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“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. Entaer The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. Entaer The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Well hot diggity! We got ourselves a roarin' good story today. Everythin' you could possibly need in a story is here: Murder, death, storytelling, mystery, Braeburn, guns, an investigator, no cops. It's really a perfect tale. You can read "The Assassination of Braeburn by the Coward Dirty Rich" by DawnFade here: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/33089/the-assassination-of-braeburn-by-the-coward-dirty-rich

One of the most significant sources of suffering comes from our human tendency to avoid difficult emotions. We are not taught how to face these unpleasant, often daily inner experiences, so we tend to push them away, ignore them, or become unwittingly overwhelmed by them. Yet how we meet and greet these difficult emotions has everything to do with our well-being, resilience, and ability to connect with ourselves and others. Instinctually, we fight against our uncomfortable emotions. In doing so, we reinforce messages of “not good enough” or “something is wrong with me that I am feeling this way.” In You Don't Have to Change to Change Everything we learn that, instead of forcing ourselves to feel “happy” and pushing away what is unpleasant, or instead of getting hooked by intense emotions, we can change our perspective. Dr. Beth Kurland offers six vantage points to shift to when difficult emotions arise. They include: • The Anchor View: Finding Stable Ground • The Child View: Curiosity Is Your Superpower • The Audience View: Learn to Zoom Out • The Compassionate Parent View: How to Become Your Own Ally • The Mirror View: Your Strengths and Imperfections Are Welcome Here • The Ocean View: We're All in This Together

One of the most significant sources of suffering comes from our human tendency to avoid difficult emotions. We are not taught how to face these unpleasant, often daily inner experiences, so we tend to push them away, ignore them, or become unwittingly overwhelmed by them. Yet how we meet and greet these difficult emotions has everything to do with our well-being, resilience, and ability to connect with ourselves and others. Instinctually, we fight against our uncomfortable emotions. In doing so, we reinforce messages of “not good enough” or “something is wrong with me that I am feeling this way.” In You Don't Have to Change to Change Everything we learn that, instead of forcing ourselves to feel “happy” and pushing away what is unpleasant, or instead of getting hooked by intense emotions, we can change our perspective. Dr. Beth Kurland offers six vantage points to shift to when difficult emotions arise. They include: • The Anchor View: Finding Stable Ground • The Child View: Curiosity Is Your Superpower • The Audience View: Learn to Zoom Out • The Compassionate Parent View: How to Become Your Own Ally • The Mirror View: Your Strengths and Imperfections Are Welcome Here • The Ocean View: We're All in This Together

Wētās are the largest crickets on earth and are all native to New Zealand! In fact, most of them are endemic which means they can't be found anywhere else. There are five different kinds of wētās: Giant wētās, Tree wētās, Cave wētās, Ground wētās, and Tusked wētās, and this episode takes a look at all of them.    IG: https://www.instagram.com/insects4fun/ FB: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100085443614825 Email: Insectsfordummies@gmail.com    Featured Artists: HM Surf, Soundroll, mell-ø, kidcut, and cxlt.

The Brooklyn Power Trip came together this Saturday morning to discuss the following: - Brief NBA Talk - Recap of #Smackdown - #NXTHalloweenHavoc Predictions - New Stages yall please? - Triple H needs to further introducing NXT talent debuting on main roster A lot of laughs, a lot of jokes, don't take it serious, it's all love! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Sharmin Ali, Founder and CEO of Instoried tells her story of helping others write good stories. In this episode we go in-depth into the reasons why Instoried build all their tech in-house from scratch and how they use it as their competitive advantage to secure funding for the expansion. Sharmin's LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/sharmin-ali-5b6b4237/ Instoried website: https://www.linkedin.com/company/instoried/ I forgot what else I wanted to include in the description so here is the link to our course about fundraising for early stage startups: https://fundraising-courses.com/

https://www.linkedin.com/in/jennifer-keishin-armstrong-a792701/ https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0176M3YM0/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i1

Click here for Audio February's Theme: One Journey, Many Paths This month’s Recommended Reading: Worldwide Laws of Life by John Marks Templeton  A Theory of Everything  by Ken Wilber Read the Books:Stepping Stones Books and GiftsAlthough the store is not open to the public, we offer online sales of books of the month, books by Ernest Holmes and Edward Viljoen, and class textbooks.  We process orders every Tuesday with two delivery options (1) U.S. Postal Service and (2) Curbside pickup following guidelines for social distancing.  Visit us at https://steppingstones-books-and-gifts.myshopify.com/     Center for Spiritual Living, Santa Rosa  

 Click for AudioFebruary's Theme: One Journey, Many Paths This month’s Recommended Reading: Worldwide Laws of Life by John Marks Templeton  A Theory of Everything  by Ken Wilber Read the Books:Stepping Stones Books and GiftsAlthough the store is not open to the public, we offer online sales of books of the month, books by Ernest Holmes and Edward Viljoen, and class textbooks.  We process orders every Tuesday with two delivery options (1) U.S. Postal Service and (2) Curbside pickup following guidelines for social distancing.  Visit us at https://steppingstones-books-and-gifts.myshopify.com/     Center for Spiritual Living, Santa Rosa  

True worship is costly and happens only when we recognize the worth of the one who is worthy of our worship. From Mark 12:41-44, we see a widow willing to give all she has to God, and Jesus stands in awe of her faith. For sermon slides, visit realityboston.com/teachings.

Vamos a hablar de Angela Lansbury, de la que el doblaje nos ha privado en  ocasiones de  su voz. Ha creado personajes inolvidables en teatro musical como la Señora Lovett de "Sweeney Todd", o la entrañable tía "Mame", pero no adelantemos acontecimientos y vamos poco a poco a descubrir la carrera de esta mujer a la que todos conocemos principalmente como la Señora Fletcher de la serie "Se ha escrito un crimen". Angela Lansbury a los 16 años se subió al escenario en un espectáculo de music hall en Canadá y no ha parado hasta que recientemente la vimos como la vendedora de globos en “El regreso de Mary Poppins”. Ha trabajado mucho en cine, teatro y televisión. Vamos a recorrer los momentos más significativos de su carrera con algunos prácticamente desconocidos para el gran público por haberse dado en el teatro. Espero te guste el paseo con Angela Lansbury 00h 00'00" Introducción 00h 02'03" Cabecera 00h 04'10" HASTA QUE LAS NUBES PASEN 00h 04'23" How’d you like to spoon with me 00h 07'49" ANYONE CAN WHISTLE 00h 08'26" A parade in town 00h 11'30" MAME 00h 12'39" Bosom buddies 00h 16'43" If he walked into my life 00h 20'29" It’s today 00h 25'10" DEAR WORLD 00h 25'50" And I was beautiful 00h 28'40" I don’t want to know 00h 31'15" Kiss her now 00h 33'16" PRETTYBELLE 00h 34'01" I met a man 00h 36'18" LA BRUJA NOVATA 00h 36'46" The age of not believing 00h 39'58" A step in the right direction 00h 42'20" GYPSY 00h 42'54" Everythin’g coming up roses 00h 45'55" Some people 00h 49'26" You’ll never get away from me 00h 52'24" Rose’s turn 00h 56'27” KING AND I 00h 57'10" We shall dance 00h 57'58" SWEENEY TODD 00h 58'24" The worst pies in London 01h 00'51" A little priest 01h 07'41" By the sea 01h 11'50" THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE 01h 12'20" When Frederick was a little lad 01h 14'10" BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 01h 14'10" Beauty and the beast 01h 16'53" MRS. SANTA CLAUS 01h 17'19" Mrs. Santa Claus 01h 20'18" Almost young 01h 23'05" He needs me 01h 26'25" THE VISIT 01h 27'25" Love and love alone 01h 29'45" A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC 01h 30'15" Liasons 01h 35'04" Last waltz 01h 37'21" MARY POPPINS RETURNS 01h 37'42" Nowhere to go but up Como siempre sólo me queda recordarte que puedes suscribirte GRATUITAMENTE a nuestro canal de podcast desde ivoox o itunes para recibir notificación cada vez que se publique un nuevo programa.

Vamos a hablar de Angela Lansbury, de la que el doblaje nos ha privado en  ocasiones de  su voz. Ha creado personajes inolvidables en teatro musical como la Señora Lovett de "Sweeney Todd", o la entrañable tía "Mame", pero no adelantemos acontecimientos y vamos poco a poco a descubrir la carrera de esta mujer a la que todos conocemos principalmente como la Señora Fletcher de la serie "Se ha escrito un crimen". Angela Lansbury a los 16 años se subió al escenario en un espectáculo de music hall en Canadá y no ha parado hasta que recientemente la vimos como la vendedora de globos en “El regreso de Mary Poppins”. Ha trabajado mucho en cine, teatro y televisión. Vamos a recorrer los momentos más significativos de su carrera con algunos prácticamente desconocidos para el gran público por haberse dado en el teatro. Espero te guste el paseo con Angela Lansbury 00h 00'00" Introducción 00h 02'03" Cabecera 00h 04'10" HASTA QUE LAS NUBES PASEN 00h 04'23" How’d you like to spoon with me 00h 07'49" ANYONE CAN WHISTLE 00h 08'26" A parade in town 00h 11'30" MAME 00h 12'39" Bosom buddies 00h 16'43" If he walked into my life 00h 20'29" It’s today 00h 25'10" DEAR WORLD 00h 25'50" And I was beautiful 00h 28'40" I don’t want to know 00h 31'15" Kiss her now 00h 33'16" PRETTYBELLE 00h 34'01" I met a man 00h 36'18" LA BRUJA NOVATA 00h 36'46" The age of not believing 00h 39'58" A step in the right direction 00h 42'20" GYPSY 00h 42'54" Everythin’g coming up roses 00h 45'55" Some people 00h 49'26" You’ll never get away from me 00h 52'24" Rose’s turn 00h 56'27” KING AND I 00h 57'10" We shall dance 00h 57'58" SWEENEY TODD 00h 58'24" The worst pies in London 01h 00'51" A little priest 01h 07'41" By the sea 01h 11'50" THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE 01h 12'20" When Frederick was a little lad 01h 14'10" BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 01h 14'10" Beauty and the beast 01h 16'53" MRS. SANTA CLAUS 01h 17'19" Mrs. Santa Claus 01h 20'18" Almost young 01h 23'05" He needs me 01h 26'25" THE VISIT 01h 27'25" Love and love alone 01h 29'45" A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC 01h 30'15" Liasons 01h 35'04" Last waltz 01h 37'21" MARY POPPINS RETURNS 01h 37'42" Nowhere to go but up Como siempre sólo me queda recordarte que puedes suscribirte GRATUITAMENTE a nuestro canal de podcast desde ivoox o itunes para recibir notificación cada vez que se publique un nuevo programa.

Episodes R Unlimited. Tlk Bout Wateva Weneva. Let's Make History --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Pro Surfer and Hooligan racer. Josh lives in Southern California and had me over to talk shop. Everythin from shaping to philosiphy. Thanks for your time and insight sir. @sleighlifeLANDofDistraction.comSportster GiveAway Details: For every month you are a Patron at 5$ a month you will get a number for every 5$. I will bring in a third party to help me draw the winner next Thanksgiving or around then so you can get your bike before Christmas. FREE delivery in the 48 and FREE delivery to the port in Houston for people out of the country.https://www.patreon.com/DangerDansTalkShop^^^^^^^^^^^^ Patreon! Giveaways from Knives By Nick, JP Rodman, and No School Choppers!!!https://www.patreon.com/DangerDansTalkShopDangerDansTalkShop.comMCshopTs.comKnivesMadeByNick.comMCshopTs.com Your T-shirt of the month club. OLD SHOPS, NEW ART, and FRESH T's EVERY MONTH!!!! Only 25$ a month, sign up at MCshopTs.com Don't miss another month!!!SUPPORT EVERY LOCAL MOTORCYCLE SHOPGo to DangerDansTalkShop.com and become a Patreon Supporter for your chance to win next month. You could win a knife by KnivesbyNick or a custom painted tank by JP Rodman!!! DangerDansTalkShop.comMCshopTs.comChemicalCandyCustoms.comDCChoppers.com Permalink

Cyrell from Married at First Sight, Tingly Tuesday Ruth’s Anniversary, Hayley witnessed someone licking their plate, Being involved in EVERYTHIN with your bestie See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Programa del divendres 27 de juliol. Començam de manera molt musical. Per una banda amb Gabriel Artina i Juanjo Fénix, organitzador del festival ‘Sanan Metal Day’ i el cantant del grup eivissenc Vitrol, qui ens presentan aquest festival de metall extrem el dissabte a Eivissa. I també parlem amb Sean MacKey, cantant i guitarrista del grup The Moonshine Band, que aquest divendres presenten el seu primer àlbum, ‘Everythin’s Alright’. I acabarem amb Neus Torres i la seva agència de viatges particular ‘Formentera Voyages’, per parlar de les destinacions de Saint Vincent i Austria.

Samantha Jones runs away to the Florida Everglades, leaving behind a series of tapes for the girls to listen to in an attempt to piece together her disappearance, featuring writer and host of Everything Iconic, Danny Pellegrino. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

@kal.the.guitarist & @jeremyplaysbass from The Color 8 Band join me and talk about the importance of ACTION.

In our final installment of ComedySportz Audition stores, The Punch Up Podcast host Steve Roney discusses his "origin" in celebration of ComedySportz 25th Anniversary. "Jesus yes, ands EVERYTHIN!" With guest Mary Carpenter, and panelists Eoin O'Shea, Jessie Pi, and Kevin Regan. ComedySportz is the longest running comedy show in Philadelphia, celebrating it's 25th Anniversary this year! You can see past & present players (many of whom you've heard right here!) LIVE at The Mandell Theater at Drexel University for the 25th Anniversary matches on Saturday July 22nd at 7pm and 9:30pm. To get tickets go to www.comedysportzphilly.com/comedysportz25/