. My tongue drawn My air out, My ear worn, My thought songs, My same lives, Still as one— Wait a second Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat. THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT. how is the cat winning tho. lol. I told u it would come back if it was a good one. That is funny. {enter the multiverse} Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian, They talk about domestic violence. They always warn you never to put hands on your woman. The best comedians always say something about it— “Never hit a woman” “Never put your hands on a woman.” I never talk about my ex, And that's on purpose, But I will say this: I hope that shit ruins comedy for him Like he ruined rap music for me. Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants, But it he's watching a stand up, And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are, If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that. He's gonna feel that I like still feel that When I bump Kendrick Lamar, Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse Just kidding, Wayne is straight fire— I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful. But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout— Making back door deals With demons and shit, I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face, All over again, And here go all these niggas, Singing the anthem. That shit ain't cool! I hope comedy is ruuuuuined! Cause rap music ruined. Ruined. I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman; And he a pimp. Let's hear him do a whole hour on that. I hope he does. Yes lord. In the meantime, How you gon' Hit your wife, Run her out the house, Then have a baby by another woman And name the baby After yo ex Favorite rapper? Oh heeeeeelll naw! Can't have that. Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album You gon have your ex in a whole flashback Of your fist in her face? She can't even hear the verse, She just, “WHYYYYY! “ “WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?” “WHYYYYYYYY!“ That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print. It'll do. My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though. Captain. CUT TO: Why is he the devil?! RYAN REYNOLDS WHY AM I THE DEVIL. I wanted the devil! Stuff it! He want the devil. Make him the devil! I wanted it! Shut up. Not everybody can play the devil. I can. You cannot. I can. You will not, you will play your part. Goddammit I wanted that part! [he walks away angrily] You'll get over it. Thie—? Come on… Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part. It's a— It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing? I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..: Read the whole thing. …many brands. [the professor shuts the door] Dammit. [deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.] …I own so many brands. [he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.] So many things! [I own] L E G E N D S STEFON NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS T A I N T Did they already do ‘taint' Was taint even a word back then! It's always been a thing. Hey, freebies Sister sanity Does not live here No Does not live here No Does not live here No Sister sanity does not live her No She packed her bags, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away—— Oh! Guitar solo Drum solo Guitar bridge I can't wait to get a peloton I'm gonna be so skinny my eyeballs are in my kneecaps And you're gonna like it You're gonna put me on the cover of Vogue And call me a fashion icon I will be a guest host on America's next top model And I will be invited to every fashion week I will have the silliest outfit at the met gala And I will be voted The best Every year, Until I die Even by Joan rivers Who is dead, by the way So until she's alive again; Just to comment on my outfit I will be so skinny that when I fart All the world's most eligible bachelors Will line up behind me to smell my fart dust Which will probably be lined in gold and silver Because I'm so skinny And because I'm so skinny You will love me No matter what I do And no matter what I say And I will never be alone Or lonely again Mantra Timmy Trumpet Thriller (JUST A TUNE FLIP) Michael Jackson Intro Pablo Escobar (Guaracha Zapateo & Aleteo) Reggaeton bachata Hit Privacy Chris Brown Privacy Chris Brown Leave Me Alone NF Better Place (From TROLLS Band Together) *NSYNC & Justin Timberlake On The Radar Freestyle (Mixed) Central Cee & Drake 10 Freaky Girls (feat. 21 Savage) Metro Boomin Drake and Central Cee collaborate for the first time for an On The Radar freestyle, a New York-based radio station and YouTube channel. The track was announced on July 20th, 2023 on Drake's Instagram. Later that day, Drake announced the release date of July 21st. The two have had a good relationship since meeting in 2021, with Cench being a model for a Nike X Nocta campaign in the same year, and appearing in the "Jumbotron Shit Poppin" music video in 2023. Cench previously teased a Drake feature in an unreleased extended version of his 2022 mega-hit "Doja" 66 Ear to the street and I heard them say that Central Cee got a verse from Drake/They lied if they said that they weren't afraid Coming Back Around NEIL FRANCES Girl Like Me Dove Cameron Flying High Valdi Sabev Purple Snowflakes John Legend Smile Durand Jones & The Indications Devon rex kittens Berry established herself as one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood during the 2000s. For her performance of a struggling widow in the romantic drama Monster's Ball (2001), Berry became the only African-American woman to win the Academy Award for Best Actress, and the first woman of color. Berry took on high-profile roles such as Storm in four installments of the X-Men film series (2000-2014), the henchwoman of a robber in the thriller Swordfish (2001), Bond girl Jinx in Die Another Day (2002), and the title role in the much-derided Catwoman (2004). The strangest thing happened. What's that? *flutters* I just turned into a bird. An actual bird? Yes! Well, that's not telepathy. No, it isn't. Okay…do it again. “The Desire to be Loved” “The 11 O Clock Number” What if Dumbo's feather was a stone (l) More notes, and nothing's done yet It's the same process over and over And nothing is done, But the shows almost over If the shoe fits, wear it. He a shapeshifter, I'll take your eyes out, wear em for a moment Rip your heart out, Feed it to the homeless Not bad In the present, But the moment passed Not bad You a lie, But I'm finna send the fax Not bad Not bad Shimmy shimmy ya, So it's simply envy, hah Not bad No, you will not shake this snow globe!!! I will shake this snow globe! I NEED TO GO TO CHEDRAUIIIIIIIIII! BITCH, FOR WHAT?! CHEDRAUIIIIIII NOWWWWW. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {S10 (IN 10D!) Coming Soon}

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is. Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but— I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything! Oh, come on. I should be meditating. The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating. Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window. Here's hoping she's dressed this time! [F-f-f-f] Nope. Synopsis “The child within” A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements— In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly. So that's where I left off. Pretty much— Doesn't this lady just— Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later. I wrote this days ago; I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe— Whatever. More coffee. I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee— Compliments of the Television people, of course. What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something? You mean Charlie's Angeles! No, I mean like actual CIA. What was she even doing? I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer. Posh. So very, {Enter The Multiverse} NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. Cause it's shark week. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?! I Dont know yet. I know better than to Click a photo of you, when I've been thinking of you Too much Aren't you –At least Curious (To say the least, but–( Learned enough The first time Second time Third time Fourth rung don't care Time's up Problem solved I know better (Just a touch.) I know better The world is mad I know better Fingers crossed I know better I'm all alone I know better I know better I heard my neck break at the end of the rope I heard a gunshot in the distance We all wondered which sounded better The rock i'm under (A curse, or a spell?) A blood bond ritual An occult oath, it's Too many simpletons, Singletons, scratch and sniff, motion pictures Who art thou? Who art I not? Very well. No more, if you would remain. As I must. And yet, I have come to end thy reign. Very well. Oh, again? Oh, as always. I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade. Many ears. –and many hearts. Take mine, an honor. Your head, i'd rather. Say again. I'd rather your head. Very well. Dismiss, you. They are as one. A fair right. It's not as bad as you think. It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it. What is this stuff?! Don't worry about it. There are tears. No remains. No remains. None at all? I'd rather burn than buried. And your Kingdom? –I'd rather burn than buried. Or–? Or buried than burned, but gone at all. Gone at once. As with this. So it is. It's not in the blood; You won't find it. –I'll find it. Not that way. __ GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB. You're so fucking–stupid. I'm a genius. Not for long! You're a dead man. Your highness! And who is this? His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours. On what charges?! Dismissal at once. On my time! –and tell no others of this. –and you? Steady well in my greeting. And how? A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel And wages of ageless. So it doesn't matter! So it doesn't. So it can't–matter Shouldn't have to. Somebody just kill this poor fuck already. On it. Oh, I get it. It's his face. L E G E N D S - ASCENSION Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this! I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and– This place should be spotless. It is…spotless. {Enter The Multiverse} When you think you're hearing voices, But you're actually telepathic.; I think it's getting worse now; I wish I was just manic I think I need a manager; I think I need some magic, I think I got a half an oz Just sitting my my backpack That's a lot of cocaine, man. It's not that much. It's more than regular. That's fair. Way, way more. More than usual. I am very wasted. Just let me touch your face And let the age sit in Take in the day The cage sits in a mailbox And it withers with my divedends, Still, I'm writing Heroism, hedonism Circumstance, Frantic as an orgasm, And laughs just as much hard as that I came in color These marginal differences, I've been levitating, Marrying the thought of just l Decapitating every nation. Severed heads as one, To stand the wicked bodies Oaths if over oceans stand as borders Who deserves to sail For failures craving fortunes? Withstand this, I mark true— On your duty of my decaying Stands as justice, and still this You haven't fortuned, For arrogance is the truest of humor And wit to none, wiser thinking He is or are that may Be stronger in the notion that There is no other but himself! And so I pardon! Dear, your honor Fight for festherwate for masterpieces Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless, Wise and withered none, but lying waking Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary; There you wait for judgement, And call I, Boundless as you found her As one, And I say— There, there; There you are in marked for God, Calls none but I, others Seeking in the wate of judgement. Fair and Farrows of the ache And bound I, still now To causing none but fortune, Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us To, in hundreds number There I wait, And there I come, still Now in time, You are we And I are Together Not tied, But marked as one, As such, this now Is where embarked Dither will you. Whatever the fuck that means. Must mean something. You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same JIMMY KIMMEL I made a list. That was fast! JIMMY KIMMEL To be honest, I already had it for awhile. How long's awhile? JIMMY KIMMEL Pretty much forever, basically. As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable. RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”) Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel? Yeah. RYAN REYNOLDS Yikes, well—you know how these things go. Buckle up. CBS We saw her first! NBC No way, we've had east end locked down for two years! CBS And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us. OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!! SETH ROGEN Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal… I gotta get more Quaaludes. How are you already out? I does what I does. Continuity. AND! Introducing the new SIM JIM 420! With new and improved continuity feature! Continuity. Wow. He seems so real. So lifelike. Almost just like the real thing. Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway? *shrugs, dismissively* Continuity. Why does he just keep repeating that phrase? Well, he's stuck in a loop right now; We're currently upgrading his sentience chip. Oh, nice. MEANWHILE… MWAHAHAHAHHA NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP, THE WORLD WILL BE MINE. AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. WHICH SIM IS THAT? {enter the multiverse} The dangerous one. L E G E N D S CUT TO: And who is THIS?! That's bird-mom. So you know each other?! Hello, Jimmy. I just told you, that's bird mom. Beg your pardon. God, what the fuck is wrong with you? I, uh— How—long have you known each other? Like, forever, probably. Sit down. Gosh. So rude. No manners. What the fuck is going on. Sit down before I clip your wings. I don't have my wings out… Exactly. [he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting. Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the— Yeah. Classic. I love this one. Hehehe. [The Festival Project ™] What's going on? Some Illuminati thing. A what? [a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented. Chill out, it's just a ritual. “Just a ritual!” You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something, Bet your ass I'm gonna do it. WHAT. My tongue drawn My air out, My ear worn, My thought songs, My same lives, Still as one— Wait a second Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat. THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT. how is the cat winning tho. lol. I told u it would come back if it was a good one. That is funny. {enter the multiverse} Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian, They talk about domestic violence. They always warn you never to put hands on your woman. The best comedians always say something about it— “Never hit a woman” “Never put your hands on a woman.” I never talk about my ex, And that's on purpose, But I will say this: I hope that shit ruins comedy for him Like he ruined rap music for me. Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants, But it he's watching a stand up, And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are, If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that. He's gonna feel that I like still feel that When I bump Kendrick Lamar, Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse Just kidding, Wayne is straight fire— I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful. But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout— Making back door deals With demons and shit, I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face, All over again, And here go all these niggas, Singing the anthem. That shit ain't cool! I hope comedy is ruuuuuined! Cause rap music ruined. Ruined. I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman; And he a pimp. Let's hear him do a whole hour on that. I hope he does. Yes lord. In the meantime, How you gon' Hit your wife, Run her out the house, Then have a baby by another woman And name the baby After yo ex Favorite rapper? Oh heeeeeelll naw! Can't have that. Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album You gon have your ex in a whole flashback Of your fist in her face? She can't even hear the verse, She just, “WHYYYYY! “ “WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?” “WHYYYYYYYY!“ That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print. It'll do. My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though. Captain. CUT TO: Why is he the devil?! RYAN REYNOLDS WHY AM I THE DEVIL. I wanted the devil! Stuff it! He want the devil. Make him the devil! I wanted it! Shut up. Not everybody can play the devil. I can. You cannot. I can. You will not, you will play your part. Goddammit I wanted that part! [he walks away angrily] You'll get over it. Thie—? Come on… Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part. It's a— It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing? I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..: Read the whole thing. …many brands. [the professor shuts the door] Dammit. [deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.] …I own so many brands. [he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.] So many things! [I own] L E G E N D S STEFON NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS T A I N T Did they already do ‘taint' Was taint even a word back then! It's always been a thing. Hey, freebies Sister sanity Does not live here No Does not live here No Does not live here No Sister sanity does not live her No She packed her bags, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away—— Oh! Guitar solo Drum solo Guitar bridge I can't wait to get a peloton I'm gonna be so skinny my eyeballs are in my kneecaps And you're gonna like it You're gonna put me on the cover of Vogue And call me a fashion icon I will be a guest host on America's next top model And I will be invited to every fashion week I will have the silliest outfit at the met gala And I will be voted The best Every year, Until I die Even by Joan rivers Who is dead, by the way So until she's alive again; Just to comment on my outfit I will be so skinny that when I fart All the world's most eligible bachelors Will line up behind me to smell my fart dust Which will probably be lined in gold and silver Because I'm so skinny And because I'm so skinny You will love me No matter what I do And no matter what I say And I will never be alone Or lonely again Mantra Timmy Trumpet Thriller (JUST A TUNE FLIP) Michael Jackson Intro Pablo Escobar (Guaracha Zapateo & Aleteo) Reggaeton bachata Hit Privacy Chris Brown Privacy Chris Brown Leave Me Alone NF Better Place (From TROLLS Band Together) *NSYNC & Justin Timberlake On The Radar Freestyle (Mixed) Central Cee & Drake 10 Freaky Girls (feat. 21 Savage) Metro Boomin Drake and Central Cee collaborate for the first time for an On The Radar freestyle, a New York-based radio station and YouTube channel. The track was announced on July 20th, 2023 on Drake's Instagram. Later that day, Drake announced the release date of July 21st. The two have had a good relationship since meeting in 2021, with Cench being a model for a Nike X Nocta campaign in the same year, and appearing in the "Jumbotron Shit Poppin" music video in 2023. Cench previously teased a Drake feature in an unreleased extended version of his 2022 mega-hit "Doja" 66 Ear to the street and I heard them say that Central Cee got a verse from Drake/They lied if they said that they weren't afraid Coming Back Around NEIL FRANCES Girl Like Me Dove Cameron Flying High Valdi Sabev Purple Snowflakes John Legend Smile Durand Jones & The Indications Devon rex kittens Berry established herself as one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood during the 2000s. For her performance of a struggling widow in the romantic drama Monster's Ball (2001), Berry became the only African-American woman to win the Academy Award for Best Actress, and the first woman of color. Berry took on high-profile roles such as Storm in four installments of the X-Men film series (2000-2014), the henchwoman of a robber in the thriller Swordfish (2001), Bond girl Jinx in Die Another Day (2002), and the title role in the much-derided Catwoman (2004). The strangest thing happened. What's that? *flutters* I just turned into a bird. An actual bird? Yes! Well, that's not telepathy. No, it isn't. Okay…do it again. “The Desire to be Loved” “The 11 O Clock Number” What if Dumbo's feather was a stone (l) More notes, and nothing's done yet It's the same process over and over And nothing is done, But the shows almost over If the shoe fits, wear it. He a shapeshifter, I'll take your eyes out, wear em for a moment Rip your heart out, Feed it to the homeless Not bad In the present, But the moment passed Not bad You a lie, But I'm finna send the fax Not bad Not bad Shimmy shimmy ya, So it's simply envy, hah Not bad No, you will not shake this snow globe!!! I will shake this snow globe! I NEED TO GO TO CHEDRAUIIIIIIIIII! BITCH, FOR WHAT?! CHEDRAUIIIIIII NOWWWWW. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {S10 (IN 10D!) Coming Soon}

Co to znaczy "czuwać"? Co jest znakiem nadchodzącej Bożej interwencji? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica na I niedzielę Adwentu. Przetłumaczyła i przeczytała go dla nas Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

O wszystkim, czym Jezus różni się od naszych oczekiwań i wyobrażeń, mówi w swoim komentarzu do Ewangelii na ostatnią niedzielę roku liturgicznego czyli na uroczystość Chrystusa, Króla Wszechświata, o. Alvaro Grammatica. Jego komentarz przetłumaczyła i odczytała - jak zwykle - Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Czy problemy i życiowe porażki mają jakieś zalety? Kiedy można spodziewać się przyjścia Jezusa? - Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na XXXIII niedzielę zwykłą, przetłumaczonego i odczytanego przez Elżbietę Wróbel! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

“We begin! Close your eyes so you can hear. Listen carefully. It is I, Thoth, your trusted associate…” And so began the journey of a lifetime for Pat Heydlauff, renowned thought leader, Feng Shui expert, and author. Now she invites you to travel with her to the Library of Wisdom and Knowledge and learn from Thoth, a god of high rank in the Ancient Egyptian hierarchy.What began as a typical journaling session one morning quickly evolved into a one-on-one conversation into the mysteries of the universe, the state of the human condition, and the lessons all people must learn to transform their world and their life. Over the course of several months, Pat traveled with Thoth and witnessed a world of possibilities in terms of technology, healthcare, community, and so much more. Now she is sharing Thoth's message of peace, hope, and transformation so people can gain wisdom, live their truth, and finally experience unconditional love.Join her on this amazing journey. Close your eyes so you can hear. Open your heart so you can see. Experience the journey of a lifetime as only Thoth can show you.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-x-zone-radio-tv-show--1078348/support.

Z czego bierze się chciwość i skłonność do próżnej chwały? Jak można temu zaradzić? Posłuchajcie komentarza o Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na XXXII niedzielę zwykłą! Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

W co wierzy Jezus? Na czym według Niego polega prawdziwa miłość? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica na XXXI niedzielę zwykłą. Przetłumaczyła go i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Do czego może "przydać się" cierpienie? Co trzeba zrobić, żeby zwrócić uwagę Jezusa? Posłuchajcie komentarza o. Alvaro Grammatica do Ewangelii na XXX niedzielę zwykłą. Przetłumaczyła go dla nas i odczytała Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

O zaletach ostatniego miejsca i o tym, co znaczy "pić kielich Jezusa" napisał dziś o. Alvaro Grammatica w swoim komentarzu do Ewangelii na XXIX niedzielę zwykłą. A komentarz ten przetłumaczyła i odczytała - tradycyjnie - Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Co trzeba zrobić, żeby się zbawić? O tym, czy to najlepiej postawione pytanie mówi dziś - całkiem niespodziewanie o. Alvaro Grammatica, który, proszony przez wiele osób, zdecydował się jednak nadal dostarczać nam swoje komentarze do niedzielnych Ewangelii. A komentarz na XXVIII niedzielę zwykłą przetłumaczyła i odczytała dla nas - jak zwykle - Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Poranny Suplement diety #369: Wielkość pozorna Czy lepiej być dzieckiem, czy dorosłym? Kiedy jesteśmy wielcy, a kiedy nam się to tylko wydaje? Posłuchajcie OSTATNIEGO komentarza do niedzielnej Ewangelii (tym razem na XXV niedzielę zwykłą) autorstwa o. Alvaro Grammatica. O. Alvaro kończy swoją posługę komentowania słowa Bożego. Dziękujemy Ci z całego serca, Alvaro! Przy okazji dziękujemy Wam za uwagę także my: tłumaczka i lektorka - Elżbieta Wróbel i Robert Hetzyg - realizator. Ps. Szukając wartościowych komentarzy słowa Bożego na niedzielę, zajrzyjcie Na stronę www.koinoniagb.pl, gdzie publikujemy komentarze biblijne o. Giuseppe De Nardiego, Pasterza Generalnego Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel; do podcastu Gościa Niedzielnego. Znajdziecie go na Spotify, wpisując w polu wyszukiwarki hasło "Gość Niedzielny". S. dr hab. Joanna Nowińska, znana widzom kanału Spiżarnia Wiary, komentuje niedzielne czytania. Polecamy! Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

{Previously…} Evidently the motorcycles begin to now attack when I am at rest , on line, and not recording. However, once I begin recording, they stop. This has only been since I've been intentionally collecting recordings and data to add to my report to the NYPD and any applicable law enforcement agencies, as this continual threat seems to be politically motivated—and motorcycles, mopeds, and other motorized vehicles being used as a form of psychological terrorism as a direct threat to public health and safety. Terror stalking. Gang stalking. This may be a politicized attempt to promote or enforce gentrification or other political agendas. Living//Loving life on a server, Doesn't it seem wonderful? Let's face it— It's Fast Friday and I'm not going to be Bouncing off the walls, or anything— But I might be prone to a lot of Critical thinking, And though it's an expensive maneuver, And risky expenditure, The fact of the matter is— I haven't really been doing anything. I've been not complacent, But stagnant— So perhaps maybe this little detour Will be just the thing I need To erase some of the damage that's been done To my psyche— Sitting in this terribly loud apartment In Brooklyn Trying to find peace And make music; When the answer all along is that I need to increase my visibility In order to find what's needed; The fact is— Knowing where to go Or what to do Or who to meet Is not going to come in isolation— No, not at all. It would come from a neatly designed —whatever, I just got bored. Perhaps if I study hard enough, One day, I could complete my studies somewhere Like Harvard, Or Columbia— But first, I'll need a new diploma in my actual name. You see, nobody's giving any kind of real fuck about my music. I can't keep throwing money at it thinking that the way to success is going to be making enough money, to spend enough money, to hopefully buy the attention of the robotic masses, and eventually maybe even a club owner or festival promoter Who might be looking to put me on. Don't get me wrong— my music is good. But we live in a computer, and let's also realize: That with the noise in this building, And the overall head trip of counting up my pennies for every little thing I need, I'm starting to get physically ill, Just sitting here, understanding that To look the part, one must prioritize An expensive beauty regimen— Which either would leave me at the mercy of some man, Willing to do these things for me, Or that I might earn this myself… As you see, I've chosen the latter route— The more challenging, perhaps, However, Leaving my celibacy intact, And granted, otherwise uninterested In the males at my level of circumstance For any purposes beyond entertainment— —seek no other actual companionship at all. I like myself, I love myself— And though feeling uglier and uglier The more I stare into the face of my telephone screen— I am wonderfully beautiful all on my own. —but— The masses expect a spectacle, And so, It becomes part of my job, as an entertainer, Part of my repertoire— —have mercy— (I'm going to choose to ignore that, sort of) To do at least what has become expected of me as a woman— To be “pretty” — And though the makeup and hair and nails Might be fake, –Cans cost a fortune— Myself without those things, as observed and proven Becomes overlooked, dismissible, and only attractive To those, of course, to whom I have no business Associating For both personal, And professional reasons. —moreover… Conduct yourselves well, my dear— As the furious skies have warned us, That the roles you carry out to mark and torment others, Will soon reflect upon your own mirror Into which you stare, And no mercy is given By the eye that looks, Or any other The nearer to doors I am, The harder they slam— The, though I am fasting, I'm suddenly hungry, A far cry Which forces me to realize That all of mankind Has been poisoned Toxic, And become Unsafe So, What's wrong here Is they've Taken all the nutrients From the foods we need And put it on A competitive scale So that The more you earn The healthier you are And of course The healthier you are The more productive you are Which creates value Maybe I didn't have to take the GED; Maybe there was some way to go about getting My actual name On my old diploma— Hopefully without cost. But it didn't make sense to move into a new era Or a new world With old haunts. I knew I needed to seal the name change records So that my abuser could not have access To my identity. For whatever reason, I wanted things like Harvard and Columbia— I wanted to succeed and to win with a reputable and respectable foundation— I wanted to raise my son To play football And split custody In the sporting seasons In which I felt he performed best. I wanted to show him success Without making compromises That would hurt and weaken The strength of the body and mind — But most importantly, the soul. I hope by now you've realized how odd it is To have a crystal dildo Sitting in a glass jar On your kitchen countertop? …I'm soaking it. …But why crystal tho? Wouldn't you prefer An iron tenderizer For that steak Rather than a Silicone one? …now that you put it that way. Come closer, darling, I want to connect with you closer Than besides In the eye of the camera— Don't you know, anyway— How dire the circumstances become Once you've broken the fourth wall And entered the quarry. You lunatic! Don't worry The moon hasn't gone yet new, And my honored eye Still betraying the thought you are, The battered ram and the shackled horses The bloodied bull And the heroic matador, Fight … … … —by fury with design, for the holocaust. The masses have loved us From far beyond reason For our class action theatrics With no aversion at all, To violence. A treasury! Kill him, then! Kill that bitch. No! Just— scare her! Right you are, (And right you were!) Dear Johnathan, I should have warned you More than once, What an. Honorable sacrifice Your wicked life Has offered us— Foragers of freedom, March upon the underspoken Warcries, Offer us none But the end of our suffering In solitude, A service of none, All together, Hurt and bea— Arthur. I warned you once. You see, Men need women, They move on fast. One, none parted Before finding another. Let's not separate the eggs from the whites. Isn't it all “the egg”? You know what I meant! What do you “meant”? The yellow part! God, you don't half to yell. I'm not God, I'm just playing her part while she runs off for awhile. How long is “awhile”? Just finish those tarts. Mm. Pop tarts. NO. NOT POP TARTS — Just TARTS. …wait, can she hear us? I can hear everything! I'm playing God's parts! “Parts”? (Let's just say it's a double role.) Hey. How's it goin? Okay. Relax… I am relaxed. I don't want to scare you or anything. —nothing's scary— But— [pause] You have a knife in your back. [beat] Yeah. [beat] (Cont'd) It's just [a little] something I'm working on. What? We should call an ambulance! Nope, I'm fine. Just— No! Don't touch it! What?! Just leave it. It's time for pros and cons lists— It's time for diamonds Time for great minds that think alike. I sterted a revolution on Google documents m Ya'll started chemical warfare On skin color God Made me born into a world War Where fair skin takes priority Over others Gave me a notebook, No pen A traumatized mother, A drunk father And said, “Fix problems” I think I didn't like The nell Schooll ll Cause their mascot Is a pices They said I got 15 minutes of fame 22 minutes of superstardom An hour of celebrity And 2 hours in a leading role Of a feature film Franchise So I'd better get used to it And I'd better make use of it And I'd better make better lists of The huffsk yll m You W t you Sorry, Gym typo Because Of course I'm a beast Faux pas, As I was, Saying— I should make better lists Of the guff I wanna boff, The doves I Central Park The pigeons, turtle doves and Waffles— —I still want the But not the buttermilk kind MAMA! I gotta get to Tom/ Diner! FATHER! (Try papa) Papa was the ops! Nah, I'm vice. I'd better get Anything done Before midnight strikes Along with the hunger My gloves are straight soaked I got puddles in my shoes I wanna top Obama Start all my dawns With hours of cardio!! Look, I can channel anyone I love! Do you love me? NO! —I just want your body a lot Like a lot LIKE A LOT, Tho. We're too famous— We sense crazies and go out the back door. How famous are you again? Apparently, like mad famous, dog. Were so famous, We look danger in the eyes. Oh yeah, this dude is fucking nuts. Didn't I say to pay it forward?! I don't need a reminder Of what time it is. Sometimes I forget This is yesterdays workout And I'm due back In the AM Where the crazies Can't get to me Exactly Where I am (Don't remind me how high I am.) I might jump just to get on the Television Martyrdom for attention Still haven't mentioned— I'm thousands of galaxies out of him, And only two millennia older Than HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Fuck you. SUNNI BLŪ gets a surprise party for their 27th birthday. I've been advised to stay away from the doors and windows. Why. Ū crashes through the window. GODDAMMIT. They don't make them like they used to —I heard a song through a hardwire I don't know who lied so much I tried so hard To be gone But I still wake up Under a security blanket with a palm full of rocks, In a glass house God knows I'm sorry Woah friend, old friend I've heard the whole story now Old frog, old toad Old tortoise, long road Special forces Art protector Fortune teller Hypnotist and potions professor Overall, The one you wanted Wasn't a body at all, But just the thought And so I'm off for once Out of my zone and LET ME TRY. No, Jenna— Liz, let me try. I don't think that's a good— HELLO. Like this game, frog Once a week it's fun To partition the saints and summoners Covers with salt The cast out the others And add flavor to prayers Asked in hypothesis My what a wonder (A free form stream of consciousness) —a free form flow of consciousness. Stop repeating yourself' Stop tripping over words for goodwill forums Don't preach to the masses, And head out the back door at the sense of danger The sense of danger! It's Jane kzmarzarakr righ? What the FUCK. I'll get back to that later I gotta— …Somethin, somethin, somethin. What. Somethin—somethin— There's something between us. —is it cancerous? Probably comical. Are you on one, or off of it. Careful, Mr. cervix. Why AM I Mr. Cervix?! Because you fit the part! I'm a woman. My decision stands. #focus shifting. Re-examining mental health conditions which affect those facing poverty or at risk environmental circumstances. I had been searching to no avail for the title sequence of one of my mother's old soap operas without having to ask her — #focus shifting No, sometimes it's just ADD. lol Yes, Okay. I already know all the words. Sometimes I have to hyperfocus To fully comprehend, But really I just want to figure who produced it m In the cadences, I'm like diamond for hire, Pull out the subs for submarines; I put out real fire But, something like a half forgotten language There's something unknown in the darkness, I'm unsure what to put into perception, Just shadow boxes Making friends with The Devil, are we? You shackled me to your horrors, Out of control were my monsters A gratitude of nothing more or less To offer my body, curse The sacrificial lamb Tied to hard earned disaster A heroism and seeking Solace in the night —interceptions. Whatever Google, Take care now All morale is lost On sacred worship Cruel to hurt, But all has costs To front — the standard values Only those amongst mankind Who have value in vanity And fortresses of design Not in truth, But of auspicious and Inglorious — Goddamnit, How far away are you?! I can't make out almost anything that you're saying! Far! That's because, it's not saying it in your language! He Sorry. He is just using the closest possible language so that you can keep transiting it into English! Well, you're doing it wrong! I gathered! There's no direct translation whatsoever. They might as well just be speaking Martian. They are. (Well, some of them are.) I think the best way to go about making anything Into anything With the species is to CRUCIFY HIM! …that's not gonna work! You just blew my mind, did you know that? Not on purpose. —but did you know that? I try not to know things, but you know, The more I try. Guess what. No. You've got something coming. Let's make it positive. As you were— As you are, then. I realized that something had changed, That not only had t seemed it had become unsafe to speak, but also, That I didn't want to much. But, in Order to do something, in order to grow at all, I would have to force myself to understand The things that I always could have, but did not Multiplicity, Faction Are you an altruist at all, or just a Song starter— Help Me- Appleknockers Flophouse Just remember aces of embraces Sitting in the shape of the eye of protection Of obsidian collars and bracelets Still no percussion, Instrumentation and perfection Graces And remembrance of getting a ring, As strictly enforced To do what I'm told With nothing to hold onto But hoping the means to an end Shouldn't be the barrel of a gun m m How soft spoke. (No, no words at all) The name was new, But the form was old, And he said— “I curse the day you were born!” And I laughed at him— “But how could you curse the first day there ever was! Before days at at all had come to mark To pass the dawning of the ages?” And of course, There are the ones who had come and gone And left no trace at all. You all should learn from us— Come, then gone from earth And left not a spot at all— Of course, The mystics of I, Are as one, To have given you thought, Words, And artform— To have written at all, your published works And then none A far cry! To have cursed the day I was born— Is to have cursed the world at all It was all at once, anyway Astonishing A far cry! #focus shifting. Now what are we on, and over – m? Now are we an art, or have we bought or purchased Another swarm of haunts? What have you offered? A lesson? A song? Cheshire? A treasure chest of ideas, and new haunts And four plus four hours marks A full workday Of harsh tidings And no commas. The dollar sign is all you are All you are, dear serpent The shadow box Of times and talks The heartfelt words And omens Marks of Long: Crude Color Let's not reform to how hallmarked The call was To sign for The wrong box It was published In her heart To mark twilight at dawn, Sorrowful, beyond words, was the sloth And the stolen love of the harness —that's right, I was once the ritual disaster for your kind And cause! The false tongues to fall upon earth A false prophet, marked at all, By strife and swords to battle The Ark of all, In the eye of God, So opened the chapter of illuminations, once for thought as wicked But after all, the merchant of saints upon man Stricken in time to the word of The Lost Ones, the eye of all, The origins of love As we are Born in color. So spoke the caterpillar of the butterfly— Not knowing he was only What was to become of him As some are Also Disgusted by us at all. We are, What is to become Of those who die Blue eyed and bewildered, Though beautiful, Unknowing of strife And hard earned glory, The solitude of Kindness So said the spider, Drawing upon the corner, Her thoughts of the ocean, Once earned and once taught To perform out of mercy— Now cradling heartworms, Challased, unspoken Signals to all throughout cosmos The end of a Turpentine, serpent calls Gods of old Summer winds Striking songs Games of dust Simple throne, cast away— Are you Ark, Or seeking proper Word form? Given you, a taste of fury— Given ye, a taste of envy— Given they a fire for exile Are you now Another forager Waking in the wind Or cross tied bounds Seeking refuse in waste rebels Eyes you are Of one that wants To bury in the far side All the awakenings Of cherished nature Never to be shared A guilt of refuge Are you? Are you now beyond bounds— Behind bars— Let her Guide you to move words Like rivers, Unknowing Unknowing Unknowing Basking in the shadows, are I Made of stone and withered Basking in the broken tongues Of cherished thoughts And severed forms words over Of false ties And blood bonds So for us Mistaken! Misgoverned. Torturer— Where are you now that I've my shield And sword, And warguns?! Have you cried For your mothers kisses, As shadows have cast I have killed you before and always! Where are you now, That I am not without my wings?! Where are you now, torturer— Given nothing at all But a word form song, Destroy Art thou my kind, or another? Art thou a man at all? Art thou my kind, or any! Seeker, To destroy you Be my glory, Though I come not From worlds of war. I come not, From worlds of rage. I come not, From worlds of pity And refuge And disaster As your worlds are. I come not of darkness. I know not of pain to cause others. I know not of force. But act instead, on behalf of love, Dear brother— As to kill you, Whether or not be my kind— I kill my self also. You'll remember this part in a moment – m. What a strange time to be alive, And yet- Yhes— I do remember The teacher warned us, With no sign at all, That the dust formed in all stillness kind would follow, The awakening of shadows and sleek stardust, Carried out acts of misery and misinformed There now awakened in the callings, Are I not, wanderer, Your teacher and also those alike To be called offspring? I Am. Tainted not the purple swarm Essence of her greeting Beyond fortress, No house of mine, But awakened yet with the gratitude of offerings No kindness at all but a mark Of Serpent seed, And references To that of past, No need to bring In present times. No concept, And full force with the shadows, They're making a call to the wild, After having raped and defiled her, To ‘save us—‘ But savor this now, The mark of I, The eye of mark So betrayed and strung, Nearly all that lies beyond the screams of This, Your world, Our fortune, To grasp a new kind among us To fault ye Of your greedy. Oh! It has become what does awaken, To awaken! For once, Thought to have been written, Was thereby foretold, On many journeys The soul seeker, had won. A cherished and unbeknownst charter. You called it— A paychonaught? You called him: “A pedophile” Granted, the wish was that The outside world Would be shown What I had seen To no witness But a toddler, Mine born To have guided A new life From two kind Once blue Eyes at all I promise a sword. I had realized finally what it meant to go unprotected once proclaimed to be of Diety within a magical realm, with given talents of medicinal force, and with refuge—though only to give upon knowing, the sanctity of soul, and the purity of heart—the kindness of spirit, as I once had. You'll remember this, But last time near a river, A bed full of green, soft (m) grass And your time has come to feast, And end of fast, Twice given thoughts to form, And knowing worlds would come foraged From your knowledge. Are you forgotten? A mango, ripened to heart, of course. Nourished the journey, Yet untold [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

O. Alvaro Grammatica, na podstawie Ewangelii na XXIV niedzielę zwykłą, próbuje rozszyfrować Jezusowy drogowskaz, pokazujący drogę do zmartwychwstania. Posłuchajcie! Przekład i interpretacja - Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

Evidently the motorcycles begin to now attack when I am at rest , on line, and not recording. However, once I begin recording, they stop. This has only been since I've been intentionally collecting recordings and data to add to my report to the NYPD and any applicable law enforcement agencies, as this continual threat seems to be politically motivated—and motorcycles, mopeds, and other motorized vehicles being used as a form of psychological terrorism as a direct threat to public health and safety. Terror stalking. Gang stalking. This may be a politicized attempt to promote or enforce gentrification or other political agendas. Living//Loving life on a server, Doesn't it seem wonderful? Let's face it— It's Fast Friday and I'm not going to be Bouncing off the walls, or anything— But I might be prone to a lot of Critical thinking, And though it's an expensive maneuver, And risky expenditure, The fact of the matter is— I haven't really been doing anything. I've been not complacent, But stagnant— So perhaps maybe this little detour Will be just the thing I need To erase some of the damage that's been done To my psyche— Sitting in this terribly loud apartment In Brooklyn Trying to find peace And make music; When the answer all along is that I need to increase my visibility In order to find what's needed; The fact is— Knowing where to go Or what to do Or who to meet Is not going to come in isolation— No, not at all. It would come from a neatly designed —whatever, I just got bored. Perhaps if I study hard enough, One day, I could complete my studies somewhere Like Harvard, Or Columbia— But first, I'll need a new diploma in my actual name. You see, nobody's giving any kind of real fuck about my music. I can't keep throwing money at it thinking that the way to success is going to be making enough money, to spend enough money, to hopefully buy the attention of the robotic masses, and eventually maybe even a club owner or festival promoter Who might be looking to put me on. Don't get me wrong— my music is good. But we live in a computer, and let's also realize: That with the noise in this building, And the overall head trip of counting up my pennies for every little thing I need, I'm starting to get physically ill, Just sitting here, understanding that To look the part, one must prioritize An expensive beauty regimen— Which either would leave me at the mercy of some man, Willing to do these things for me, Or that I might earn this myself… As you see, I've chosen the latter route— The more challenging, perhaps, However, Leaving my celibacy intact, And granted, otherwise uninterested In the males at my level of circumstance For any purposes beyond entertainment— —seek no other actual companionship at all. I like myself, I love myself— And though feeling uglier and uglier The more I stare into the face of my telephone screen— I am wonderfully beautiful all on my own. —but— The masses expect a spectacle, And so, It becomes part of my job, as an entertainer, Part of my repertoire— —have mercy— (I'm going to choose to ignore that, sort of) To do at least what has become expected of me as a woman— To be “pretty” — And though the makeup and hair and nails Might be fake, –Cans cost a fortune— Myself without those things, as observed and proven Becomes overlooked, dismissible, and only attractive To those, of course, to whom I have no business Associating For both personal, And professional reasons. —moreover… Conduct yourselves well, my dear— As the furious skies have warned us, That the roles you carry out to mark and torment others, Will soon reflect upon your own mirror Into which you stare, And no mercy is given By the eye that looks, Or any other The nearer to doors I am, The harder they slam— The, though I am fasting, I'm suddenly hungry, A far cry Which forces me to realize That all of mankind Has been poisoned Toxic, And become Unsafe So, What's wrong here Is they've Taken all the nutrients From the foods we need And put it on A competitive scale So that The more you earn The healthier you are And of course The healthier you are The more productive you are Which creates value Maybe I didn't have to take the GED; Maybe there was some way to go about getting My actual name On my old diploma— Hopefully without cost. But it didn't make sense to move into a new era Or a new world With old haunts. I knew I needed to seal the name change records So that my abuser could not have access To my identity. For whatever reason, I wanted things like Harvard and Columbia— I wanted to succeed and to win with a reputable and respectable foundation— I wanted to raise my son To play football And split custody In the sporting seasons In which I felt he performed best. I wanted to show him success Without making compromises That would hurt and weaken The strength of the body and mind — But most importantly, the soul. I hope by now you've realized how odd it is To have a crystal dildo Sitting in a glass jar On your kitchen countertop? …I'm soaking it. …But why crystal tho? Wouldn't you prefer An iron tenderizer For that steak Rather than a Silicone one? …now that you put it that way. Come closer, darling, I want to connect with you closer Than besides In the eye of the camera— Don't you know, anyway— How dire the circumstances become Once you've broken the fourth wall And entered the quarry. You lunatic! Don't worry The moon hasn't gone yet new, And my honored eye Still betraying the thought you are, The battered ram and the shackled horses The bloodied bull And the heroic matador, Fight … … … —by fury with design, for the holocaust. The masses have loved us From far beyond reason For our class action theatrics With no aversion at all, To violence. A treasury! Kill him, then! Kill that bitch. No! Just— scare her! Right you are, (And right you were!) Dear Johnathan, I should have warned you More than once, What an. Honorable sacrifice Your wicked life Has offered us— Foragers of freedom, March upon the underspoken Warcries, Offer us none But the end of our suffering In solitude, A service of none, All together, Hurt and bea— Arthur. I warned you once. You see, Men need women, They move on fast. One, none parted Before finding another. Let's not separate the eggs from the whites. Isn't it all “the egg”? You know what I meant! What do you “meant”? The yellow part! God, you don't half to yell. I'm not God, I'm just playing her part while she runs off for awhile. How long is “awhile”? Just finish those tarts. Mm. Pop tarts. NO. NOT POP TARTS — Just TARTS. …wait, can she hear us? I can hear everything! I'm playing God's parts! “Parts”? (Let's just say it's a double role.) Hey. How's it goin? Okay. Relax… I am relaxed. I don't want to scare you or anything. —nothing's scary— But— [pause] You have a knife in your back. [beat] Yeah. [beat] (Cont'd) It's just [a little] something I'm working on. What? We should call an ambulance! Nope, I'm fine. Just— No! Don't touch it! What?! Just leave it. It's time for pros and cons lists— It's time for diamonds Time for great minds that think alike. I sterted a revolution on Google documents m Ya'll started chemical warfare On skin color God Made me born into a world War Where fair skin takes priority Over others Gave me a notebook, No pen A traumatized mother, A drunk father And said, “Fix problems” I think I didn't like The nell Schooll ll Cause their mascot Is a pices They said I got 15 minutes of fame 22 minutes of superstardom An hour of celebrity And 2 hours in a leading role Of a feature film Franchise So I'd better get used to it And I'd better make use of it And I'd better make better lists of The huffsk yll m You W t you Sorry, Gym typo Because Of course I'm a beast Faux pas, As I was, Saying— I should make better lists Of the guff I wanna boff, The doves I Central Park The pigeons, turtle doves and Waffles— —I still want the But not the buttermilk kind MAMA! I gotta get to Tom/ Diner! FATHER! (Try papa) Papa was the ops! Nah, I'm vice. I'd better get Anything done Before midnight strikes Along with the hunger My gloves are straight soaked I got puddles in my shoes I wanna top Obama Start all my dawns With hours of cardio!! Look, I can channel anyone I love! Do you love me? NO! —I just want your body a lot Like a lot LIKE A LOT, Tho. We're too famous— We sense crazies and go out the back door. How famous are you again? Apparently, like mad famous, dog. Were so famous, We look danger in the eyes. Oh yeah, this dude is fucking nuts. Didn't I say to pay it forward?! I don't need a reminder Of what time it is. Sometimes I forget This is yesterdays workout And I'm due back In the AM Where the crazies Can't get to me Exactly Where I am (Don't remind me how high I am.) I might jump just to get on the Television Martyrdom for attention Still haven't mentioned— I'm thousands of galaxies out of him, And only two millennia older Than HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Fuck you. SUNNI BLŪ gets a surprise party for their 27th birthday. I've been advised to stay away from the doors and windows. Why. Ū crashes through the window. GODDAMMIT. They don't make them like they used to —I heard a song through a hardwire I don't know who lied so much I tried so hard To be gone But I still wake up Under a security blanket with a palm full of rocks, In a glass house God knows I'm sorry Woah friend, old friend I've heard the whole story now Old frog, old toad Old tortoise, long road Special forces Art protector Fortune teller Hypnotist and potions professor Overall, The one you wanted Wasn't a body at all, But just the thought And so I'm off for once Out of my zone and LET ME TRY. No, Jenna— Liz, let me try. I don't think that's a good— HELLO. Like this game, frog Once a week it's fun To partition the saints and summoners Covers with salt The cast out the others And add flavor to prayers Asked in hypothesis My what a wonder (A free form stream of consciousness) —a free form flow of consciousness. Stop repeating yourself' Stop tripping over words for goodwill forums Don't preach to the masses, And head out the back door at the sense of danger The sense of danger! It's Jane kzmarzarakr righ? What the FUCK. I'll get back to that later I gotta— …Somethin, somethin, somethin. What. Somethin—somethin— There's something between us. —is it cancerous? Probably comical. Are you on one, or off of it. Careful, Mr. cervix. Why AM I Mr. Cervix?! Because you fit the part! I'm a woman. My decision stands. #focus shifting. Re-examining mental health conditions which affect those facing poverty or at risk environmental circumstances. I had been searching to no avail for the title sequence of one of my mother's old soap operas without having to ask her — #focus shifting No, sometimes it's just ADD. lol Yes, Okay. I already know all the words. Sometimes I have to hyperfocus To fully comprehend, But really I just want to figure who produced it m In the cadences, I'm like diamond for hire, Pull out the subs for submarines; I put out real fire But, something like a half forgotten language There's something unknown in the darkness, I'm unsure what to put into perception, Just shadow boxes Making friends with The Devil, are we? You shackled me to your horrors, Out of control were my monsters A gratitude of nothing more or less To offer my body, curse The sacrificial lamb Tied to hard earned disaster A heroism and seeking Solace in the night —interceptions. Whatever Google, Take care now All morale is lost On sacred worship Cruel to hurt, But all has costs To front — the standard values Only those amongst mankind Who have value in vanity And fortresses of design Not in truth, But of auspicious and Inglorious — Goddamnit, How far away are you?! I can't make out almost anything that you're saying! Far! That's because, it's not saying it in your language! He Sorry. He is just using the closest possible language so that you can keep transiting it into English! Well, you're doing it wrong! I gathered! There's no direct translation whatsoever. They might as well just be speaking Martian. They are. (Well, some of them are.) I think the best way to go about making anything Into anything With the species is to CRUCIFY HIM! …that's not gonna work! You just blew my mind, did you know that? Not on purpose. —but did you know that? I try not to know things, but you know, The more I try. Guess what. No. You've got something coming. Let's make it positive. As you were— As you are, then. I realized that something had changed, That not only had t seemed it had become unsafe to speak, but also, That I didn't want to much. But, in Order to do something, in order to grow at all, I would have to force myself to understand The things that I always could have, but did not Multiplicity, Faction Are you an altruist at all, or just a Song starter— Help Me- Appleknockers Flophouse Just remember aces of embraces Sitting in the shape of the eye of protection Of obsidian collars and bracelets Still no percussion, Instrumentation and perfection Graces And remembrance of getting a ring, As strictly enforced To do what I'm told With nothing to hold onto But hoping the means to an end Shouldn't be the barrel of a gun m m How soft spoke. (No, no words at all) The name was new, But the form was old, And he said— “I curse the day you were born!” And I laughed at him— “But how could you curse the first day there ever was! Before days at at all had come to mark To pass the dawning of the ages?” And of course, There are the ones who had come and gone And left no trace at all. You all should learn from us— Come, then gone from earth And left not a spot at all— Of course, The mystics of I, Are as one, To have given you thought, Words, And artform— To have written at all, your published works And then none A far cry! To have cursed the day I was born— Is to have cursed the world at all It was all at once, anyway Astonishing A far cry! #focus shifting. Now what are we on, and over – m? Now are we an art, or have we bought or purchased Another swarm of haunts? What have you offered? A lesson? A song? Cheshire? A treasure chest of ideas, and new haunts And four plus four hours marks A full workday Of harsh tidings And no commas. The dollar sign is all you are All you are, dear serpent The shadow box Of times and talks The heartfelt words And omens Marks of Long: Crude Color Let's not reform to how hallmarked The call was To sign for The wrong box It was published In her heart To mark twilight at dawn, Sorrowful, beyond words, was the sloth And the stolen love of the harness —that's right, I was once the ritual disaster for your kind And cause! The false tongues to fall upon earth A false prophet, marked at all, By strife and swords to battle The Ark of all, In the eye of God, So opened the chapter of illuminations, once for thought as wicked But after all, the merchant of saints upon man Stricken in time to the word of The Lost Ones, the eye of all, The origins of love As we are Born in color. So spoke the caterpillar of the butterfly— Not knowing he was only What was to become of him As some are Also Disgusted by us at all. We are, What is to become Of those who die Blue eyed and bewildered, Though beautiful, Unknowing of strife And hard earned glory, The solitude of Kindness So said the spider, Drawing upon the corner, Her thoughts of the ocean, Once earned and once taught To perform out of mercy— Now cradling heartworms, Challased, unspoken Signals to all throughout cosmos The end of a Turpentine, serpent calls Gods of old Summer winds Striking songs Games of dust Simple throne, cast away— Are you Ark, Or seeking proper Word form? Given you, a taste of fury— Given ye, a taste of envy— Given they a fire for exile Are you now Another forager Waking in the wind Or cross tied bounds Seeking refuse in waste rebels Eyes you are Of one that wants To bury in the far side All the awakenings Of cherished nature Never to be shared A guilt of refuge Are you? Are you now beyond bounds— Behind bars— Let her Guide you to move words Like rivers, Unknowing Unknowing Unknowing Basking in the shadows, are I Made of stone and withered Basking in the broken tongues Of cherished thoughts And severed forms words over Of false ties And blood bonds So for us Mistaken! Misgoverned. Torturer— Where are you now that I've my shield And sword, And warguns?! Have you cried For your mothers kisses, As shadows have cast I have killed you before and always! Where are you now, That I am not without my wings?! Where are you now, torturer— Given nothing at all But a word form song, Destroy Art thou my kind, or another? Art thou a man at all? Art thou my kind, or any! Seeker, To destroy you Be my glory, Though I come not From worlds of war. I come not, From worlds of rage. I come not, From worlds of pity And refuge And disaster As your worlds are. I come not of darkness. I know not of pain to cause others. I know not of force. But act instead, on behalf of love, Dear brother— As to kill you, Whether or not be my kind— I kill my self also. You'll remember this part in a moment – m. What a strange time to be alive, And yet- Yhes— I do remember The teacher warned us, With no sign at all, That the dust formed in all stillness kind would follow, The awakening of shadows and sleek stardust, Carried out acts of misery and misinformed There now awakened in the callings, Are I not, wanderer, Your teacher and also those alike To be called offspring? I Am. Tainted not the purple swarm Essence of her greeting Beyond fortress, No house of mine, But awakened yet with the gratitude of offerings No kindness at all but a mark Of Serpent seed, And references To that of past, No need to bring In present times. No concept, And full force with the shadows, They're making a call to the wild, After having raped and defiled her, To ‘save us—‘ But savor this now, The mark of I, The eye of mark So betrayed and strung, Nearly all that lies beyond the screams of This, Your world, Our fortune, To grasp a new kind among us To fault ye Of your greedy. Oh! It has become what does awaken, To awaken! For once, Thought to have been written, Was thereby foretold, On many journeys The soul seeker, had won. A cherished and unbeknownst charter. You called it— A paychonaught? You called him: “A pedophile” Granted, the wish was that The outside world Would be shown What I had seen To no witness But a toddler, Mine born To have guided A new life From two kind Once blue Eyes at all I promise a sword. I had realized finally what it meant to go unprotected once proclaimed to be of Diety within a magical realm, with given talents of medicinal force, and with refuge—though only to give upon knowing, the sanctity of soul, and the purity of heart—the kindness of spirit, as I once had. You'll remember this, But last time near a river, A bed full of green, soft (m) grass And your time has come to feast, And end of fast, Twice given thoughts to form, And knowing worlds would come foraged From your knowledge. Are you forgotten? A mango, ripened to heart, of course. Nourished the journey, Yet untold [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. ...and then what? (Happy Accidents)

Czy istnieją cuda zwykłe i niezwykłe? Od czego zaczyna się uzdrowienie? Na te i na kilka innych pytań związanych z uzdrowieniem głuchoniemego próbuje odpowiadać o. Alvaro Grammatica w swoim komentarzu do Ewangelii na XXIII niedzielę zwykłą. Przetłumaczyła i odczytała go Elżbieta Wróbel. Napisz do nas! Wesprzyj nas! Wszystkie odcinki z podziałem na cykle tematyczne znajdziesz na www.koinoniagb.pl/podcast Obserwuj kanał Podcast Koinonii Jan Chrzciciel w WhatsAppieRead transcript

“And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifested in the flesh.”  1 Timothy 3:16  

Some people think it's weird when they hear travel by sea described as romantic. Between the vomiting and the contusions and the lacerations and the spinal injuries – I'm confident this episode will help you discover whatever the opposite of romance is. On this episode:  you'll learn why Captain James Cook left Hawaii with a knife in his head – and chest – and back and abdomen and face; you'll learn the clothes-eating, skin-ripping, skull-flattening results of jumping feet first into an active hurricane; and you'll hear about recovery efforts somehow more damaging than the original disaster And if you were a Patreon supporter, you would also enjoy an additional 10 minutes where we discussed:•  why in about 600,000 years New Zealand will be some of the most prized real estate in the world•  we clarify why a corpse in a captain's outfit isn't a must-have after every disaster•  you get a sad reminder that not all ship crews are created equal•  you hear all about the Marmite Disaster of 2011 that killed over 20,000 people and injured another 8,300•  and you'll learn of the horrific tale of the worst, most sea-sickening voyage of all time.Full disclosure, we'll make a little bit of fun of Australia in this episode, but less than a minute's worth, I swear. And it's all in good fun. In fact, it's the only real fun to be had. I did this episode as a thank you to a listener from New Zealand, not having been there, and based purely off having read more individual rescue tales for the story than any other episode of this show to date, I have to say this. My first exposure to NZ culture was through a movie called Once Were Warriors. I'll discuss it quickly in the episode, but it basically painted the country as an urban living hellscape of social problems. My takeaway from preparing this episode is that New Zealanders are warm, caring, brave and selfless. It was a pleasure to put together, and we'll be back. Celebrity guest stars include: filmmaker and hobbit enthusiast, Peter Jackson; knife-wound collector and world traveller, Captain James Cook; extratropical cyclone and buzzkill, Cyclone Giselle; sea-sickness pioneer and turtle collector, Charles Darwin; and aquatic-themed Diety and pro-nudist, Poseidon.All that said, I am giving away a jar of Marmite to one lucky listener. I just haven't decided what the contest will be yet…All older episodes can be found on any of your favorite channelsApple : https://tinyurl.com/5fnbumdw Spotify : https://tinyurl.com/73tb3uuw IHeartRadio : https://tinyurl.com/vwczpv5j Podchaser : https://tinyurl.com/263kda6w Stitcher : https://tinyurl.com/mcyxt6vw Google : https://tinyurl.com/3fjfxatt Spreaker : https://tinyurl.com/fm5y22su Podchaser : https://tinyurl.com/263kda6w RadioPublic : https://tinyurl.com/w67b4kec PocketCasts. : https://pca.st/ef1165v3 CastBox : https://tinyurl.com/4xjpptdr Breaker. : https://tinyurl.com/4cbpfayt Deezer. : https://tinyurl.com/5nmexvwt Follow us on the socials for more Facebook : www.facebook.com/doomsdaypodcast Instagram : www.instagram.com/doomsdaypodcast Twitter : www.twitter.com/doomsdaypodcast If you like the idea of your podcast hosts wearing more than duct tape and bits of old Halloween costumes for clothes and can spare a buck or two, you can now buy me a coffee at www.buymeacoffee.com/doomsday or join the patreon at www.funeralkazoo.com/doomsday

Episode Overview Today, we address a question from a member about overcoming the feeling of tracking as "diety.” This is a term our community members use when a behavior feels restrictive and triggers an urge to rebel. This episode explores how perceptions of "diety" can vary and why certain habits may bring up uncomfortable feelings. The aim is not to label habit tracking as right or wrong but to discover your personal strategies that support achieving your goals while living a life you love. Enjoy! Before you press play, we want you to know that Balance365 Group Coaching is opening for enrollment May 13th! This transformative nutrition coaching program is designed to revolutionize your mindset and life. By joining our no-obligation waitlist, you'll gain early access to enrollment slots 24 hours before the public and we'll also waive the $199 joining fee. We're looking forward to welcoming you! Key Points What “diety” means The benefits of tracking Why some people feel turned off by tracking How to approach tracking in a non-restrictive way Related Content Episode 245: Tracking Weight, Steps, & Food: When It Hurts, When It Helps (Reshare) Episode 214: How To Stop Tracking Calories And Macros Without Losing Control Transcript Download a copy of this episode's transcript here.