Podcasts about Dripping

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 31, 2025 2:32

I want to scream at you But even standing at my shoulder length My eye at your chest. You'd be a million miles away Look what I make of you. I have no mistakes left and still The fate of it is that, You have my gratitude, your gracious And yet they eat away At all the things I have And maybe there'll be more of me For now the morbid days are just as caving in as Any other making that we make of it Don't thank me, Just outrank them. Banking on your every moment Effervescent, tragic endings Waiting on your every scent and center Don't disintegrate just yet And now we enter impact Stand for circumstances Do work faster Horror horror Do you know the motive of her Former engines? Motive, motive Steer the plot or rear the message m Fritter fritter Audiences get disinterested So effing quickly. Would you mild or would you mold Or would you wake to fold the eggs into the bacon, Bread, and then tomato— Would you fear her message? Would you quick forget you're on her planet? Surely safe to know But know but knots And no but not again You bought it with your faux and auctions Hallmark cards And feathers fauxes Don't you know The faucet's only running water Oh you're hard predictable And chlorinated Oh the poison Dripping at your ways And wilting at your guilt The James The reckon gestures Reckon, Avery Severed by the check Or just the ever ending Never get there Message to a friend To just keep going When she ends it It is just another death You'll get on with it In the end Never friends. Never. Good I hate you Could you maybe Find me ugly? That's your money in my Every reaching corner Every angling cent And harsh presentations of Skin that's aging and Wages which haven't Coverage to front the Expenses, Crash diets Go broken Ugly cause you're course Everything fits But still empty on the inside I live in shredded Shambles of service But there's no gratitude My breath is only your own And this bread is my headache I haven't a sermon Or diamond Or unworthy Sex appeal And really only Ever off when Only ever on You're still demolishing the board You're still diminishing the severs Yet you neglected Each and every Crevice of this Never ending friendship— But did I ever mention there is a glass slipper For each and every person ever Just to wish one? Did it ever occur to you The circumstances you are under r Live for it Or get lost There's really only porridge in her oven If the gas or turning off or over Don't turn over now The resin's covered in the Corvette. Only cause I had to Sense when is it Blood sense. Get laid Don't flinch Get paid Gold finch Get reckless I call spirits north for dinner South for lunch And up for porridge at breakfast I've passed on I've been awake You're mortal girl The one you're on is Really only such a small pond That I should think To cover up With dirt. Start over. —and Skrillex is just in the corner the whole time playing video games. Worst dream ever. But why's Seth Meyer's mad at me? I'm guessing he always was! He's people are just like that All conservative, conformed— Again, it's not your fault It's just uncomfortable! Again I only ever approached it wanting to know If the l broach l fits But even Lucille Ball won't come if I call her— Probably don't even got the right number Code of arms Or helm of awe, huh. Fuck, man. When's Tonight Show in hiatus Need you off the island, off In Prague And out my anus, Don't remind me I've been Jamie Lee Curtis Just recently enough That I miss it. Ugh. I know, I resent that. Find a line to draw Or fly a kite past I'm past my reckoning Just for tonight, The suffering ends Surely not enough to past the time Before my electrolytes fly in But tonight Just tonight I want to dine in my mind Or die alone Without trying to find the light— The neighbor simply seems to follow it. (At least I got her ought to not slam the door now, Police interventions, There really are cause for those.) What is a warfare! Buy me a checkmark! My question mark seems to go off a lot All for it God, You're remarkable I gift a heart or though I out all my crystals in the Rockerfeller plaza But still held on to an amethyst for Dillon Francis? There those eyes are again; I hate to hurt you North; But I'm no mother board Or mother ship Or Mother Earth Broke my focus long enough to call you up, But sure, I'm just short of even past conscious. Nothing's safe for us, you know. One one to call; No code of conduct– No safety in numbers, or color guard No home, and no love in our times For our kind– We're all here now And the wrong time Is all time. {Enter The Multiverse} Do you see me? I don't not see you. Well. Well. I thought there'd be more having to say. There's nothing to say. Not nothing… Nothing. Huh. —unless you say it. I've nothing to say. Then say nothing. The frog croaks, The oak leafs, The custard leaves its corridors The hark leaps The oath melts, The sworn have sworn To never mark. To no remose, To no remark; The carrier, and carry her— The fierce need, For Vegabonds, For every caper read Amen. All is spoken; And all in thought also in words All is listened And all has heard not in her form Stiff. You're horrified. You're horrifying. Sure, but— Brother— Broken— Nothing that I've never heard before Capable. Half-friend. Northerner. Cape cod. Hamptons. Fair straights. Ancient. Sacred. R I T U A L S LEGENDS: R I T U A L S OH GOD. No! NO! NO! It just keeps going! Thank you! Thank God. I thought it was over. You were invoked. I was implicated. Fun fact: Here's the thing. You were murdered. Ah, gains. Why the fuck do I never get to just choose when this happens? Cause you don't. This isn't fair! I watch 2 segments of— STEPHEN COLBERT enters. *shattered. Shithead. STEPHEN COLBERT enters shattered. —I was shattered when I heard about it. What's that? Never you mind. I didn't— I just— asked. He finds his way to the round table in the center of the dark room. He seems twisted; it's as if he's been blindsided. Capable. And still there's nowhere In here The city we share I can go To make the sound Eager to leave my soul As how I know you. Awkward! Just wait. You've been betrayed! I— know that already. Is this your card? {Enter The Multiverse} GET OFF THE TRAIN. — Lil bitz Fool. Why every time I see you, you look guilty. Why. You never look innocent at all. If something went down — I know it was you. Hide a lie; Can't hide a lie Can't tell a tell Can't roll the ball Can't bowl the strike Can't run at all Can't fool the hare Can't skin the cat Can't dance a bit Don't row the boat Can't play the role Don't know the tune Can't trim the tree Can't hold the bowl Can't kill the fowl Don't tell the tale. Hide a lie. Run a mile Taste the bile Fill the basket Now you're moron Now you're mortal That's immoral Jimmy Fallon —that's a turtle. Tell the lie. Hide the fold. Kill the curse; Sail the ark Fill the void Hate the gap Kill the king Tell the tale Tell a lie Hide the [The Festival Project ™] knife. In for life, or what? Info wars at most. Live to tell the tale? Learn to spike the punch Learn to punch the wall Lean up on the door Learn to most of all Shut the fuck up Keep your mouth shut I love New York Give the bad news Put a smile on Oh you gotta love it I get close to nothing once a month And then come back To pull the puffer out the dragon Goddammit what you want me for I learned another lesson Don't devour her All I wanted was Just a sour odor Give the last call I go heroin blind For heroine times And by the time it all gets darker I will have pulled the plug and written on the wall in Permanent marker. ugh. Fuck you. Fuck The Doors. Fuck your chorus. Fuck your archer. Fuck, you found I. I all for her, Shoot the wombat; —But the door shuts on its own Without it getting harder, now. Don't it? Donut. i don't— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Okay. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Can I contour? Not even one episode Or epicenter Even for a lonely I got the warning For your magnitude before So what you want It's just a test Pacific coast Or night crawler Nightmare or Nightfall You swore you won't I do desire not a lover But a hand to hold And father for my own So. Shove it up your Probably want a I don't need disaster warning What you wanted Limoncello Light waves And light gave a damn I have a dance I cave to for And there you are Just a horrible oar, Now I row the boat But you don't disaster Nor could you decide to divorce her Even if I ever worked At Art gallery Organizers God, you wore her sweater Just to make it all seem rather backwards If perchance I ran my hand just over All the soft Love in the world Are you not a dozen roses? To far my flames I gave you my heart Flower Done moving Don't moon Did you really pay the neighbor Just to hate me Haven't you heard On our earth There's turf war? So far, white doves But no lost wolves, Poor pigeons, following Of course you were hard wired I hate not once But all times the hurt Each time I struck Sure I want for California And Equinox saunas And then no more do I run the tub! But for now as I soak and the roach prowls, I get my motion under the water, Sure form and no more fire till the moon comes up who rose at dusk? Likely or lite brawl Sire, You care to hard work But you desire awful I was right in all forms Now I die here Your knife and all you are Feels right as blood pours out I want but only suffer Your call could only burden My tie to fall a lark Cries Out In To Her Arms you fall and I desire I desire I now Have a heart to cry I died, sir. You won. How awful. Just a nugget of truth, This window of lies, A mask so broken And yet in the cracks there, my mirror My shadow My hard times Out to work And off to war And what you wanted No, not outside Inside love But nevermind that Now the blood pours out and sweet, I thank to this relief and finally Rest, I. No longer shall I mourn your love to not And know the guilt is slain in you anew, my heart Dear shadow, youth becomes my blood And dear far cry, Dear boy you, Wait to know me in again another There came and withered and your force Now knows mine, Never end and tethered, There I wait, then Now I blood and dreaming, sleeping in Your pure, Decency. I have strike and so wait my end; And you, go on, Now without my voice. A harp. Welcome to Ecuador. What are you doing here? I grow bananas. Every once in awhile I have you over For a cocktail Or five. Every night I tighten my eyes on you, Thoughts. Every space in time Is just a collar Dog A bark. Every time you call I still come over Though you do not want, I opposite. You see, You are time. I see you now, God. I feel your heart, I Can involve My lips quaking Your worried me My fall, right? Why— I belong in your eye, Why, Heart my home, I, Never go. Never not. Bullet to a gun For to wish I'm not awake And to dream though seek, I call And to worry Wishes swimming Thunder rolls and Hard I fall So wait and weather Weather storm And feather. You know I'm locked, and fault Too consumed by news cameras Noise tied around my, Neck your beck and call My battered back And there is she All I am not And movement, You controller Red and virtuous Are thy neither my friend, Nor foe, Nor narrow and the neck, dripping The feet, and defeated I am in my shallow Your wish is my make her I make thy for glory She the golden trophy, Truth, you will not with, These, you will decanter Encounter; or I slay you in my motion I say your name and sheild thy slain And there you are, a force And here she comes, a brain My greying matter; Your Tuesday, Wednesday She fears me not One, two, four blue eyes I'm nothing now Six blondes, four heartaches I rung, you wanted I eat, you shatter I starve, you know me Then in the waste My waist till not your honor And so, I go And she And she And she And she Eighty five and one divine But all are yours And yours are mine So then. We have killed her. And there, she lay slain, And ye, we rejoice And yet, we became To seize, none has not To breathe, yet remains— The truth comes our time, As body decays. Fuck. I don't think that was it. Nevermind. *fixed it . {Enter The Multiverse} The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] -Ū.

For Fear of Shadows.

White Noise & Sleep Sounds (12 Hours)

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 31, 2025 2:32

I want to scream at you But even standing at my shoulder length My eye at your chest. You'd be a million miles away Look what I make of you. I have no mistakes left and still The fate of it is that, You have my gratitude, your gracious And yet they eat away At all the things I have And maybe there'll be more of me For now the morbid days are just as caving in as Any other making that we make of it Don't thank me, Just outrank them. Banking on your every moment Effervescent, tragic endings Waiting on your every scent and center Don't disintegrate just yet And now we enter impact Stand for circumstances Do work faster Horror horror Do you know the motive of her Former engines? Motive, motive Steer the plot or rear the message m Fritter fritter Audiences get disinterested So effing quickly. Would you mild or would you mold Or would you wake to fold the eggs into the bacon, Bread, and then tomato— Would you fear her message? Would you quick forget you're on her planet? Surely safe to know But know but knots And no but not again You bought it with your faux and auctions Hallmark cards And feathers fauxes Don't you know The faucet's only running water Oh you're hard predictable And chlorinated Oh the poison Dripping at your ways And wilting at your guilt The James The reckon gestures Reckon, Avery Severed by the check Or just the ever ending Never get there Message to a friend To just keep going When she ends it It is just another death You'll get on with it In the end Never friends. Never. Good I hate you Could you maybe Find me ugly? That's your money in my Every reaching corner Every angling cent And harsh presentations of Skin that's aging and Wages which haven't Coverage to front the Expenses, Crash diets Go broken Ugly cause you're course Everything fits But still empty on the inside I live in shredded Shambles of service But there's no gratitude My breath is only your own And this bread is my headache I haven't a sermon Or diamond Or unworthy Sex appeal And really only Ever off when Only ever on You're still demolishing the board You're still diminishing the severs Yet you neglected Each and every Crevice of this Never ending friendship— But did I ever mention there is a glass slipper For each and every person ever Just to wish one? Did it ever occur to you The circumstances you are under Live for it Or get lost There's really only porridge in her oven If the gas or turning off or over Don't turn over now The resin's covered in the Corvette. Only cause I had to Sense when is it Blood sense. Get laid Don't flinch Get paid Gold finch Get reckless I call spirits north for dinner South for lunch And up for porridge at breakfast I've passed on I've been awake You're mortal girl The one you're on is Really only such a small pond That I should think To cover up With dirt. Start over. —and Skrillex is just in the corner the whole time playing video games. Worst dream ever. But why's Seth Meyer's mad at me? I'm guessing he always was! He's people are just like that All conservative, conformed— Again, it's not your fault It's just uncomfortable! Again I only ever approached it wanting to know If the l broach l fits But even Lucille Ball won't come if I call her— Probably don't even got the right number Code of arms Or helm of awe, huh. Fuck, man. When's Tonight Show in hiatus Need you off the island, off In Prague And out my anus, Don't remind me I've been Jamie Lee Curtis Just recently enough That I miss it. Ugh. I know, I resent that. Find a line to draw Or fly a kite past I'm past my reckoning Just for tonight, The suffering ends Surely not enough to past the time Before my electrolytes fly in But tonight Just tonight I want to dine in my mind Or die alone Without trying to find the light— The neighbor simply seems to follow it. (At least I got her ought to not slam the door now, Police interventions, There really are cause for those.) What is a warfare! Buy me a checkmark! My question mark seems to go off a lot All for it God, You're remarkable I gift a heart or though I out all my crystals in the Rockerfeller plaza But still held on to an amethyst for Dillon Francis? There those eyes are again; I hate to hurt you North; But I'm no mother board Or mother ship Or Mother Earth Broke my focus long enough to call you up, But sure, I'm just short of even past conscious. Nothing's safe for us, you know. One one to call; No code of conduct– No safety in numbers, or color guard No home, and no love in our times For our kind– We're all here now And the wrong time Is all time. {Enter The Multiverse} Do you see me? I don't not see you. Well. Well. I thought there'd be more having to say. There's nothing to say. Not nothing… Nothing. Huh. —unless you say it. I've nothing to say. Then say nothing. The frog croaks, The oak leafs, The custard leaves its corridors The hark leaps The oath melts, The sworn have sworn To never mark. To no remose, To no remark; The carrier, and carry her— The fierce need, For Vegabonds, For every caper read Amen. All is spoken; And all in thought also in words All is listened And all has heard not in her form Stiff. You're horrified. You're horrifying. Sure, but— Brother— Broken— Nothing that I've never heard before Capable. Half-friend. Northerner. Cape cod. Hamptons. Fair straights. Ancient. Sacred. R I T U A L S LEGENDS: R I T U A L S OH GOD. No! NO! NO! It just keeps going! Thank you! Thank God. I thought it was over. You were invoked. I was implicated. Fun fact: Here's the thing. You were murdered. Ah, gains. Why the fuck do I never get to just choose when this happens? Cause you don't. This isn't fair! I watch 2 segments of— STEPHEN COLBERT enters. *shattered. Shithead. STEPHEN COLBERT enters shattered. —I was shattered when I heard about it. What's that? Never you mind. I didn't— I just— asked. He finds his way to the round table in the center of the dark room. He seems twisted; it's as if he's been blindsided. Capable. And still there's nowhere In here The city we share I can go To make the sound Eager to leave my soul As how I know you. Awkward! Just wait. You've been betrayed! I— know that already. Is this your card? {Enter The Multiverse} GET OFF THE TRAIN. — Lil bitz Fool. Why every time I see you, you look guilty. Why. You never look innocent at all. If something went down — I know it was you. Hide a lie; Can't hide a lie Can't tell a tell Can't roll the ball Can't bowl the strike Can't run at all Can't fool the hare Can't skin the cat Can't dance a bit Don't row the boat Can't play the role Don't know the tune Can't trim the tree Can't hold the bowl Can't kill the fowl Don't tell the tale. Hide a lie. Run a mile Taste the bile Fill the basket Now you're moron Now you're mortal That's immoral Jimmy Fallon —that's a turtle. Tell the lie. Hide the fold. Kill the curse; Sail the ark Fill the void Hate the gap Kill the king Tell the tale Tell a lie Hide the [The Festival Project ™] knife. In for life, or what? Info wars at most. Live to tell the tale? Learn to spike the punch Learn to punch the wall Lean up on the door Learn to most of all Shut the fuck up Keep your mouth shut I love New York Give the bad news Put a smile on Oh you gotta love it I get close to nothing once a month And then come back To pull the puffer out the dragon Goddammit what you want me for I learned another lesson Don't devour her All I wanted was Just a sour odor Give the last call I go heroin blind For heroine times And by the time it all gets darker I will have pulled the plug and written on the wall in Permanent marker. ugh. Fuck you. Fuck The Doors. Fuck your chorus. Fuck your archer. Fuck, you found I. I all for her, Shoot the wombat; —But the door shuts on its own Without it getting harder, now. Don't it? Donut. i don't— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Okay. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Can I contour? Not even one episode Or epicenter Even for a lonely I got the warning For your magnitude before So what you want It's just a test Pacific coast Or night crawler Nightmare or Nightfall You swore you won't I do desire not a lover But a hand to hold And father for my own So. Shove it up your Probably want a I don't need disaster warning What you wanted Limoncello Light waves And light gave a damn I have a dance I cave to for And there you are Just a horrible oar, Now I row the boat But you don't disaster Nor could you decide to divorce her Even if I ever worked At Art gallery Organizers God, you wore her sweater Just to make it all seem rather backwards If perchance I ran my hand just over All the soft Love in the world Are you not a dozen roses? To far my flames I gave you my heart Flower Done moving Don't moon Did you really pay the neighbor Just to hate me Haven't you heard On our earth There's turf war? So far, white doves But no lost wolves, Poor pigeons, following Of course you were hard wired I hate not once But all times the hurt Each time I struck Sure I want for California And Equinox saunas And then no more do I run the tub! But for now as I soak and the roach prowls, I get my motion under the water, Sure form and no more fire till the moon comes up who rose at dusk? Likely or lite brawl Sire, You care to hard work But you desire awful I was right in all forms Now I die here Your knife and all you are Feels right as blood pours out I want but only suffer Your call could only burden My tie to fall a lark Cries Out In To Her Arms you fall and I desire I desire I now Have a heart to cry I died, sir. You won. How awful. Just a nugget of truth, This window of lies, A mask so broken And yet in the cracks there, my mirror My shadow My hard times Out to work And off to war And what you wanted No, not outside Inside love But nevermind that Now the blood pours out and sweet, I thank to this relief and finally Rest, I. No longer shall I mourn your love to not And know the guilt is slain in you anew, my heart Dear shadow, youth becomes my blood And dear far cry, Dear boy you, Wait to know me in again another There came and withered and your force Now knows mine, Never end and tethered, There I wait, then Now I blood and dreaming, sleeping in Your pure, Decency. I have strike and so wait my end; And you, go on, Now without my voice. A harp. Welcome to Ecuador. What are you doing here? I grow bananas. Every once in awhile I have you over For a cocktail Or five. Every night I tighten my eyes on you, Thoughts. Every space in time Is just a collar Dog A bark. Every time you call I still come over Though you do not want, I opposite. You see, You are time. I see you now, God. I feel your heart, I Can involve My lips quaking Your worried me My fall, right? Why— I belong in your eye, Why, Heart my home, I, Never go. Never not. Bullet to a gun For to wish I'm not awake And to dream though seek, I call And to worry Wishes swimming Thunder rolls and Hard I fall So wait and weather Weather storm And feather. You know I'm locked, and fault Too consumed by news cameras Noise tied around my, Neck your beck and call My battered back And there is she All I am not And movement, You controller Red and virtuous Are thy neither my friend, Nor foe, Nor narrow and the neck, dripping The feet, and defeated I am in my shallow Your wish is my make her I make thy for glory She the golden trophy, Truth, you will not with, These, you will decanter Encounter; or I slay you in my motion I say your name and sheild thy slain And there you are, a force And here she comes, a brain My greying matter; Your Tuesday, Wednesday She fears me not One, two, four blue eyes I'm nothing now Six blondes, four heartaches I rung, you wanted I eat, you shatter I starve, you know me Then in the waste My waist till not your honor And so, I go And she And she And she And she Eighty five and one divine But all are yours And yours are mine So then. We have killed her. And there, she lay slain, And ye, we rejoice And yet, we became To seize, none has not To breathe, yet remains— The truth comes our time, As body decays. Fuck. I don't think that was it. Nevermind. *fixed it . {Enter The Multiverse} The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] -Ū.

For Fear Of Shadows.

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 31, 2025 2:32

I want to scream at you But even standing at my shoulder length My eye at your chest. You'd be a million miles away Look what I make of you. I have no mistakes left and still The fate of it is that, You have my gratitude, your gracious And yet they eat away At all the things I have And maybe there'll be more of me For now the morbid days are just as caving in as Any other making that we make of it Don't thank me, Just outrank them. Banking on your every moment Effervescent, tragic endings Waiting on your every scent and center Don't disintegrate just yet And now we enter impact Stand for circumstances Do work faster Horror horror Do you know the motive of her Former engines? Motive, motive Steer the plot or rear the message m Fritter fritter Audiences get disinterested So effing quickly. Would you mild or would you mold Or would you wake to fold the eggs into the bacon, Bread, and then tomato— Would you fear her message? Would you quick forget you're on her planet? Surely safe to know But know but knots And no but not again You bought it with your faux and auctions Hallmark cards And feathers fauxes Don't you know The faucet's only running water Oh you're hard predictable And chlorinated Oh the poison Dripping at your ways And wilting at your guilt The James The reckon gestures Reckon, Avery Severed by the check Or just the ever ending Never get there Message to a friend To just keep going When she ends it It is just another death You'll get on with it In the end Never friends. Never. Good I hate you Could you maybe Find me ugly? That's your money in my Every reaching corner Every angling cent And harsh presentations of Skin that's aging and Wages which haven't Coverage to front the Expenses, Crash diets Go broken Ugly cause you're course Everything fits But still empty on the inside I live in shredded Shambles of service But there's no gratitude My breath is only your own And this bread is my headache I haven't a sermon Or diamond Or unworthy Sex appeal And really only Ever off when Only ever on You're still demolishing the board You're still diminishing the severs Yet you neglected Each and every Crevice of this Never ending friendship— But did I ever mention there is a glass slipper For each and every person ever Just to wish one? Did it ever occur to you The circumstances you are under r Live for it Or get lost There's really only porridge in her oven If the gas or turning off or over Don't turn over now The resin's covered in the Corvette. Only cause I had to Sense when is it Blood sense. Get laid Don't flinch Get paid Gold finch Get reckless I call spirits north for dinner South for lunch And up for porridge at breakfast I've passed on I've been awake You're mortal girl The one you're on is Really only such a small pond That I should think To cover up With dirt. Start over. —and Skrillex is just in the corner the whole time playing video games. Worst dream ever. But why's Seth Meyer's mad at me? I'm guessing he always was! He's people are just like that All conservative, conformed— Again, it's not your fault It's just uncomfortable! Again I only ever approached it wanting to know If the l broach l fits But even Lucille Ball won't come if I call her— Probably don't even got the right number Code of arms Or helm of awe, huh. Fuck, man. When's Tonight Show in hiatus Need you off the island, off In Prague And out my anus, Don't remind me I've been Jamie Lee Curtis Just recently enough That I miss it. Ugh. I know, I resent that. Find a line to draw Or fly a kite past I'm past my reckoning Just for tonight, The suffering ends Surely not enough to past the time Before my electrolytes fly in But tonight Just tonight I want to dine in my mind Or die alone Without trying to find the light— The neighbor simply seems to follow it. (At least I got her ought to not slam the door now, Police interventions, There really are cause for those.) What is a warfare! Buy me a checkmark! My question mark seems to go off a lot All for it God, You're remarkable I gift a heart or though I out all my crystals in the Rockerfeller plaza But still held on to an amethyst for Dillon Francis? There those eyes are again; I hate to hurt you North; But I'm no mother board Or mother ship Or Mother Earth Broke my focus long enough to call you up, But sure, I'm just short of even past conscious. Nothing's safe for us, you know. One one to call; No code of conduct– No safety in numbers, or color guard No home, and no love in our times For our kind– We're all here now And the wrong time Is all time. {Enter The Multiverse} Do you see me? I don't not see you. Well. Well. I thought there'd be more having to say. There's nothing to say. Not nothing… Nothing. Huh. —unless you say it. I've nothing to say. Then say nothing. The frog croaks, The oak leafs, The custard leaves its corridors The hark leaps The oath melts, The sworn have sworn To never mark. To no remose, To no remark; The carrier, and carry her— The fierce need, For Vegabonds, For every caper read Amen. All is spoken; And all in thought also in words All is listened And all has heard not in her form Stiff. You're horrified. You're horrifying. Sure, but— Brother— Broken— Nothing that I've never heard before Capable. Half-friend. Northerner. Cape cod. Hamptons. Fair straights. Ancient. Sacred. R I T U A L S LEGENDS: R I T U A L S OH GOD. No! NO! NO! It just keeps going! Thank you! Thank God. I thought it was over. You were invoked. I was implicated. Fun fact: Here's the thing. You were murdered. Ah, gains. Why the fuck do I never get to just choose when this happens? Cause you don't. This isn't fair! I watch 2 segments of— STEPHEN COLBERT enters. *shattered. Shithead. STEPHEN COLBERT enters shattered. —I was shattered when I heard about it. What's that? Never you mind. I didn't— I just— asked. He finds his way to the round table in the center of the dark room. He seems twisted; it's as if he's been blindsided. Capable. And still there's nowhere In here The city we share I can go To make the sound Eager to leave my soul As how I know you. Awkward! Just wait. You've been betrayed! I— know that already. Is this your card? {Enter The Multiverse} GET OFF THE TRAIN. — Lil bitz Fool. Why every time I see you, you look guilty. Why. You never look innocent at all. If something went down — I know it was you. Hide a lie; Can't hide a lie Can't tell a tell Can't roll the ball Can't bowl the strike Can't run at all Can't fool the hare Can't skin the cat Can't dance a bit Don't row the boat Can't play the role Don't know the tune Can't trim the tree Can't hold the bowl Can't kill the fowl Don't tell the tale. Hide a lie. Run a mile Taste the bile Fill the basket Now you're moron Now you're mortal That's immoral Jimmy Fallon —that's a turtle. Tell the lie. Hide the fold. Kill the curse; Sail the ark Fill the void Hate the gap Kill the king Tell the tale Tell a lie Hide the [The Festival Project ™] knife. In for life, or what? Info wars at most. Live to tell the tale? Learn to spike the punch Learn to punch the wall Lean up on the door Learn to most of all Shut the fuck up Keep your mouth shut I love New York Give the bad news Put a smile on Oh you gotta love it I get close to nothing once a month And then come back To pull the puffer out the dragon Goddammit what you want me for I learned another lesson Don't devour her All I wanted was Just a sour odor Give the last call I go heroin blind For heroine times And by the time it all gets darker I will have pulled the plug and written on the wall in Permanent marker. ugh. Fuck you. Fuck The Doors. Fuck your chorus. Fuck your archer. Fuck, you found I. I all for her, Shoot the wombat; —But the door shuts on its own Without it getting harder, now. Don't it? Donut. i don't— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Okay. I— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I— Belt Buckle Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Belt buckle. I don't— Belt buckle— Belt buckle. Belt buckle. Can I contour? Not even one episode Or epicenter Even for a lonely I got the warning For your magnitude before So what you want It's just a test Pacific coast Or night crawler Nightmare or Nightfall You swore you won't I do desire not a lover But a hand to hold And father for my own So. Shove it up your Probably want a I don't need disaster warning What you wanted Limoncello Light waves And light gave a damn I have a dance I cave to for And there you are Just a horrible oar, Now I row the boat But you don't disaster Nor could you decide to divorce her Even if I ever worked At Art gallery Organizers God, you wore her sweater Just to make it all seem rather backwards If perchance I ran my hand just over All the soft Love in the world Are you not a dozen roses? To far my flames I gave you my heart Flower Done moving Don't moon Did you really pay the neighbor Just to hate me Haven't you heard On our earth There's turf war? So far, white doves But no lost wolves, Poor pigeons, following Of course you were hard wired I hate not once But all times the hurt Each time I struck Sure I want for California And Equinox saunas And then no more do I run the tub! But for now as I soak and the roach prowls, I get my motion under the water, Sure form and no more fire till the moon comes up who rose at dusk? Likely or lite brawl Sire, You care to hard work But you desire awful I was right in all forms Now I die here Your knife and all you are Feels right as blood pours out I want but only suffer Your call could only burden My tie to fall a lark Cries Out In To Her Arms you fall and I desire I desire I now Have a heart to cry I died, sir. You won. How awful. Just a nugget of truth, This window of lies, A mask so broken And yet in the cracks there, my mirror My shadow My hard times Out to work And off to war And what you wanted No, not outside Inside love But nevermind that Now the blood pours out and sweet, I thank to this relief and finally Rest, I. No longer shall I mourn your love to not And know the guilt is slain in you anew, my heart Dear shadow, youth becomes my blood And dear far cry, Dear boy you, Wait to know me in again another There came and withered and your force Now knows mine, Never end and tethered, There I wait, then Now I blood and dreaming, sleeping in Your pure, Decency. I have strike and so wait my end; And you, go on, Now without my voice. A harp. Welcome to Ecuador. What are you doing here? I grow bananas. Every once in awhile I have you over For a cocktail Or five. Every night I tighten my eyes on you, Thoughts. Every space in time Is just a collar Dog A bark. Every time you call I still come over Though you do not want, I opposite. You see, You are time. I see you now, God. I feel your heart, I Can involve My lips quaking Your worried me My fall, right? Why— I belong in your eye, Why, Heart my home, I, Never go. Never not. Bullet to a gun For to wish I'm not awake And to dream though seek, I call And to worry Wishes swimming Thunder rolls and Hard I fall So wait and weather Weather storm And feather. You know I'm locked, and fault Too consumed by news cameras Noise tied around my, Neck your beck and call My battered back And there is she All I am not And movement, You controller Red and virtuous Are thy neither my friend, Nor foe, Nor narrow and the neck, dripping The feet, and defeated I am in my shallow Your wish is my make her I make thy for glory She the golden trophy, Truth, you will not with, These, you will decanter Encounter; or I slay you in my motion I say your name and sheild thy slain And there you are, a force And here she comes, a brain My greying matter; Your Tuesday, Wednesday She fears me not One, two, four blue eyes I'm nothing now Six blondes, four heartaches I rung, you wanted I eat, you shatter I starve, you know me Then in the waste My waist till not your honor And so, I go And she And she And she And she Eighty five and one divine But all are yours And yours are mine So then. We have killed her. And there, she lay slain, And ye, we rejoice And yet, we became To seize, none has not To breathe, yet remains— The truth comes our time, As body decays. Fuck. I don't think that was it. Nevermind. *fixed it . {Enter The Multiverse} The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] -Ū.

Airy Green Noise with Dripping Rain | Sleep Sound (12 Hours)

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 30, 2025 715:00

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Episode 336: Dripping Hard

SlapperCast: a weekly talk show with Blaggards

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 22, 2025 36:01

This one was recorded during the drive home from Weston, MO. We talk about stage fright—how it still hits hard, how we deal with it, and how the nerves never fully go away. 00:00 — First segment 10:11 — Paddy's Pet Peeve Piece 13:27 — Playing after Bill Kirchen 15:55 — Stage Fright 25:46 — Blaggards overture? 28:49 — Great coffee shop in Leavenworth KS 30:31 — Michael Coakley lost a finger 33:38 — Final segment Show dates Blaggards.com (https://blaggards.com/shows/) Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/pg/blaggards/events/) Bandsintown (https://www.bandsintown.com/a/3808) Follow us on social media YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/blaggards) Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/blaggards/) Twitter (https://twitter.com/blaggards) Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/blaggards/) Become a Patron Join Blaggards on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/blaggards) for bonus podcast content, live tracks, rough mixes, and other exclusives. Rate us Rate and review SlapperCast on iTunes (https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/slappercast-a-weekly-talk-show-with-blaggards/id1452061331) Questions? If you have questions for a future Q&A episode, * leave a comment on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/blaggards), or * tweet them to us (https://twitter.com/blaggards) with the hashtag #slappercast.

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AD-FREE BONUS: Dripping from the Gutters

Water & Nature Sounds Meditation for Women

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 22, 2025 65:32

Hey, it's Katie and I want to welcome you to this special bonus episode. It'll be here for you completely ad-free for the next week so you can get a feel of what it's like to be a PREMIUM member. If you'd like an easy ad-free experience for all of our podcasts - that's over 200 episodes each month, then JOIN PREMIUM today at https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium Join our Premium Sleep for Women Channel on Apple Podcasts and get ALL 5 of our Sleep podcasts completely ad-free! Join Premium now on Apple here --> https://bit.ly/sleepforwomen Join our Premium Meditation for Kids Channel on Apple Podcasts and get ALL 5 of our Kids podcasts completely ad-free! Join Premium now on Apple here → https://bit.ly/meditationforkidsapple I'm so glad you're taking the time to be with us today. My team and I are dedicated to making sure you have all the meditations you need throughout all the seasons of your life. If there's a meditation you desire, but can't find, email us at hello@womensmeditationnetwork.com to make a request. We'd love to create what you want! Namaste, Beautiful,

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“Your Face Is My Pleasure”

Bedtime Rendezvous

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 21, 2025 3:09

Hello Ladies and Gents!I hope you're ready for this one…She didn't ask.She took.Dripping, dominant, and unapologetically wet,she rode their face like it was made for her pleasure—grinding until moans turned to muffled surrender.“Your Face Is My Pleasure” is all tongue, thighs, and power. A filthy descent into face-riding lust.Press play—and breathe if you can. Enjoy

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Dripping Sliotars At James Whelan Butchers

Cork's 96fm Opinion Line

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 18, 2025 2:58

Diarmuid sent in pictures of sliotars made out of dripping, so good, they're crazy! PJ talks to Noel from James Whelan Butchers in Douglas about how on earth they came up with this Rebel idea! See also here Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

acast rebel pj dripping butchers diarmuid james whelan

[0022.]

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2025 71:53

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[0022.]

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2025 71:53

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[0022.]

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2025 71:53

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[0022.]

The Emo Social Club Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2025 71:53

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[0022.]

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2025 71:53

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Pile: Your Favorite Band's Favorite Band (feat Latter)

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 15, 2025 46:03

This week, we're joined by Meredith Haines from the Chicago noise-rock duo Latter for a new episode of "Make Me a Fan." Meredith explains why the experimental post-hardcore band Pile is "your favorite band's favorite band" and how their music completely reshaped her approach to songwriting. Can she convert our host into a true believer?Topics Discussed:How Pile's unconventional music inspired a generation of DIY artists.A deep dive into five essential Pile tracks, including "Baby Boy" from their breakthrough album Dripping and "Fingers" from A Hairshirt of Purpose.Meredith's journey from listening to "Hot Topic emo" to embracing experimental and noise rock.The host's first-time reaction to Pile's theatrical lyrics and "relentless wave of riffs."An unexpected debate on the lyrical genius (or lack thereof) of My Chemical Romance.News and updates on Meredith's band Latter and their upcoming music and tours.

FR3AKY FRÏDAYS w/-Ū. 005.

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 15, 2025 121:06

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

FR3AKY FRÏDAYS w/-Ū. 005.

benefits sleep relaxation concrete unwind dripping light rain

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 15, 2025 121:06

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

FR3AKY FRÏDAYS w/-Ū. 005.

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 15, 2025 121:06

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

Light Rain Dripping on Concrete for Sleep, Focus & Relaxation 9 Hours

Sounds of Sleep

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 2, 2025 540:00

Unwind with the soothing sound of light rain gently dripping into a puddle on concrete. This minimalist, high-fidelity ambient soundscape is perfect for deep sleep, stress relief, relaxation, meditation, or focused concentration. The rhythmic droplets create a peaceful echo that calms the mind and blocks out distractions — ideal for quiet evenings, bedtime routines, or deep work sessions.Whether you're dealing with anxiety, insomnia, or just need a mental break, this episode offers pure, uninterrupted rain sounds with a subtle urban touch.

A Duck in a Tree 2025-06-28 | Keychains and Snowstorms

A Duck in a Tree

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 1, 2025 58:53

The 677th of a series of weekly radio programmes created by :zoviet*france: First broadcast 28 June 2025 by Resonance 104.4 FM and CJMP 90.1 FM Thanks to the artists and sound recordists included here for their fine work. track list 00 Lee Patterson - Intro 01 Samantha Bouquin - Contemplation #2 02 Gregg Skloff - J.06-in307(07) 03 [unknown sound recordist] - Pageturn 04 Ultra-red - One Door Down 05 Fallen Sun I Sacher Pelz I Thomas Bey William Bailey - Chemical Oxidation 06 Haarvöl - Zone One (Stay) 07 Half Unusual - Half Spabreak 08 Freetousesounds - AMBForst, Forest, Cave, Water Flow, Dripping, Bats Cave, Swift, Birds, Nam Lod Cave, Thailand, 19224, 05 09 Peter Kirn - ESTEC - Mars Rover Disembarking from Lander 10 Stephen P. McGreevy - Rare Low-Pitch Extended Duration Risers Manitoba Aug 96 11 [unknown sound recordist / NASA] - Wild Dog [reversed, re-pitched] 12 Sonologyst - Ceremony 13 Barry Chabala - All Seeing (featuring Sweetearthflying) 14 Eigengrau - Decaying Metal ++ Lee Patterson - Outro

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Ozzie and Harriet 45-09-02 (040) The Dripping Faucet

Harold's Old Time Radio

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 29, 2025 31:19

Ozzie and Harriet 45-09-02 (040) The Dripping Faucet

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Return to the Pit Radio - 16 Jun 2025

RTTP on 91.3FM WUNH with The Reverend

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2025 194:00

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If You Like Fontaines D.C. here are five Australian artists dripping in post-punk

triple j Unearthed

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 10, 2025 19:00

Dare we say that they might even be your next favourite

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Season 5 Finale

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Play Episode Listen Later May 29, 2025 65:35

In the season five finale of Dripping in Black, hosts Shawn Smith, Dominic Lawson, and Mr. Al Pete reflects on the season's highlights, including the impact of podcasting, the contributions of guest hosts, and the success of the Creators' Retreat. They discuss the importance of community engagement and future plans for quarterly events, emphasizing the significance of Black excellence in podcasting. In this episode, the hosts discuss the upcoming Elevation Lab, celebrate the achievements of various podcasters, and share insights into their future projects. They highlight the importance of community engagement and the impact of mental health discussions through Dominic's new podcast, Mental Health Rewritten. The conversation also touches on personal accomplishments and the significance of collaboration within their creative community.Dripping in BlackElevation Lab - June 7: www.drippinginblack.com/elevationAll things DiBk: www.drippinginblack.com/ Mr. Al PeteWebsite (productions): mpn-llc.com⁠Website (business): ⁠www.mralpete.com⁠Community…At Its Best Presentation Dominic LawsonMental Health Rewritten: www.mentalhealthrewrittenpodcast.com

231 - Busy Woman

Lyrics To Go

Play Episode Listen Later May 26, 2025 62:29

The guys talk about the ultra-horny (and ultra frightening) lyrics to Sabrina Carpenter's anthem for this fast-paced world; Busy Woman. Dripping wet with sexual innuendos and shooting loads of double entendres everywhere she goes, Sabrina lets us know how quickly she'll come if you want her and also warns us of what happens if you don't.

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Dripping in the Best that Can Happen featuring Alyce Rose

jacksonville dripping al pete

Play Episode Listen Later May 13, 2025 57:35

In this engaging conversation, special guest host Mr. Al Pete and Alyce Rose explore the themes of community connection, personal growth, and the importance of authenticity in content creation. Alyce shares her journey from being overlooked to becoming a community connector through her brands, ThriftNic and Auntie Outside. They discuss the significance of uplifting voices, the challenges faced in the Jacksonville community, and the role of podcasting in fostering connections. The conversation emphasizes the need for collaboration, support, and the belief that 'what's the best that can happen' can lead to transformative experiences.Alyce RoseWebsite: https://auntieoutside.com/Mr. Al PeteWebsite (business): ⁠https://mpn-llc.com⁠Website (personal): ⁠https://www.mralpete.com/⁠Dripping in BlackAll things DiBk: https://www.drippinginblack.com/DiBk Elevation Lab Interest Survey: https://www.dibkproductions.com/elevation

Under A Dripping Moon

True Blue Riffcast

Play Episode Listen Later May 8, 2025 60:40

Hot Zoom call action! Eating cold chili from a can! A weird and gross dripping moon! All of these horrible scenes and more are yours to suffer through in American Werewolf, the subject of this episode!

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Dripping in Queue Points featuring Jay Ray and DJ Sir Daniel

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Play Episode Listen Later Apr 29, 2025 67:54

In this engaging conversation, Toni Kennedy hosts the dynamic duo of Queue Points, Jay Ray and DJ Sir Daniel, as they explore the origins, essence, and impact of their podcast. They discuss the importance of music in shaping culture, the power of community in podcasting, and the personal connections that fuel their creativity. The hosts reflect on their experiences with caregiving, representation in media, and the joy they aim to spread through their content. They emphasize the philosophy of embracing complexity in human experiences, highlighting that two truths can coexist. Ultimately, the conversation underscores the need for empathy and understanding in today's world. In this engaging conversation, the hosts explore the themes of love, respect, and connection among Black men, the interactive nature of music discussions, and the healing power of slow jams. They discuss the importance of consent and communication in intimate settings, emphasizing how music can foster deeper connections and understanding. The conversation also highlights the various platforms and content available through Queue Points, showcasing the significance of their work in the community.Queue Points Social MediaAll things Queue Points: https://queuepoints.com/Toni Kenndy Social MediaWebsite: www.misstonisings.comInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/heywhatspoppinpennyFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/HeyWhatsPoppinPennyLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/toni-kennedy/TicTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@heywhatspoppinpennyAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Morning-Toni-Kennedy/dp/0692168877Dripping in Black Social MediaAll Things Dripping in Black: https://www.drippinginblack.com/DiBk Elevation Lab Interest Survey: https://www.dibkproductions.com/elevation

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The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet - "The Dripping Faucet" (Ep1697)

I Love Old Time Radio

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 29, 2025 36:00

Harriet is kept awake by a dripping facet that doesn't seem to want to shut off, but Ozzie's brilliant idea causes a flood so it's time to call in the professionals.

Can't Beat Booker with Lorena in Dripping Spring, Texas

Booker, Alex and Sara - Daily Audio

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 29, 2025 6:50

IT'S BEEN 6 DAYS SINCE HIS LAST LOSS!!! Booker's current record is 2486 wins with 161 losses, this morning all of Austin is rooting for Lorena in Dripping Spring, Texas!!! LET'S WELCOME HER TO AUSTIN'S FAVORITE POP CULTURE TRIVIA GAME...CAN'T BEAT BOOKER!!!

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EP - 101 - Dripping in Color, Drenched in Perfume: Ancient Statues Exposed

Beauty Unlocked the podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 23, 2025 11:27

I'm peeling back the centuries to uncover a surprising and sensual truth: those ancient Greek and Roman statues weren't just meant to be seen - they were meant to be smelled! From goddess figures anointed with rose-scented oils to the political myth of white marble, I'm diving into a sensory world lost to time. Join me as I explore the fragrant, colorful reality of classical art - and why history tried so hard to whitewash it. Trust me, this is one olfactory journey you won't want to miss! Are. You. Ready?***************Articles:https://archaeologymag.com/2025/03/ancient-sculptures-were-scented-study-reveals/https://wildhunt.org/2025/03/the-scent-of-veneration-study-shows-ancient-statues-were-perfumed.htmlhttps://www.dw.com/en/statues-in-ancient-greece-rome-were-colorful-and-perfumed/a-64426809#:~:text=A%20Danish%20study%20published%20in,make%20them%20appear%20more%20lifelike.***************Leave Us a 5* Rating, it helps the show!Apple Podcast:https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/beauty-unlocked-the-podcast/id1522636282Spotify Podcast:https://open.spotify.com/show/37MLxC8eRob1D0ZcgcCorA****************Follow Us on Social Media & Subscribe to our YouTube Channel!TikTok:tiktok.com/@beautyunlockedthepodYouTube:@beautyunlockedspodcasthour****************Intro/Outro Music:Music by Savvier from Fugue FAME INC

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S9E15 - Fake Friends and Frosted Mugs: Paula's Season Finale Truth Bomb!!

Talk Shit With P

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 23, 2025 48:11 Transcription Available

Five years and 25,000 downloads later, Talk Show With P is approaching its final curtain call. This milestone episode celebrates the journey while announcing that Season 10 will be the show's grand finale.The podcast has been more than just conversations—it's been therapy, connection, and opportunity rolled into one dynamic platform. From hosting The Ambies red carpet to experiencing stand-up comedy for the first time, the show has opened doors that once seemed firmly shut. Recent adventures at Podcast Movement Evolutions in Chicago and the Dripping in Black Creators Retreat in Detroit have reinforced the power of authentic connection in a world often filled with surface-level relationships.Through candid reflection, we explore how the podcast landscape has changed over five years, and why it's sometimes necessary to recognize when reciprocity is missing in professional relationships. This isn't just about ending a show—it's about valuing energy, setting boundaries, and embracing evolution. The consulting company Wrap Shit With P will continue offering branding, merchandising and gifting services, proving that endings often birth beautiful beginnings.Season 10 promises to be spectacular, featuring special guests including the long-awaited appearance from Matthew, whose story has been intertwined with the podcast since its early days. To celebrate this journey, we're launching the "Ain't That Some Shit" giveaway where listeners can win custom merchandise by identifying the show's most-used phrases.If Talk Show With P has been part of your journey, share your memories, favorite episodes, or moments with me through social media or the SpeakPipe link. Your stories are the true measure of what these five years have meant—far more valuable than download numbers could ever be.Talk yo sh!t… Sh!t-Talker!!Support the showFOLLOW US ON;Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/talkshitwithpTwitter: https://twitter.com/TalkshitwithpFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/TalkwhitwIthpTiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@TalkshitwithpShop IG: https://www.instagram.com/Talkshitwithp.shopLEAVE US A REVIEW ON APPLE PODCAST: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/talk-shit-with-p/id1509470001AND SUBSCRIBE TO OUR YOUTUBE CHANNEL:https://www.youtube.com/@TalkshitwithpSupport The Show (whatever you can)Cashapp: https://cash.app/$TSWP20Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/TswpBuymecoffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/talkshitwithpAmazon Wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2M9Q4HNKRO2WA?ref_=wl_shareTo Learn more on my story;https://flow.page/tal...

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Dripping in Community: Creators' Retreat Recap Show

community black retreat creators recap show dripping

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 22, 2025 59:16

The conversation revolves around the experiences and insights gained from the Dripping in Black Inaugural Creators' Retreat. Participants share their personal journeys, the camaraderie developed, and the challenges faced during the event. The discussion highlights the importance of community, learning, and future plans for continued engagement among creators. The conversation reflects on a recent retreat experience, highlighting personal reflections, insights from participants, technical challenges faced during the event, and future plans for similar gatherings. The discussion also delves into creative podcasting ideas and memorable moments that brought laughter and connection among the group. In this conversation, the participants reflect on their recent experiences, including unexpected competition dynamics, a photo shoot, and the importance of community support. They discuss the role of mentorship in creative spaces, the significance of youth engagement, and their plans for future collaborations and events. The dialogue emphasizes the value of personal growth and collective efforts in fostering a thriving community.DiBk Creators' Retreat: www.dibkproductions.com/dibkretreat/retreatpicsAll Things Dripping in Black: www.drippinginblack.com/DiBk Elevation Lab Interest Survey: https://www.dibkproductions.com/elevation

Dripping Juicy Mangoes (#206)

Mormons on Mushrooms

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 10, 2025 66:33

This one starts with dried mangoes and somehow ends in existential reflection, language taboos, parenting, solo bathtime rituals, busted toilets, and Alanis Morissette. Naturally.Mike turns 45 and reflects on everything that's changed over the past five years—starting the podcast, going back to school, diving into music, navigating separation, and trying to figure out how to balance it all without feeling like it's too self-indulgent. Doug shares a toilet disaster that somehow becomes the perfect metaphor for trying too hard to be needed.We talk about:Mangoes (dried and juicy) as metaphors for longing, indulgence, and satisfactionWords we weren't allowed to say growing up (and still feel weird about)The difference between being wanted and being neededThat subtle guilt that creeps in whenever we try to do something just for ourselvesDreams, divas, and dancing as Shakira (in various states of undress)We circle around the idea that maybe what we're afraid of—being too much, being selfish, not being needed—isn't actually the danger. Maybe the opposite is true. Maybe what's self-indulgent is exactly what's needed.There's no tidy resolution. Just some juicy mangoes, a lot of laughter, and a few unexpected moments of truth.Send your email to join the MoM Underground: Co-create with a community of artists and stay informed of online and local events, including gatherings, concerts, live podcast recordings, meditations, etc.Support Mormons on Mushrooms:Become a PatreonSend a Contribution

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4/09 H2 - Dripping with Sarcasm

Cofield and Company

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 10, 2025 44:47

Live from the Battle Born Broadcast Center, Battle Born Injury Lawyers attorney Matthew Hoffmann joins Cofield & Company to breakdown the denial of a proposed settlement to pay former student athletes who played in college before the start of NIL, detail the impact of an NIL cap would have on the different levels of college athletics, and give his legal insight on the report that the mayor of Reno, Nevada was being tracked by a GPS tracker placed on his vehicle. FS1 giving priority access to 2025 Formula 1 Las Vegas Grand Prix tickets to Nevada residents. NHL & MLB Network reporter, Jamie Hersch joins Cofield & Co. to recap the Vegas Golden Knights' 2-3 loss to the Colorado Avalanche, review Tomas Hertl being named a finalist for the NHL Masterton Trophy, and give her thoughts on Alex Olvechkin setting the new NHL goal record.

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TMA (4-9-25) Hour 2 - Dripping in Culture

The Ryan Kelley Morning After

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 9, 2025 45:21

Story about a student journalist celebrating the Florida victory Monday. Is that in-bounds? The audience hates this story and mainly Jackson. Which former or current STL athlete would you want to help you change a tire?Covering vs. Sampling. Jackson is dripping in Culture. He Got Game. Ray Allen. Mount Rushmore of Men's Men in St. Louis. Brown liquor. Storytime. Dotem Golf Tournament news coming soon. Best STL athlete golfer. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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TMA (4-9-25) Hour 2 - Dripping in Culture

The Ryan Kelley Morning After

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 9, 2025 49:51

Story about a student journalist celebrating the Florida victory Monday. Is that in-bounds? The audience hates this story and mainly Jackson. Which former or current STL athlete would you want to help you change a tire? Covering vs. Sampling. Jackson is dripping in Culture. He Got Game. Ray Allen. Mount Rushmore of Men's Men in St. Louis. Brown liquor. Storytime. Dotem Golf Tournament news coming soon. Best STL athlete golfer. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Ginger is Tied Up and Left Dripping And Ready for Jose - Season 4 - Episode 58

Hump Day Quickies : Swinger Confessions

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 9, 2025 58:06

Unzipping Ginger and Jose's 2nd episode leads to some much needed discussions around fantasies & squirting. If you are a guy that likes to modify women's fantasies to meet your own or "make women squirt" you need to listen to this. Email your questions to Nessa here to be part of "Ask Nessa". Please subscribe on your favorite podcast platform. You can catch us on SLSRadio every Wednesday at 4pm Eastern Time. You can find tons of amazing lifestyle show on FullSwapRadio, including our show, Every Wednesday at 6:30pm and Midnight Eastern Time. We are now hosts on the Swinger Society Discord Server as well. If you have your own sexy stories, please call our hotline and share them with us and our audience. 844-4-Hump-Day If you have any questions for us, please email us at humpdayquickies@gmail.com Visit our website as well. HumpDayQuickies.com Please follow us on all the social platforms: Twitter - HumpDayQuickies Instagram - HumpDayQuickies FaceBook - HumpDayQuickies TikTok - HumpDayQuickies We are adding new content as quickly as we can!

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Dripping in Self-Love and Success featuring Otis D. Winston

black success ohio self love dripping stuttering dominic lawson

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 8, 2025 56:29

In this engaging conversation, Dominic Lawson interviews Otis D. Winston, an accomplished actor, storyteller, and author of 'Stuttering to Success.' They explore themes of self-love, resilience, and the journey of personal growth. Otis shares his experiences growing up in Ohio, the challenges he faced with stuttering, and how he found solace in acting. The discussion delves into the importance of loving oneself to love others, the craft of storytelling in acting, and the transformative power of writing and forgiveness. In this conversation, Otis Winston shares his journey of personal growth, emphasizing the importance of letting go of family burdens, the significance of Black fatherhood, and the life lessons learned through sports. He discusses the concept of responsible selfishness, highlighting the need to prioritize personal goals while also supporting others. Otis encourages perseverance in the face of challenges, reminding listeners that success comes to those who do not give up on their dreams.Otis D. Winston Social MediaWebsite: www.buckeyebornapparel.comInstagram: @otisdwinstonFacebook: @otisdwinstonTikTok: @otisdwinstonIMDB: Otis D. WinstonDominic Lawson Social MediaWebsite: www.blackisamericapodcast.comX (Twitter): @blackisamericaInstagram: @BlackIsAmericaPodcastLinkedIn: Dominic LawsonDripping in Black Social MediaAll things DiBk: www.drippinginblack.com

Dripping in Science and Social Impact featuring Dr. Claire Murigande