Podcasts about edipus

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Rob and Jeremiah dig up and into the 1993 Steve Buscemi sleeper Ed and His Dead Mother and play a new game called Look Who's Talkin'! Intro/Outro music constructed from Creative Commons sounds by the following freesound.org users: -“Proyector16mm-2” by espectral -“Goofy Music” by FlatHill -“Cinemato” by jlozano -“3er Ding 01” by Raggaman --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/realonreels/support

Ventisettesima puntata di Rumori fuori scena, il programma che vuole portarvi a teatro. Intervistiamo Eugenio Allegri, uno tra i maggiori interpreti teatrali contemporanei, in scena al Teatro Filodrammatici con il suo Edipus. Con noi in studio anche gli interpreti di Teste tonde e teste a punta, in scena al Teatro Leonardo, Carola Boschetti e Antonio […]

Dr Helen Lucey discusses methods of research, focusing on one of her studies on siblings.

Transcript -- Dr Helen Lucey discusses methods of research, focusing on one of her studies on siblings.

Dr Helen Lucey discusses methods of research, focusing on one of her studies on siblings.

Transcript -- Dr Helen Lucey discusses methods of research, focusing on one of her studies on siblings.