Podcasts about feast

Friends of the Rosary,Today, the eve of the solemnity of the kingship of Christ, we honor the beloved Saint Cecilia, virgin and martyr, who gave her life for Christ during the persecutions of the 3rd century.The tradition says that on her wedding day, Cecilia “sang to God in her heart” as she desired to live for Christ alone.However, with the help of an angel, Cecilia converted her pagan husband. Both died as martyrs.Since the 16th century, Cecilia has been invoked as the universal patroness of music. In art, she is shown playing the organ, viola, or lyre.As the Psalm states (33:2), “Give thanks to the Lord on the harp; on the ten-stringed lyre offer praise.”Ave Maria!Come, Holy Spirit, come!To Jesus through Mary!Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.Please give us the grace to respond with joy!+ Mikel Amigot w/ María Blanca | RosaryNetwork.com, New YorkEnhance your faith with the new Holy Rosary University app:Apple iOS | New! Android Google Play• ⁠November 22, 2025, Today's Rosary on YouTube | Daily broadcast at 7:30 pm ET

With the current state of of food prices, are you leaving some items off of the Thanksgiving table? Henry asks for your input. Then, are celebrities good tippers? We hear about why they're not.

Read the scriptures for the Feast of Christ the King at this link.

Stephen Fletcher leads our Sunday Prayer on today, Sunday 23rd November 2025 the Feast of Christ the King

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

Subscribe to the Better Part podcast today! Gospel reflection for 9-12 year olds for the Feast of Christ the King, year C.

Subscribe to the Better Part podcast today! Gospel reflection for 6-9 year olds for the Feast of Christ the King, year C.

Subscribe to the Better Part podcast today! Gospel reflection for 3-6 year olds for the Feast of Christ the King, year C.

Pope Pius XI instituted this Feast of Christ the King* in 1925. Of course, the Pope wasn't inventing anything new; that's not the way Popes operate, or shouldn't. The Pope is the guardian of the deposit of faith but at times in history a Pope has had to, for various reasons, make explicit what has always been believed. Often the best way to do that, is to enter the dogma into the sacred liturgy through a feast day.Christ said Himself that He was a king, and for this He entered the world, when He was being interrogated by Pontius Pilate. So it was not invented by any member of the Church at any time in history.Today's feast calls us to honour our King, give Him our homage, and to be faithful to His rule.As the Cristeros of Mexico shouted when they were fighting against a godless and masonic government, in the same decade of the 1920's VIVA CRISTO REY!* I made an error in the podcast by naming Pope Benedict XV as doing this. My apologies. If you would like to contact me to provide feedback, suggestions or to ask questions you can do this via email:frpchandler@armidale.catholic.org.auAlso if you would like to support me in this work, please send me an email and I will provide details for how you can make a donation. Music by Samuel F. Johannson and by Tomomi Kato from Pixabay

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. 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

Hour 1 on the Friday Football Feast has former Vikings Linebacker Chad Greenway join the show to talk about what went wrong Sunday vs the Bear and to preview the Vikings game vs the Packers. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hour 1 on the Friday Football Feast has former Vikings Linebacker Chad Greenway join the show to talk about what went wrong Sunday vs the Bear and to preview the Vikings game vs the Packers.

Dexter B. Wakefield | Recorded September 6, 2025

Dexter B. Wakefield | Recorded September 6, 2025

Friday Bible Study (11/7/25) // Ezra 3:1-7- (ESV) //Rebuilding the Altar1 When the seventh month came, and the children of Israel were in the towns, the people gathered as one man to Jerusalem. 2 Then arose Jeshua the son of Jozadak, with his fellow priests, and Zerubbabel the son of Shealtiel with his kinsmen, and they built the altar of the God of Israel, to offer burnt offerings on it, as it is written in the Law of Moses the man of God. 3 They set the altar in its place, for fear was on them because of the peoples of the lands, and they offered burnt offerings on it to the Lord, burnt offerings morning and evening. 4 And they kept the Feast of Booths, as it is written, and offered the daily burnt offerings by number according to the rule, as each day required, 5 and after that the regular burnt offerings, the offerings at the new moon and at all the appointed feasts of the Lord, and the offerings of everyone who made a freewill offering to the Lord. 6 From the first day of the seventh month they began to offer burnt offerings to the Lord. But the foundation of the temple of the Lord was not yet laid. 7 So they gave money to the masons and the carpenters, and food, drink, and oil to the Sidonians and the Tyrians to bring cedar trees from Lebanon to the sea, to Joppa, according to the grant that they had from Cyrus king of Persia.Website: https://mbchicago.org FOLLOW US Facebook:   / mbc.chicago   Instagram:   / mbc.chicago   TikTok:   / mbc.chicago   Podcasts: Listen on Apple, Spotify & others TO SUPPORT US Zelle to: info@mbchicago.org Website: https://mbchicago.org/give Venmo: https://venmo.com/mbchurch DAF Donations: https://every.org/mbc.chicago PayPal: https://paypal.com/donate/?hosted_but... #Ezra #DanielBatarseh #BibleStudy #mbchicago #mbcchicago #Bible #versebyverse #church #chicago #livechurch #churchlive #chicagochurch #chicagochurches #sermon #bibleexplained #bibleproject #bibleverse #bookbybook #oldtestament #explained

G. Brown, veteran music journalist and executive director of Colorado Music Experience, joins The Sun’s Kevin Simpson to dish out a Thanksgiving musical feast. From Colorado classics to unexpected holiday favorites, they share the songs, stories, and sounds that set the tone for the season.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this moving episode of Out of Zion, ICEJ USA President Dr. Susan Michael leads an inspiring exploration of how to pray for God’s purposes for Israel to be fulfilled. She walks through the key covenants that reveal God’s unchanging plan, culminating in the new covenant of Jeremiah 31. She then explains how none of God’s divine promises have yet been completely fulfilled—and why His very reputation depends on bringing them to completion. The episode concludes with a powerful time of prayer drawn from Isaiah 60–62, declaring that God’s Word is true and His purposes will stand. Get Your Free Resource: https://icejusa.org/shownotes Learn more about the Feast of Tabernacles at:https://icejusa.org/feast-tour

In this installment, Joe solves a mystery and John realizes he's been wrong for three decades. Joe discusses his puffiness and John tries not to say "Time Cop". All this and slightly more. What's the name for a group of peacocks? Feast your ears!

John Maytham speaks to Jeanette Sutherland, Trinidad and Tobago-born curator of WILD Feast and founder of AgriLuxe Marketing, who champions indigenous crops as climate-smart, nutrient-rich, and economically empowering. Jeanette believes food can be a tool for sovereignty and sustainability — and she’s proving it, one plate at a time. Presenter John Maytham is an actor and author-turned-talk radio veteran and seasoned journalist. His show serves a round-up of local and international news coupled with the latest in business, sport, traffic and weather. The host’s eclectic interests mean the program often surprises the audience with intriguing book reviews and inspiring interviews profiling artists. A daily highlight is Rapid Fire, just after 5:30pm. CapeTalk fans call in, to stump the presenter with their general knowledge questions. Another firm favourite is the humorous Thursday crossing with award-winning journalist Rebecca Davis, called “Plan B”. Thank you for listening to a podcast from Afternoon Drive with John Maytham Listen live on Primedia+ weekdays from 15:00 and 18:00 (SA Time) to Afternoon Drive with John Maytham broadcast on CapeTalk https://buff.ly/NnFM3Nk For more from the show go to https://buff.ly/BSFy4Cn or find all the catch-up podcasts here https://buff.ly/n8nWt4x Subscribe to the CapeTalk Daily and Weekly Newsletters https://buff.ly/sbvVZD5 Follow us on social media: CapeTalk on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CapeTalk CapeTalk on TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@capetalk CapeTalk on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ CapeTalk on X: https://x.com/CapeTalk CapeTalk on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CapeTalk567 See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Ken Hallenius is back on The Morning Blend to tell you about the Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin MarySubscribe to the Morning Blend on your favorite podcast platform.Find this show on the free Hail Mary Media App, along with a radio live-stream, prayers, news, and more.Look through past episodes or support this podcast.The Morning Blend is a production of Mater Dei Radio in Portland, Oregon.

TGIF! Father Anthony with Tony, and Cristina gather to discuss the goings on, and people in the Parish.  Father opens with prayer and then leads a “foodie” chat quizzing the group on food favorites by state.  Father Anthony reminds us that we are at the end of the Liturgical year and points out how the readings are foreboding.  He closes the show addressing the readings that are upcoming for the Feast of Christ the King. St. Stanislaus Kostka Parish  

11-21-25: Feast of Christ the King – Fr. James Kubicki, SJ by

The Lord Jesus once again speaks a 3rd parable to the leaders of Israel. Dr. Mitchell calls this parable the marriage of the king's son. He compares this Matthew 22 passage with a similar but different parable in Luke 14.We find this parable fulfilled in history some 40 years later when Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 A.D.What stands out in this parable of our Lord is the one who was found at the wedding without the necessary clothing for a wedding. Here Dr. Mitchell shares that we can stand before God only with the righteousness of Christ as our covering, which is what one needs when God sees a person. Do you have this righteousness? You can and do when you place your faith in Christ Jesus the Lord.Here is Dr. Mitchell with the Unchanging Word Bible Broadcast, Matthew 22:1.

After years of getting your emails and phone calls, we know that SciFri listeners are in the 99th percentile when it comes to nerdy knowledge. We're putting your fact retention skills to the test with the first ever Super Food Science Excellence Trivia Blowout (SFSETBO).Host Flora Lichtman teams up with trivia kingpin Mangesh Hattikudur, co-host of the podcast “Part-Time Genius,” to quiz one lucky listener on her food science knowledge.Guest: Mangesh Hattikudur is the co-host of “Part-Time Genius” and co-founder of Kaleidoscope.Transcripts for each episode are available within 1-3 days at sciencefriday.com. Subscribe to this podcast. Plus, to stay updated on all things science, sign up for Science Friday's newsletters.

In this episode of Intermittent Fasting Stories, Gin talks to Desiree Slusher from Round Rock, Texas.Are you ready to take your intermittent fasting lifestyle to the next level? There's nothing better than community to help with that. In the Delay, Don't Deny community we all embrace the clean fast, and there's just the right support for you as you live your intermittent fasting lifestyle. You can connect directly with Gin in the Ask Gin group, and she will answer all of your questions personally. If you're new to intermittent fasting or recommitting to the IF lifestyle, join the 28-Day FAST Start group. After your fast start, join us for support in The 1st Year group. Need tips for long term maintenance? We have a place for that! There are many more useful spaces beyond these, and you can interact in as many as you like. Visit ginstephens.com/community to join us. An annual membership costs just over a dollar a week when you do the math. If you aren't ready to fully commit for a year, join for a month and you can cancel at any time. If you know you'll want to stay forever, we also have a lifetime membership option available. IF is free. You don't need to join our community to fast. But if you're looking for support from a community of like-minded IFers, we are here for you at ginstephens.com/community. Desiree is a retired homeschooling mom of 5. She shares her transformative journey with intermittent fasting, which started in June 2019. While Desiree didn't have a history of dieting, she found herself at the very high end of the normal weight range for her height, and she didn't feel good in her body. Then, a friend shared about Gin's approach to intermittent fasting. She discusses her transition from bulletproof coffee to clean fasting, the impact of reading The Obesity Code, and the significant health improvements she experienced. Since beginning IF, Desiree has lost a significant amount of weight and enjoys being at her ideal weight. Desiree emphasizes the importance of community support, her evolving body image, and the role of strength training in her health journey. Her goal is to be both healthy and strong as she ages. She also addresses challenges related to weight fluctuations and possible mold exposure, ultimately encouraging others to embrace intermittent fasting for its numerous health benefits. Takeaways:• Desiree started intermittent fasting in June 2019 after hearing about it from a friend.• Reading The Obesity Code changed her perspective on health and fasting.• Desiree experienced rapid health improvements and weight loss after starting intermittent fasting.• She emphasizes the importance of community support in her fasting journey.• Desiree's body image evolved as she accepted her unique shape and size.• She lost about 25 pounds in six months and felt more energetic.• Desiree began strength training to build muscle and improve her overall health.• She faced challenges with weight fluctuations and health issues related to mold exposure.• Desiree encourages others to try intermittent fasting for its health benefits, regardless of weight loss goals.At the end of the episode, Desiree encourages anyone on the fence to just start, and to embrace the clean fast.Get Gin's books at: https://www.ginstephens.com/get-the-books.html. Good news! The second edition of Delay, Don't Deny is now available in ebook, paperback, hardback, and audiobook. This is the book that you'll want to start with or share with others, as it is a simple introduction to IF. It's been updated to include the clean fast, an easier to understand and more thorough description of ADF and all of your ADF options, and an all new success stories section. When shopping, make sure to get the second edition, which has a 2024 publication date. The audiobook for the second edition is available now! Join Gin's community! Go to: ginstephens.com/communityDo you enjoy Intermittent Fasting Stories? You'll probably also like Gin's other podcast with cohost Sheri Bullock: Fast. Feast. Repeat. Intermittent Fasting for Life. Find it wherever you listen to podcasts. Share your intermittent fasting stories with Gin: gin@intermittentfastingstories.comVisit Gin's website at: ginstephens.com Check out Gin's Favorite Things at http://www.ginstephens.com/gins-favorite-things.htmlSubscribe to Gin's YouTube Channel! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_frGNiTEoJ88rZOwvuG2CASee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Read OnlineSource: You are viewing content from a free RSS feed from catholic-daily-reflections.com — Copyright © 2025 My Catholic Life! Inc. All rights reserved. This content is provided solely for personal, non-commercial use. Redistribution, republication, or commercial use — including use within apps with advertising — is strictly prohibited.And every day he was teaching in the temple area. The chief priests, the scribes, and the leaders of the people, meanwhile, were seeking to put him to death, but they could find no way to accomplish their purpose because all the people were hanging on his words. Luke 19:47–48Jesus had just entered Jerusalem for the upcoming Feast of Passover. He arrived in that holy city and then returned again the next day and entered the Temple area. As He witnessed the corruption of those selling animals for the Temple sacrifices, Jesus responded with fervent preaching in an attempt to cleanse the Temple from this corruption. He quoted the Prophet Isaiah and cried out, “It is written, My house shall be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.” Luke's Gospel points out the reaction of the chief priests, the scribes and the leaders of the people. They were “seeking to put him to death.” However, as the Gospel further relates, “they could find no way to accomplish their purpose because all the people were hanging on his words.”It's important to consider this passage within its context. The words that Jesus spoke were words that sought to cleanse the Temple of corruption. With the approval of the temple priests, who benefitted from the temple tax, there were many people who were using the practice of divine worship to make a profit for selfish gain, turning the Temple into a marketplace. Jesus could see this clearly, and many of the people would have also sensed the corruption of these practices. Though they needed to purchase animals for the ritual sacrifices and Passover meal, many of them were most likely disturbed by this abuse. Therefore, as Jesus spoke with fervor and condemnation, it angered those who were responsible for the corruption but left the people with consolation. Hence, they were “hanging on his words.”The Gospel is always consoling, and, for those who are open, it leads them to hang on every word that is spoken. It refreshes and invigorates, clarifies and motivates. Usually when we think of the Gospel, we think of words that are gentle and inviting—words of mercy to the sinner and compassion for those who are struggling. But sometimes the pure Gospel message from our Lord fiercely attacks sin and evil. And though this may be shocking to the evil doers, to those with pure faith, these words also refresh and strengthen.Today, we need the full Gospel message. Many need to hear Jesus' gentle invitation to conversion by which their heavy burdens are lifted. But many others need to hear His firm words of condemnation. And the Church as a whole needs both of these messages to be proclaimed if we are to fully participate in the apostolic ministry of our Lord. Only our Lord has the right to condemn, chastise, and call others to repentance. But we are all called to share in this mission of our Lord. And though we do not have the right to judge the hearts of others, when we see objective evil and disorder within our world and even within our Church, we must cry out with our Lord, “My house shall be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.” And when we do hear the holy and inspired words of God's messengers who boldly and courageously proclaim the truth and call others to repentance, it should inspire, invigorate and console us as we find ourselves hanging on their every word.Reflect, today, upon the Gospel messages that need to be preached in our day and age that are both inspired by God and are also fervently directed at corruption within the world and even within our Church. Allow yourself to support such holy preaching and to be inspired by it. Hang on these holy words of God's prophets today. As you do, God will protect them and inspire them to continue His holy mission of purification.My purifying Lord, the corruption within our world, and at times even within our Church, requires Your holy preaching and purifying action. Please send Your messengers to those in need so that all may be cleansed as You cleansed the Temple. May I share in this mission in the ways in which You call me, and may I always hang on every word spoken from Your merciful and fervent heart of love. Jesus, I trust in You.  Image: James Tissot, Public domain, via Wikimedia CommonsSource of content: catholic-daily-reflections.comCopyright © 2025 My Catholic Life! Inc. All rights reserved. Used with permission via RSS feed.

In this episode of the Jesus Everyday Podcast, Ethan Callison, Andrew McPheron, and Ken Nienke unpack John 7:37–52, where Jesus stands up on the climactic final day of the Feast of Booths and cries out:“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.”This is one of the most powerful scenes in John's Gospel — rich with Old Testament symbolism, dramatic tension, and the promise of the Holy Spirit.

Scott Shanle, a former Saints Super Bowl-winning linebacker, joined Weekend Kickoff. Shanle praised the Saints-Falcons rivalry and discussed his keys for a black-and-gold victory. Shanle called the Falcons' defense a "feast-or-famine" unit.

Dr. Tom and Kari Curran explore hot topic issues: 5 popular bio-hacks, the USCCB's video on immigration and transgender ideology in schools. The Currans share insights on the gospel reading for the Feast of Christ the King [Luke 23:35-43] and a shocking story of St. Teresa of Avila.

Caiti Svymbersky shares in our series, Exodus. Today we look at Exodus 23:10-19. This scripture covers laws about festivals. Caiti unpacks what it is to Feast.

Read the scriptures for Friday of Week Thirty-THree in Ordinary Time, the Feast of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin, at this link.

In this truly chaotic Thanksgiving-themed episode, Julia and Nick celebrate the holiday the only way that makes sense: unpacking the LIES and encasing everything in jello. Course by course, the binchies revisit the original feast of 1621, the one 19th century lady who kept trying to make Thanksgiving happen, and your insane family stories and recipes. Digressions include the French winning the IDGAF war, Kim Kardashian's ChatGPT induced academic failure, and a surprise attack in the stu. This is a teaser for a Patreon-exclusive episode. To listen to the full episode and access over 50 bonus episodes, mediasodes, and our monthly news broadcast What the Hell Sure NEWS, visit patreon.com/binchtopia and become a patron today.  

This week's featured story comes from the Junkyard Tales collection. It's called "The Junkyard Feast: A Story of Thanksgiving." It is time for the annual Junkyard Feast. In this autumn celebration, the Junkyard animals cook special dishes in gratitude for all they have given each other throughout the year. All of the Junkyard animals enjoy this feast except one: Sergeant. He is always away for this special event, celebrating Thanksgiving with the Junkyard Warden and his family. When Ben, clever cat, learns this, he insists they do something special for the steadfast watchdog who keeps the Junkyard safe … all year long. If you enjoyed that story, there are hundreds and hundreds more where that came from. Try a Sparkle subscription now - for free. Go to www.sparklestories.com and click the button at the top that says "Start Free Trial," then you can listen to our giant library as much as you like, anytime you like.  Each week on the Sparkle Stories Podcast, we share a free story from one of our original story series! For many many many more stories like this one, visit the Sparkle website: www.sparklestories.com Questions?  Ideas?  Requests? Email us!  info@sparklestories.com Enjoy!

Welcome to this week's episode of Fast. Feast. Repeat. Intermittent Fasting for Life, with Gin Stephens and Sheri Bullock.To make a submission for the podcast, go to fastfeastrepeat.com/submit.  We are a community-driven podcast, and we look forward to sharing your questions, success stories, non-scale victories, IF tweaks, motivational quotes (and more!) on each episode of the podcast. Resources used in today's episode: For more information regarding one on one IF support, email sheri@fastfeastrepeat.com Shop w/ me @ https://www.fastfeastrepeat.com/sheri.html  https://crunchi.com/?als=SheriBullock Fast Safe Concentrace Trace Mineral Drops: https://amzn.to/47fqwNl Gin has a new YouTube Channel!  Visit https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_frGNiTEoJ88rZOwvuG2CA and subscribe today so you never miss an intermittent fasting tip, a support session, or an interview with a past IF Stories guest or expert.Want to learn more about BiOptimizer's Magnesium Breakthrough? Visit www.bioptimizers.com/fastfeastrepeat and use code FFR15 to save 15% off any order. Go to fastfeastrepeat.com to see Gin's and Sheri's favorite things, and to shop with us.  Every purchase you make through links on our website help to support this podcast so we can keep bringing you episodes each week. Are you ready to take your intermittent fasting lifestyle to the next level? There's nothing better than community to help with that.  In the Delay, Don't Deny community we all embrace the clean fast, and there's just the right support for you as you live your intermittent fasting lifestyle. Connect with both Gin and Sheri in the community, as well as thousands of other intermittent fasters who are there to support you along your journey.  If you're new to intermittent fasting or recommitting to the IF lifestyle, join the 28-Day FAST Start group.  After your fast start, join us for support in The 1st Year group.  Need tips for long term maintenance? We have a place for that!  There are many more useful spaces beyond these, and you can interact in as many as you like.Visit ginstephens.com/community to join us. An annual membership costs just over a dollar a week when you do the math.  If you aren't ready to fully commit for a year, join for a month and you can cancel at any time. If you know you'll want to stay forever, we also have a lifetime membership option available.  IF is free. You don't need to join our community to fast. But if you're looking for support from a community of like-minded IFers, we are here for you at  ginstephens.com/community. 

Disney Destiny Find us on Youtube - please like and subscribe!  Looking to plan a Disney World or Disneyland vacation? Let Joe do all the hard work for you, helping you get the best discount, at no cost to you as your travel agent. Get started by e-mailing josephcheung@travelmation.net today!  Episode Description Joe sailed on the Disney Destiny! We talk a little bit about the ship in general and then chat about what sets it apart from other ships, including unique lounges, entertainment options, the new Feast of the Lion King dinner show, and Hercules! Does it live up to the hype or is it a work in progress? Is the ship more for adults than kids? We discuss all this and more on this week's episode. Thanks to Disney Destinations and Travelmation for having Joe on the Disney Destiny Christening cruise! What are you most looking forward to on the Disney Destiny? Let us know by e-mailing disneydeciphered AT gmail DOT com, messaging us on social media, or leaving a comment on our Youtube page. You can also follow us on Instagram! Episode Notes (all timestamps are approximate) 5:55 - Disney Destiny itineraries and general thoughts 9:09 - Theming 10:05 - The Grand Hall 13:18 - Entertainment options (non Broadway show) 20:03 - New lounges 28:11 - Pride Lands: Feast of the Lion King 31:32 - Hercules 35:56 - Is the Disney Destiny more for Disney adults? 39:23 - Disney Dos and Don'ts If we've helped you to plan your trip and you'd like to thank us we'd appreciate you considering a one time donation. Or if you'd like to receive bonus content, check out our Patreon page and our special subscriber only content! You can also support the show by buying tickets (if they're the best deal, of course) using our Undercover Tourist link or signing up for Mouse Dining through our link. If you like what you hear, please share and subscribe! Find us on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, TuneIn, PlayerFM, iHeartRadio, or Google Podcasts (please leave a positive review if you're enjoying the show), like our Facebook page, or follow us on Bluesky and Instagram! Connect with Leslie @TripsWithTykes on social media and Joe @asthejoeflies.  

 What you'll learn in this episode:Why most real estate agents struggle with sporadic incomeThe three proven ways to take listings in today's marketHow Dan turned a “get lost” lead into an $18,500 paydayThe five income-generating activities in real estateThe psychological secret to getting hired before you even meet with a sellerThe real reason sellers choose one agent over anotherDan's personal story from struggling waiter to top real estate agentThe one question that will completely shift your approach to real estate sales To find out more about Dan Rochon and the CPI Community, you can check these links:Website: No Broke MonthsPodcast: No Broke Months for Salespeople PodcastInstagram: @donrochonxFacebook: Dan RochonLinkedIn: Dan RochonTeach to Sell Preorder: Teach to Sell: Why Top Performers Never Sell – And What They Do Instead

Breathe Before the Feast is your grounding moment before the holiday whirlwind begins. This week, we're diving into the art of moving through Thanksgiving with ease, intention, and a whole lot of self-care.From navigating airport stress and TSA chaos to finding calm when you're sleeping in someone else's home, this episode brings together practical travel tips, mindful guest etiquette, soft boundaries, and the grounding rituals that help you stay centered in unfamiliar spaces.Together, we'll explore how to protect your peace, honor your energy, and create small moments of calm—whether you're on the road, surrounded by family, or simply trying to stay present in the season of gratitude.Take a breath, reset your shoulders, and join me for a pre-feast moment of clarity and calm.Follow Your Host:Insta:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/rumor_in_stpetersburg ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠TikTok:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.tiktok.com/@rumor_in_stpetersburg ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠FB Page: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/theluxuryofselfcare⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/user/ahnastasia88?si=ab36621742b4474c⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Photo and Music Credit: Cover Art Photography by Tori Radick:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/toricophotography/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Intro/Outro Music Produced by Ryan Blivhovde: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/ryanblihovde/⁠⁠⁠⁠

As the Church prepares to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Feast of Christ the King, a new EWTN docu-series, The Kingship of Christ, is released. Meanwhile, the Epstein Files Bill heads to Trump's desk. And, U.S. Army Secretary is in Kyiv for meetings aimed at restarting Ukraine peace talks.

Friendsgiving started as a practical solution for three families juggling hockey schedules—but it grew into a treasured annual feast and eventually a monthly dinner club. In this episode, Ann Park, Lisa Svobodny, and Michelle Bouchard share how their Friendsgiving tradition began, who gathers around their tables, the stories that make it unforgettable, plus two recipes they bring each year—including sugared cranberries and butternut squash with bacon and spinach—and a recipe for an apple pie–inspired cocktail. Cheers to a cozy celebration of friendship, food, and creating traditions that last.Get the recipes and photos at RandomSweets.com.

Let us keep the Festival, not with the old bread leavened with malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. — 1 Corinthians 5:8 For one week, some years ago, I owned all the bread in the Jewish community in Salem, Oregon, where I live. When local Jewish families celebrated the Feast of Unleavened Bread, they did so not by removing all the yeast from their homes (as their biblical ancestors did) but by signing a contract that gave ownership of all their leavened food to someone else.The Feast of Unleavened Bread was celebrated alongside the Feast of Passover, and it communicated how God had set his people apart as his own. Many years later, the apostle Paul explained to the Corinthians that since “Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed,” we are to keep the festival by removing evil from within us and from our Christian communities. Like yeast, sin has a way of working into our lives until it taints every part of who we are. An addiction will grip our behaviors at home and at work, destroying both in the process. Gossip will erode trust in a community. Greed will poison ambition, turning it into something ruthless instead of productive. Like leaven, sin is pervasive. By removing the leaven from their homes, God's people were to remember they were redeemed to be holy.Is sin taking hold in an area of your life? What might it look like to remove that poison from your life? Jesus, our Passover lamb, was sacrificed so that we can be holy. Let's resolve to live as God's holy people! Jesus, we confess that we often find sin alluring. Help us, by the power of your Spirit, to remove sin from our lives. Amen.

YOU DIDN'T CUT YOUR CARBON EMISSIONS AND NOW WE'RE UP TO OUR EYEBALLS IN SMOG MONSTERS, MUTANT ISOPODS, AND VENGEFUL NATURE SPIRITS!! We've already covered natural disasters and killer animals on Genre Grinder, but what about some specifically man-made environmental horrors? Well, that's where Gabe and returning guest Justin Clark come in. After last month's epic seven-movie podcast, we're dialing things back to a more manageable three films, all from different countries and different decades. First up is the Toho kaiju classic, Yoshimitsu Banno and Teruyoshi Nakano's Godzilla vs. Hedorah (aka: Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster, 1971), followed by Barry Levinson's eerie mockumentary The Bay (2012), and Lee Haven Jones' Welsh folkhorror film The Feast (Welsh: Gwleðð, 2021). 00:00 – Intro 4:09 – Godzilla vs. Hedorah 49:41 – The Bay 1:24:28 – The Feast 1:51:02 – Outro  

Send us a textA brand-new episode of The Horrific Podcast is here, and this week we're sitting down with one of the most recognizable, unforgettable faces in modern horror — Ezra Buzzington! You've seen him in Dorothea, Monster, The Hills Have Eyes (2006), Fight Club, Justified, Crossing Jordan, Criminal Minds, Feast, The Prestige, The Artist, and countless indie horror projects. He's a character actor with a cult following and a career full of wild stories. Ghost Executioners and Halloween Gory Nights Merchandise! https://www.teepublic.com/user/thehorrificnetwork?utm_source=designer&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=horrificnetwork Follow All Things Horrific Network Here https://linktr.ee/thehorrificnetwork

Nehemiah 8 tells us that as Ezra read the Law of Moses from dawn to midday to the people standing and listening attentively for it was God's Word that was being read and explained with diligence. The people's response in verse 8 was a loud and audible, "Amen, Amen". Ezra urges the people, not to weep but, to rejoice in God's Word as they together share His blessings. Then the chapter says that they kept the Feast of Booths (or Tabernacles) for seven days and then on the 8th day they observe a solemn assembly (Hebrew "holy convocation"). This day is in the Law of Moses only once named - and is known as "Shemini Azaret", or "the day of the righteous" - speaking of eternal life in God's kingdom.Joel 3 tells of the time that will soon come at the time of the end of the kingdom of men. At this time the Lord Jesus Christ will come and set up the kingdom of God on this earth (Revelation 11verses15-19). The great battle of God Almighty is "Armageddon" in Revelation 16verses14-16, - those verses are taken from what we are told in Joel 3. These events were only possible in recent years, because the start of Joel 3 tells us that Israel must be back in their own land with Jerusalem as their capital city. Armageddon will be a time for God's judgments on the nations for their sinfulness and ungodliness and on those nations who that have wrongfully treated His people - Israel. It will be a time for war - a holy war, in fact. The word translated "prepare" in verse 8 means a jihad, or holy war. Verse 10 speaks of a time when the economies of the world are turned from agriculture to war i.e. precisely what we see now. The time that follows will be of peace in the kingdom of Messiah - our Lord Jesus Christ (read Isaiah 2verses1-4; and Micah 4verses1-5). Verse 12 of Joel 3 is where Armageddon is mentioned in the Old Testament. The judgment of the nations is likened to the harvesting of the grain with a scythe (or sickle); it is also compared to the harvesting of the vine and crushing grapes in a winepress.In 2 Thessalonians 3 Paul asks for the believers' prayers that he might be helped to freely teach the gospel without hindrance. From verses 6-15 the Apostle urges the Macedonian faithful to keep working and avoiding idleness. Many had ceased working because they mistakenly thought that the coming of Jesus Christ was so close that they didn't need to work. Idle brothers had to learn to heed the advice contained in this letter. In the last two verses the Apostle Paul asks God to give the believers peace.Thanks for joining us - we pray you found these comments helpful in your appreciation of God's words, join again tomorrow

Warning to the Remnant: Stop Kicking Against the Goads & Learn to Run with the Horses (Jeremiah 12:5) | KIB 506 Kingdom Intelligence Briefing Description In this sobering Kingdom Intelligence Briefing (Episode 506), Dr. Michael and Mary Lou Lake share a prophetic warning for the remnant—and a deep call to spiritual maturity from Jeremiah 12:5. Mary Lou shares how the Lord interrupted her plans for a "pleasant" Feast of Dedication message and instead commanded her to sound the alarm: those who refuse to leave pagan practices—especially Christmas—will see their infirmities worsen and the enemy's attacks intensify. Dr. Lake then unpacks Jeremiah 12:5, "If you have raced with men on foot, and they have wearied you, how will you compete with horses?" showing how God is using today's pressures to train the remnant to run with the horses of the Kingdom in the dangerous "thickets of the Jordan" in these last days. Along the way they discuss: The emotional "warm fuzzies" and childhood memories the enemy uses to keep believers tied to Christmas The occult, Masonic, and pagan roots of many modern Christmas traditions How commercialization, resonance, music, and nostalgia have been weaponized to keep God's people in bondage Why attacks often intensify when believers resist God's conviction and "kick against the goads" The rising beast system, AI, Nephilim technology, and Nazi/occult influence behind modern advancements How God is using small trials now to strengthen His remnant for greater pressure in the days ahead This is not a message of condemnation, but of warning, mercy, and preparation. God is calling His people to lay aside the stones of Babylon, come out of pagan mixture, and use this "footman season" to deepen prayer, holiness, and endurance—so we're ready to stand in the thickets of Jordan.