Podcasts about Gladly

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

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

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

LESSON 323I Gladly Make The “Sacrifice” Of Fear.Here is the only “sacrifice” You ask of Your beloved Son; You ask him to give up all suffering, all sense of loss and sadness, all anxiety and doubt, and freely let Your Love come streaming in to his awareness, healing him of pain, and giving him Your Own eternal joy. Such is the “sacrifice” You ask of me, and one I gladly make; the only “cost” of restoration of Your memory to me, for the salvation of the world.And as we pay the debt we owe to truth, - a debt that merely is the letting go of self-deceptions and of images we worshipped falsely - truth returns to us in wholeness and in joy. We are deceived no longer. Love has now returned to our awareness. And we are at peace again, for fear has gone and only love remains.- Jesus Christ in ACIM

Your momentary struggles on earth pale in comparison to the eternal joy God is preparing, so learn to suffer gladly, trusting His perfect plan. -------- Thank you for listening! Your support of Joni and Friends helps make this show possible.     Joni and Friends envisions a world where every person with a disability finds hope, dignity, and their place in the body of Christ. Become part of the global movement today at www.joniandfriends.org   Find more encouragement on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube.

"Entrepreneurship is the craziest, scariest roller coaster ever." What happens when selling RVs leads to buying dental scrap, melting it down for precious metals, and then launching a startup with a mission to bless lives? In this episode, I talk with Brandon Sherwood about entrepreneurship, family, and why it's just not that serious. This episode is sponsored by my new book BRANDJITSU, helping you find, shape, and share your story with the world. In This Episode In this episode, Michael Dargie chats with Brandon Sherwood, an entrepreneur from Heber City, Utah, whose path has been anything but ordinary. Brandon runs a business that buys dental scrap—old crowns and bridges—and refines them into precious metals like gold and palladium. It's a niche market with a 10-to-15 year runway, but for Brandon, the real story is how it led him to launch Gladly Network, a startup built on a mission statement as simple as it is powerful: bless lives . Gladly is designed to connect small, impact-driven businesses with people in meaningful ways, starting with dental offices as a kind of employee perk system. For Brandon, it's about more than business—it's about making sure his company continues to add value long after the dental scrap dries up. He explains the challenges and joys of building something new, calling entrepreneurship "the craziest, scariest roller coaster ever" . The conversation stretches back to Brandon's roots: growing up in Arkansas, working in his dad's RV dealership, and discovering that while cubicle life wasn't for him, sales and relationships were. He tells the story of how a cousin pulled him into the strange world of dental scrap on his day off from selling RVs—and how eight months later, he made the leap into a whole new career . Beyond work, Brandon opens up about raising four teenage boys, how experiences like concerts, sports, and camping trips matter more than things, and why his favourite recharge involves disappearing into the Utah mountains to sit under an aspen tree and remember that life's problems aren't that serious . From street tacos in Cozumel to family Halloween costumes, Brandon's story is one of humour, humility, and hope. His advice to rebels in waiting: you've got to love it, believe in it, and remember that failure is just part of the process—so keep throwing the ball in the right direction. Quoteable Quotes "It's just not that serious. Take a breath. Everything's going to be okay." — Brandon Sherwood "Entrepreneurship is the craziest, scariest roller coaster ever." — Brandon Sherwood "You've got to love it and believe in it—otherwise it's not worth doing." — Brandon Sherwood "Mistakes are only mistakes if you don't learn from them." — Brandon Sherwood "Experiences are the most important part of this whole thing." — Michael Dargie Episode Highlights The Dental Scrap Business | Turning crowns and bridges into precious metals. The Gladly Mission | Building a company around blessing lives. The Startup Roller Coaster | Why entrepreneurship is equal parts scary and exciting. From RVs to Teeth | How a day off changed his career. Family First | Raising four teenage boys and finding joy in their passions. Sports & Memories | Why experiences last longer than presents. Nature Therapy | Grounding himself under an aspen tree in Utah. Street Tacos | Why he'll walk miles for the perfect taco. Fluent in Spanish | How it came in handy during a car sale. Bucket List Dreams | Attending major sporting events and seeing Tom Waits live. Advice to Rebels | Love it, believe in it, and don't take life too seriously. Links From Episode Gladly Network (http://www.gladlynetwork.com/) Brandon on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/gladly.good/) Brandon on LinkedIn (https://www.linkedin.com/company/gladly-network) Brandon on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565968919272) Get Your Copy of Michael's Book: "BrandJitsu™: Move Your Brand From 'Meh' To Memorable" Indigo | Barnes & Noble | MichaelDargie.com

Isaiah 46:1-13 Introduction e.g. Boot full of donations More than once we have spent months driving around with our boot full of bags of things to give away/donate Carry them around much longer than we need to They get in the way when you try to put your shopping in the car We've even had to take them…

Theme: The Lord instructs us regarding church leadership. I. How—Ordination A. Ordination in the OT (Exodus 29; Numbers 8) 1. Priests—garments; sacrifices; cleansing 2. Levites—cleansing; laying on of hands B. Ordination in the NT 1. Based on Jesus' sovereign calling—Ephesians 4:7-12 2. Confirmed by inward and outward calling C. Ordination involves ceremony 1. A setting apart of someone from among the people 2. Prayer and laying on of hands 3. Elders perform the ordination (Acts 6:3c, 6; 13:3) II. What—Eldership A. What is an elder? Mature; dignified; godly; knowledge B. He rules; teaches/preaches; leads worship; counsels III. Why—Needful A. To protect B. To edify C. To discipline D. To administer—bishop = overseer IV. Where—Everywhere the Church Is A. The body needs a skeleton = its governmental structure B. Local authority is extraordinarily important Observations A. Presbyterianism enables the church to function well B. Elders must be qualified—only men; not self-appointed Application A. Pray—for more elders; for their protection B. Gladly submit to your elders (Hebrews 13:17) 1. Jesus paid for the church with His blood 2. Submission to elders honors His sacrifice and sovereignty

Loving acts are genuine to the degree that they are not done begrudgingly.

10-28-25 - BR - TUE - Man's Booty Call Burns Down His House - Night Lights Are Bad For Your Health - The Pope's Astronomer Says Vatican Will Gladly Baptize Alien Life FormsSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

10-28-25 - BR - TUE - Man's Booty Call Burns Down His House - Night Lights Are Bad For Your Health - The Pope's Astronomer Says Vatican Will Gladly Baptize Alien Life FormsSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Spiritual Sovereignty and God's Request gladly Accepted for Israel and Gaza.

Scripture Readings:Isaiah 38-392 Timothy 4:9-18Luke 7:11-17Church Website:https://langleychurch.org/Communion of Reformed & Evangelical Churches:https://crechurches.org/

Our brief sufferings are building an eternal treasure so great, we'll one day wonder why we ever doubted God's plan. -------- Thank you for listening! Your support of Joni and Friends helps make this show possible.     Joni and Friends envisions a world where every person with a disability finds hope, dignity, and their place in the body of Christ. Become part of the global movement today at www.joniandfriends.org   Find more encouragement on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube.

1 Corinthians 15:58

Topics:  Lacroix, Waiting Time, Shock Jock, Spiritual Temperature, Scotty Scheffler BONUS CONTENT: Offended By Christians   Quotes: “You have to buy your time back.” “You have to be intentional about putting your mind on pure, noble things.” “Jesus delivers us from so much stuff…RIGHT NOW!” “I was alarmed at how frustrated I was.” . . . Holy Ghost Mama Pre-Order! Want more of the Oddcast? Check out our website! Watch our YouTube videos here. Connect with us on Facebook! For Christian banking you can trust, click here!

Verse by verse study through the book of Acts Chapter Two and Verse Forty One

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July 25, 2025Today's Reading: Mark 10:35-45Daily Lectionary: 1 Samuel 9:1-27; Acts 21:37-22:16“For whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:43b-45) In the Name + of Jesus. Amen.When James and his brother John ask to sit beside Jesus as He enters His glory, they don't realize that Jesus will enter that glory with hands and feet nailed to the rough wood of a cross, and so will the two who are granted to sit at his right and left (the two thieves), all three lifted up before the people as worthless transgressors.If only James and John knew what they were asking – what was to come – they might flee from Jesus too soon, before being witness to His suffering and death. Every day we are reminded of what it means to live by God's grace. Every time we suffer any trial, every thorn piercing our side, we are reminded, “My grace is sufficient for you.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)James and John will indeed know what it means to drink from the same cup as Jesus; to be baptized with His Baptism. For John, exile and isolation from his people. For his brother, James (the one being honored this day), death by the sword of Herod (Acts 12:1-2). But even before they drink from that cup, the trials of taking up one's cross and following Christ will teach them what it is to live by God's grace.Who is the greatest? The greatest in the kingdom of heaven is The One who came not to be served, but to serve. The greatest is The One who, “though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave.” (Philippians 2:6-7)When you are tempted to think yourself greater than others, look to Jesus and be humbled by His greatness. When you worry about who might be greater than you, take comfort in the greatness of Jesus. Be drawn into His greatness, proclaim His Gospel, serve your neighbors when they need you, and allow others to serve you when your need is greatest. Rejoice that you are baptized with the same Baptism as Jesus. Gladly drink from the same cup as Jesus, which has become for you the cup of salvation. In it, you have a seat of honor awaiting you at the table of the marriage feast of the lamb, whose kingdom has no end.In the Name + of Jesus. Amen. O Lord, for James we praise You, who fell to Herod's sword; He drank the cup of suff'ring and thus fulfilled Your word. Lord, curb our vain impatience for glory and for fame, Equip us for such suff'rings as glorify Your name. (LSB 518:21)Rev. Jeffrey Ries is the pastor of Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church in Tacoma, WA.Audio Reflections Speaker: Pastor Jonathan Lackey is the pastor at Grace Lutheran Church, Vine Grove, KY.Step back in time to the late Reformation and learn about a divisive yet inspirational figure: Matthias Flacius Illyricus. His contributions to Lutheranism still echo in our teachings today, from the Magdeburg Confession to parts of the Lutheran Confessions. Learning about Flacius's life will help you understand more intricacies of the Reformation than ever before.

No matter what the situationis going on in your life receive Jesus and watch His blessing change that situation, His mere presence will make life better, so open yourself up to Him and be blessed by Him.

It Took Cupid's ArmyCan I woo the girl who knows my embarrassing childhood?Based on a post by Mac G. Listen to the podcast at Connected.Even though it is right in front of you, you don't always see what's good for you. Sometimes you need a little nudge. This is about a couple of mine.When I was five, Jenny's family moved in directly across the street from us. Our families became good friends right away. Due to the fact that there was nobody else our age living nearby (Jenny is three months older than I am), we soon became inseparable.She had no trouble keeping up with me in the rough and tumble things I wanted to do, and I had no problems playing house with her when she wanted. One of our parents always had to shoo us home at night because we would never think about it ourselves. I once tried to get my parents to let Jenny spend the night, but they said it was not right for girls to spend the night with boys.Although I missed it at the time, the first indication that Jenny and I would end up together came when we were fourteen. I was over at her house watching TV with her and her dad. As we sat there, the doorbell rang. Jenny got up to answer it. She came back a moment later followed by a policeman."Mr. Adams," he said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news."Jenny's dad got up to stand next to her. I stood a few feet behind them."I'm really sorry to say that there has been an accident. A drunk ran a red light and hit your wife's car," the policeman stated."What! When? Where? How is she?" Mr. Adams asked."The paramedics did their best, but I'm afraid she didn't make it. I am truly sorry."At this point, Jenny turned around and looked at me, tears pouring from her eyes. She ran to me, buried her head in my shoulder and sobbed. I guided her to the couch and sat her down. Holding her gently, I let her cry herself out, trying to soothe her as best as I could.After about fifteen minutes, Mr. Adams finished up with the policeman and came over to sit next to us. Jenny had calmed down a little and was just crying lightly. He took Jenny in his arms and held her. I got up and called my parents telling them what had happened. They both came right over.After a lot of consoling and grief, Dad left with Mr. Adams to tend to the body while Mom stayed with Jenny and I. Mom told me later how proud she was of me and for handling the situation and comforting Jenny so well. Years later, Mr. Adams said he'd kill me if I told Jenny, but that it hurt a little when Jenny turned to me, instead of him, for comfort upon hearing the news about her mom.The First NudgeI have always thought differently about Jenny than anyone else. Even during those awkward adolescent times all boys go through in which girls are gross and have cooties, I never felt that way about Jenny. It was like my mind thought, 'That's not a girl, that's Jenny'. The trouble was that as I grew into a teenager and began to notice girls, it was the same thing; I didn't realize just how beautiful Jenny was becoming.Ironically, it was on a date with someone else in the summer between our Junior and Senior years that her beauty was pointed out to me. We had been having a great time: Dinner, movie, and ice cream afterwards. It was close to time to take my date home."Anne, can I ask you a question?" I asked."Sure, what's up?""Well, when I asked you out, you seemed a little surprised. Pleased, but surprised. I got the same response from Sarah Jansen last month, and I was wondering if it was true you were surprised, and if so, why?"Anne smiled and hesitated a moment before answering."Yes, it's true I was a little surprised and I'm sure Sarah was as well. The reason is we keep expecting you two knuckleheads to wake up and see what a good thing you've got.""Knuckleheads? What two knuckleheads?" I asked."Okay, it looks like it's up to me to straighten you out, although I really shouldn't," she sighed. "I'm going to do this in a roundabout way. I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions. Some of them may seem silly, and some might be embarrassing, but I need you to trust me and answer them all honestly.""Okay, I'll try.""Good. Now first question: Do you think I'm pretty?""Of course I do. Most guys in school do.""Thank you," she said, blushing a little, "Now, I know all guys have different ideas about the ideal woman, but am I your ideal? Be honest.""No, you're not." I said a little chagrinned."Hey, don't worry about it. I asked for honesty. I'm somebody's ideal and I'll find them one day. Let's concentrate on your ideal woman. I'll say an attribute and you tell me what you like. You okay with this?""I guess.""Ok, height?""Your height, perhaps a little taller.""Hair?""Red, long and straight.""Longer than my shoulder length?" Anne asked."Yes.""Eyes?""Green.""Mouth?""Don't know. Never thought about that.""Not a problem. Now, don't get embarrassed, but look at my tits."I couldn't help it, I turned crimson, but I looked briefly. She had very nice tits."That's what I like about you, Tony; even with permission you don't ogle at a girl's chest. Most guys would be glued there right now. Ok, what would you change?""Nothing, I really like your tits," I said, turning even redder, if that were possible."Thanks, so do I. There's definitely something there to attract attention, but not too much. What about the butt? Do you like big butts?""Not really.""What about legs?""Long, with a good muscle structure.""Great. Now, here is what you just told me is your ideal woman; 5'9" or 5'10" tall, long, straight red hair, green eyes, an athletic build, long muscular legs leading up to a nice tight butt. Is that an accurate description?""Yes, that would be correct.""And you still don't see it do you?""I guess not. See what?""You just perfectly described Jenny Adams."I sat there for a moment. She was right of course, but I had never made the connection."Did you know that most guys think Jenny is the best looking girl in school? Many also think you are an idiot for not dating her. You've been best friends for so long you two cannot see it any other way. You should start looking at Jenny as the beautiful woman she is. With the great friendship you've already built, you two would make a perfect couple. Think about it, you dope," Anne ordered with a grin."I will, I promise," I said. "Now, I'd better get you home before your dad sends out the posse."I drove her home in silence. When I walked her to the door, I said, "Thanks a lot for telling me that, Anne. I guess it's true it's sometimes hard to see what is right in front of your nose.""You're welcome. I'm sure you two will be very happy together. Now, I don't usually do this on a first date, but as I'm pretty sure I've just ensured there won't be a second one, kiss me good night.""Gladly."I leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. She was having none of that. Throwing her arms around my neck she pulled me in for a nice, hard kiss. It seemed to last forever, breaking only when we ran out of air."Thanks, that's just what I wanted," she said smiling. "Now, go get her, Tiger!" With that, she turned and went inside.It's a good thing the route home was so familiar, as I was not paying too much attention to where I was going; I was thinking about Jenny. She was beautiful. She was also a great person. She was funny and fun to be around; kind to everyone; caring with genuine compassion; helpful whenever you needed her. She had so many wonderful qualities that it's hard to think of them all.Two days later, Jenny was over at my house watching TV. As the movie ended, she turned to me, saying, "Okay, Tony, what's up? You've been quiet all day and you've been giving me some funny looks."I hesitated before answering, unsure as to how to answer. I was really nervous about how this would go. I took a deep breath."Jenny, will you go out with me on Friday?" I asked her."Sure, we can get together and...""No, please, that's not what I mean. I don't want to just get together; I want to go on a date, a real date."She looked at me with her eyebrows raised. I could see the wonder in her eyes."Look, Jenny, I know we've been friends for a long time, you've always been my best friend, but lately I've been seeing you in a different light. I've always known you were pretty, but I'm starting to see just how beautiful you really are. I've always known you were a girl, but now I'm seeing you as a woman. We're friends but I'd like to see if maybe we could be more."She sat there, deep in thought. I waited for her to decide.After several minutes I added, "I know this is sudden. You don't have to answer now if you want to think about it for a while. Don't be afraid to say no. Nothing will change if you say no."She smiled at me and said, "I don't need to wait. Of course I'll go on a date with you. I just wasn't expecting it. What brought this about?""I'll tell you, I promise, but not right now. What time do you want to start?""Um, I'll let you know.""Fine. Want a Coke?""Sure."I went a got one for each of us. We watched some more TV, neither one of us talking much. When she left to go home, she paused at the door and gave me a long look, smiling slightly.The rest of the week seemed to last forever. Jenny must have said something to her dad, and he spoke to my parents, because on Wednesday evening Mom came into my room, announcing, "Let me know what you plan on wearing for your big date Friday, and I'll make sure it's clean and nicely pressed.""Okay, Mom, thanks. I'm not sure...wait, how did you know about Friday?""Moms just know," she said, grinning. "If there's anything else I can do for you, let me know."When Friday came, I had still not told her what I wanted to wear, having changed my mind several times. I went out in the afternoon to get a haircut. When I got back home, there was a brand new outfit laying on my bed waiting. It was perfect. As I was getting ready, my dad came in my room."Here, try some of this," he said, handing me a bottle of cologne. "It's a very popular scent.""Thanks, Dad.""Also, a good date needs a good ride. Take my car tonight."I was stunned. Dad rarely let's anyone drive his car. He had saved for years to afford it. "Are you sure?" I asked."Yes, I'm sure. I got it cleaned up nicely today and it's got a full tank of gas. Enjoy yourself.""Wow, thanks, Dad! You're awesome."When the time came, I walked across to her house and knocked. Mr. Adams answered."Come on in Tony, she'll be right down. Where are you going tonight?" he asked."I made a reservation at that new Italian place south of the mall. After that, we'll just see. Probably a movie later on," I answered.We heard the sound of Jenny coming down the stairs. I turned to see her and was stunned. She was wearing a light green sun dress that stopped just above her knees. Her legs looked great, tapering to a pair of strappy sandals with a 2½-inch heel. Her red hair cascaded down over the front of her shoulders, framing her face nicely. Jenny's eyes were sparkling and she was grinning from ear to ear.I walked up to her as she got to the bottom of the stairs."I've never seen you look more beautiful," I said.She blushed a little and said, "Thanks, you look great, too."We walked back to her dad."Have fun tonight you two," he said. "I've talked to your parents, Tony, and for tonight, and tonight only, there is no curfew for you two - just don't push it too far.""We won't, Mr. Adams, I promise," I said.We walked across the street to the car. Jenny's eyes got huge when she saw we were heading to Dad's car. We drove to the restaurant in an awkward silence. As we were waiting for the table, I reached out and took her hand in mine. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, as I figured she could feel that my heart was beating about 200 times a minute. Jenny just smiled at me and squeezed it gently.Dinner went well. The talking started slow, but we loosened up some as things went on. By the end I think I had my heart down to about 150.

A pandemic survivor accidentally forms a harem.Based on a post by CorruptingPower, in 25 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Chapter 1Around day eighteen of the quarantine, Andy was starting to lose his damn mind. The governor of California had gotten on the television and announced that everyone who wasn't essential was under house arrest, essentially. Sure, the grocery stores were open, but restaurants were only doing delivery, and every bar in town was closed. The most time he'd spent outdoors in the last week had been walking out to the mailbox cluster for the complex down at the end of the street.Despite the fact that both of them had decent paying jobs “ Eric as a software engineer and Andy as a marketing writer “ neither could afford an entire place to themselves, so Andy paid rent to Eric, who owned the condo (or at least was paying it down).Andy also had a side hustle as a novelist, and was getting frustrated as hell that the quarantine was keeping him in place meant that his newest book was being pushed back. There was a warehouse full of fifty thousand copies of his next novel, and they were all just sitting there."They'll come out eventually," his agent had told him, but the whole thing felt very much like a death sentence to his literary ambitions. Andy even had a box of copies sitting on their kitchen table, along with a movie poster styled promotional in a frame."Did you get the mail today?" Andy asked his roommate."Nah," Eric said. "Didn't see the point.""Fair enough."Wham wham wham."You order food?""Nope. You?"A voice came from outside their front door. "CDC. Open the door, please."Eric moved to the door and peered through the peephole. On the other side, he saw a man in a biohazard suit, covered completely from head to toe. He raised one covered hand and waved. "I'm perfectly safe, as you can see. We're going door to door and testing people for the virus."Eric looked back at his roommate and shrugged. Andy grabbed his two cats, scooping one up in each arm as Eric opened the door. It was like something out of The Andromeda Strain, seeing the man in the yellow hazmat outside, a small box in one hand. "CDC?""Yeah. I'm Dave. Invite me in?"Andy shrugged and Eric laughed. "Sure, c'mon in. We just need to close the door behind you so the cats don't get out.""Sure sure, I get that. I'm here to test if you guys are clear. Is there some place I can set up?""Go ahead and use the kitchen. You want us together or one at a time?""The test only takes fifteen minutes and I can run up to four of them at a time, so come on. I can run you both." He lugged the kit with a world weariness, as if he'd been doing this thirty times a day since the lockdown had started. "Paperwork says you've got two guys living here “ Eric Yang and Andrew Rook. That you two?""That's us.""Nobody else in the condo?""Nope. Nobody else.""Cool," Dave said as he set the kit down on the kitchen table. He glanced up at the movie poster promotional on the wall above the kitchen table. "Oh hey, you guys are fan of the Druid Gunslinger books too? I fucking love those things."Eric laughed a little bit, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs, rolling up his sleeve. "I mean, you could say that, I guess. He writes'em.""What? No, they're written by some guy named Blake Conrad." He glanced at Eric and grinned. "I don't need blood, man. Here, just rub this swab on the inside of your cheek for a bit."Andy smiled a bit sheepishly, putting the cats down. "Yeah, that's me. It's a pen name.""Why the hell would you want a pen name when you've got an awesome last name like Rook?""I'm friends with Arthur McStevenson. You know, the guy who writes all those thrillers you see on sale in the airports? Anyway, he told me that he wished he'd have taken a pen name before he got started, so people just couldn't look him up and track him down at home."Dave took the cotton swap that Eric handed him and put it into one of the four slots on the little machine he carried with him. "Oh hey, I'm sorry man. I don't want to bother you about it.""Nah, you didn't come tap on my window in the middle of the night or anything. What do I care?" Andy waved his hand before taking a cotton swab from him, rubbing it along the inside of his cheek, and then handed it back to the man in the bio suit."While this is running, I just gotta ask you guys a few other questions. Do you guys each have a twin bed?"Eric rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? Ask him about his bed. Just ask him."Andy crossed his arms over his chest, as if this was a discussion they'd had a number of times. "Eric's got a queen sized bed and I've got a California king sized bed. Even though I've got the smaller bedroom. But what can I say? When I got out of college, I bought a big ass bed, so I'd always be comfortable, and never wanted to give it up.""Why do you ask?""They're starting to force people to house additional people in their places, so we can keep the uncontaminated together, at least for a while.""What?" Eric said, his face scowling. "There's no way that's legal.""It's temporary, and we're doing everything we can to make sure people are at least okay with it. At this point, we're just doing what we can to get people through it. But the death toll is starting to stack up. I mean, have you seen the footage coming out of New York City?"Andy nodded. "Trailer trucks stacked full with body bags. It's terrifying.""Besides, it's not all that bad. The virus seems to be targeting men a lot more than women, so guys are scoring with women way out of their league. And the women seem to be a little friskier once they've developed an immunity to the virus. I'm sure you'll see eventually."Andy arched an eyebrow in the man's direction. "That sounds ominous."The man in the biohazard suit waved a hand dismissively in their direction. "Not at all. Just relax and enjoy the ride. That's all I should say about it. So when's the next Druid Gunslinger book coming out? It's really soon, isn't it?"Andy stepped over to the fridge, opening it to take out a can of soda, using the fridge to hide his sigh, although he wasn't entirely successful. "It was supposed to be out in three weeks, but because of the virus, the publisher's pushing it back to the fall. I mean, I understand. I get a lot of additional sales off of in store appearances and whatnot. I get it. And I'm already working on writing the next one. But it's always rough having a book release pushed back.""Man, that sucks. I was really looking forward to reading it during my downtime when they're driving us between locations.""Y'know what, you're a fan, so let me do you a favor. I better not see this show up on eBay or the internet though, otherwise I'm gonna know who it was." Andy moved over to the box on the kitchen and opened the top of it, taking one of the books out. "They call these advance reader copies. They send me a few boxes of them so I can sell them at appearances or give them away to friends and such. I haven't even sent my family copies yet. I think the only other person than my agent and my editor who's read the book is Eric here."Eric nodded. "It's not as good as 'Have Totem, Will Travel' but it's one of the better books in the series, I thought. Way better than 'The Trouble With Werebears,' but then again, that's not hard.""Everyone's a critic," Andy said, grabbing a pen from near the box. "Fair, though. I had to bang that one out in five weeks because the publisher just wanted to cram another one onto store shelves while it was hot. I wasn't satisfied with it either, but it still sold okay. You said your name was Dave, right?""Yeah," Dave answered.Andy opened the front cover of the hardback ARC and wrote in the front of it, "For Dave, Jake thinks you're one of the real heroes. Yours, Blake Conrad." He blew over the ink for a second, making sure it was dry, before closing it up and offering it to Dave. "There you go. Autographed, personalized copy months in advance of when you can get it in stores.""That's awesome, man!" Dave said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. The machine on the table beeped, a cheerful tri tone medley. "You guys are both 100% virus clear. And let me pay you back for this," he said, patting the book on the table next to him. He flipped a little toggle switch on the machine and then pushed the large green button on the side. A small little printout scrolled out of the machine. He tore it off and then pushed the green button again. "Okay, this one is for you," he said, holding out the receipt to Eric. "And this one is for you, Mr. Conrad," he said with a laugh, holding out the second slip to Andy. "You need to go onto the website today and fill out the questionnaire. I know it's going to seem weird, but just answer the questions honestly and openly, and go through the whole thing. You'll be very glad you did later, okay?""What's it for?""It'll help you be happy with your pair ups when we bring them by in a few days. You know that giant condo complex a mile or two over?""What, the 30 story skyscraper?""Yeah. That's being converted into a triage hospital, so all the tenants are being evicted. Lots of people who are going to be relocated. There's a range of five possible questionnaires that uninfected men can get, and it's at the test giver's discretion. Most people, we just give them level one or two questionnaires.""What did you give us?""Welcome to level 5, fellas. It's mostly reserved for medical professionals and high rollers, but it's my discretion, and this little baby's going to keep me from losing my mind for the next few weeks, so I gotta make sure we're square," he said while patting the book. "This should more than even us out.""It makes that much of a difference?"Dave smiled like a Cheshire cat beneath his biohazard helmet and nodded. "You'll see. Just trust me on this. Go fill it out right away, though! They'll probably have someone here tomorrow or the day after, and you want to be ready." The scientist picked up the book in one hand and his testing kit in the other. "And with that, I'm off! I won't be able to get started on this tonight, but I'll see if I can swing by on one of the drop offs and let you know what I think of it.""Hey, it's always nice to meet a fan," Andy said. He moved to scoop up the two cats into his arms again before he and Eric walked him to the door.Dave shuffled toward the door, as Eric opened it for him. "Remember guys, the questionnaire is completely confidential and no one's going to judge you on any of it, so be completely honest. Got it? Completely. Honest.""With all the hyping you've been doing, I can't wait to see this questionnaire," Andy laughed. "Go on, go! You've got more people to be saving, I'm sure.""Take care, fellas!" Dave said.Eric closed the door on him, then flipped the lock, and then the deadbolt before putting the chain on. He liked to make sure it was secure. "So I suppose we both better go take this thing, huh?" he said to Andy, who was putting down the cats again."Guess so."Eric's desk was in the living room, while Andy's was part of the adjacent dining room. They'd been known to politely yell at one another from their desks. Andy typed in the website on the slip and hit return. A rather bland looking government website popped up. There Andy entered his name, his address, his social security number and address."He wasn't kidding when he said this quiz was unorthodox," Eric called over to him, clearly ahead of him in the process. "These are not the kind of questions I expect a government website to be asking me.""Oh yeah? I can't wait to find out." Andy typed in the personalization code at the bottom of the slip. It was a long series of characters, a mix of numbers and letters, both capital and lower case, with a variety of special characters mixed in “ 25 characters in all. Andy had to enter the series twice because the first time he hadn't realized it was case sensitive and the site had rejected it.The first question immediately surprised him. "Are you attracted to: Women, Men, Both?" It wasn't at all what he expected, but he checked "women" and the site moved onward. There was a small button marked back, in case he made errors, obviously.The next page asked him what ages of women he was attracted to. There were two little slider bars, with the low end going as far down at 18 and the high end going up to 70+. Andy was nearly 40, but the words of Dave rang through his head. "Be honest." Andy shrugged, leaving the low end set to 18 and brought the high end to 35.He was a more than a little caught off guard by the next question. "Would you consider yourself: Monogamous, polyamorous, no preference?" He had to think about it for a long moment, but eventually clicked "no preference." If he was truly honest with himself, if he found himself with a girlfriend who had another girlfriend, he wouldn't have been bothered by it.For the next twenty minutes, Andy continued to work through the website, filling in all the options about what he was and wasn't attracted to. Height, weight, race, hair color, hair length, eye color, nationality, education, physique, the questions went on and on and on. After he went through any given category, he was then given a follow up page to rank all of the things from most attracted to at the top down to least attracted to at the bottom.Towards the back half, he started to understand what Eric had found so surprising. The quiz had a page with a seemingly limitless collections of fetishes and kinks. At the top was the message "Click all that apply." Following that, all of the things Andy had clicked on were in another list he was expected to order.When he had to order all of his turn ons, he became more than a little aware how at odds with each other some of them were. In fact, he had aggressive women and submissive women next to one another in the ordered list. He wondered what the algorithm would make of that.The last page was the same fetish and kinks list presented again with a different message at the top. "Click all those that are hard turn offs for you. Be thorough." It was this page that Andy found himself clicking a lot of buttons.He also had to look up a handful of the terms that did not include clarification. He was sure there were people out there who liked pissing on each other, but he certainly wasn't one of those. He also had to make sure to reject women who were allergic to cats. He wondered if all this information was just going to ensure no one showed up.All in all, the whole thing felt a little like a thing he'd taken in college called the Purity Test, a thousand question party game where people who had been drinking would compare sexual histories.The final page was all the information he'd entered presented in an ordered list, with a message in large friendly red letters at the top. "Review all the information below for accuracy! Once you hit submit, you cannot revise this information!"After a final pass to make sure he hadn't marked anything incorrectly, he hit submit. The screen went blank for a second before a confirmation message popped up. "A copy of this has been mailed to the email address you provided. Thank you for helping us keep California safe!"Andy closed the web browser and rose up from his seat, heading over to talk to his roommate. "Okay, yeah, that was definitely weird.""What did you say to the polyamory question?" Eric asked him."I put no preference.""Really? Man, I couldn't click the monogamous button fast enough. Last thing I want is a girlfriend who's shacking up with another guy."Andy smirked. "What if she was shacking up with another girl?""Ah shit, I didn't even think of that."He shrugged at Eric with a wry smile. "Like it's going to make any fucking difference anyway. I'm sure the whole thing is just an optimistic pipe dream. When was the last time our government brought any real change with a website?""Heh. Guess we'll see.""Yep, suppose so."And that was the last they talked about it for the rest of the day. But it certainly wouldn't be the last time they talked about it.Chapter 2It was a little past noon the next day when there came a knock at the door. "Open up! CDC!" the voice on the other side shouted at them. "Delivery and I don't have time to fuck about so let's go."Andy was in the living room working on his laptop, and glanced over at Eric, who was hip deep in a conference call. "Don't worry, I got it. They probably just forgot some questions yesterday or something." Eric waved his hand as Andy set his laptop aside, carrying on with his conversation with his coworkers.Andy rose from the couch and made his way over to the front door, opening it without thinking to look through the peephole. The cats were both upstairs asleep, so he didn't worry about them. When he opened the door, there were three people outside of it, not the one he'd expected. The person in the middle looked a lot like Dave had, except for the face. The man inside this biohazard suit was a black man in his late forties. He looked a lot less jovial than Dave had.To the left and right of the man in the biohazard suit was a woman covered from head to toe. From the clothing, it was almost impossible to make out any details other than the woman to the left of him was short and the woman to the right was tall. Both of them wore hoodies with the hoods pulled up. They wore ski visors over their eyes and scarves over their noses and mouths. Both wore long sweatpants and had those fuzzy lined boots he'd never thought were fashionable. He couldn't see an inch of skin from either. Each of them had a small roller suitcase with them, the kind of travel bag someone takes for a holiday no longer than a week. They also each had a large bag under their arm, an oversized purse maybe, or a laptop bag. The whole appearance was almost like Berkas by Gucci."You Eric or Andy?" the man in the gear asked him."Andy.""Copy," the man said, tapping at his little pad with a stylus that dangled from it. He let the stylus drop and then opened a pouch on the outside of his suit, upholstering a bottle of Lysol. He sprayed the surface of the tablet for a few seconds then held it out to Andy. "Just use your finger to sign on the line. Any day now. I've got another seven deliveries to make today, and people are on the bus waiting so let's go."Andy lifted a finger up and signed an approximation of his name on the tablet's surface. "So how long is this for? That these people are staying with us?""Which room is Eric's and which room is Andy's?" the shorter of the two women asked."Upstairs and turn right for Eric's room and left for my, uh, Andy's room," he said, as the two women immediately brushed past him and ran upstairs. "How long?""The fuck should I know, pal? I just deliver them." He took the tablet back from Andy and glanced down at it. "Anyway, that's it for this batch. I'll see you again in a few days, maybe a week or so, with the next one.""The next one?" Andy asked, but the man had already turned and started walking back to a school bus that was idling in the street. "What do you mean the next one?" But the man had already moved on, and either didn't hear Andy or didn't care. Andy suspected it was the latter. Behind him, up the stairs, he heard both his and Eric's bedroom doors shut.He closed the door and locked it, then turned the padlock and put the chain back on. Andy looked over his shoulder, then glanced and Eric, who shrugged. He moved upstairs and knocked on his own bedroom door. "Uh, hello?""Five minutes please!" a voice on the other side of the door said to him.Andy sighed, turned around and walked downstairs. His roommate looked over at him, having just wrapped up his conference call. "She wants five minutes."Eric laughed. "We've been kicked out of our own rooms. Great."Andy moved back over to the couch and picked up his laptop, sitting back down and starting to write again. He was curious, though. Insanely curious about what was happening in his own room. Neither of the cats were complaining so he imagined it couldn't be too bad. His roommate had wrapped up his conference call, but had clearly turned on his music, because Andy could hear the tiny noise flare ups, even though Eric was just wearing earbuds. He did love his death metal loud.He spent a while trying to work but trying to focus felt damn near impossible. He popped into his company's Slack channel, to let them know what was going on.“your partner showed up?” his boss typed. “take the rest of the week off. you're going to be busy“They said they're going to be back later with another delivery. What the hell does that mean?” Andy typed into the channel.“oh shit” his boss typed back. “how big is your bed? queen sized?”“King sized.” Andy replied. “California king, actually. Don't know what difference that makes though. The news said one partner per person.”“u have a king bed tho” his boss replied. “did the site ask u the polyamory question?”“Yeah” Andy typed. “I put no preference”“shit” came the reply. “okay take off the rest of the week and let me know when you get another partner and we can do the same again as many times as you get partners”“Wait. What? How many partners can they give me?”“depends on what level the tester gave you”“He said level 5. He was a fan of my novels so I gave him a signed copy of the new one”“Oh, shit” his boss answered. “then u can be assigned up to 4 partners with Cali king bed”“Now you're just fucking with me” Andy sent back with a laugh.“noshit my dude” his boss answered. “ok we play it by ear then but dont check out any new tasks until monday, k?”“Am I still getting paid for the time?”“new partner adaptation time dude its all covered”“Okay then, I guess.”“level 5, L O L, u fucking suck” his boss typed. “u dont deserve that level of woman”“Wait. What do you mean?”“LOL u didn't read how the levels system work fuck u go enjoy winning the lottery”And with that, his boss set Andy's status to Out Of Office.From upstairs he heard both pairs of doors open, although he didn't think either of them opened fully. "I'm going to take a shower if that's okay with Eric," a voice called down."He's in the zone working, so that should be fine," Andy called up."Thank you!" And then Eric's bedroom door closed again."Okay Andy, come on up," a different voice said. "But close the bedroom door behind you, okay?" And then his own bedroom door shut.His work day was done. He found himself a little nervous at the idea of going into his own room, but he realized waiting wasn't going to make it any easier. Time to face the music. He pushed his laptop back into his laptop bag, zipped it up and set it on the coffee table.Andy walked up the stairs and came to his bedroom door. It was odd, staring at this side of his bedroom door. He knocked on the door, and a soft giggle came from the other side. "You don't need to knock, silly. It's your room. Come on in."He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find behind the door. But he did as he was told to do, opening the door, stepping in and closing the door behind him.Sitting on his bed was a lovely redheaded woman in her mid to late twenties. He suspected the coppery color of her hair was natural as he could see a generous dusting of freckles on her cheeks and arms. She had it done up in a sporty ponytail that hung down to the small of her back. Instead of all the layers he'd seen her in just a few minutes ago, she was dressed now in simply a sports bra, a pair of booty shorts and a pair of thigh high leather boots. She had her hands behind her on the bed to thrust her perky tits up in his direction. She was fit, pale, strikingly beautiful, and had a playful smile on her face."Hallo Andy," she said, an Irish tinge to her voice. "My name's Aisling. It's pronounced Ashling, but spelled A i s l i n g. I'm from Dublin, but after I finished uni, I got a job out here working as a graphic designer. I'm your new partner. I hope I'm to your liking.""Oh!" Andy said, as if the whole situation was just dawning on him. "Oh, I'm "Aisling couldn't contain herself any longer and sat up and rushed him, throwing her arms around, clinging to him firmly. "We can touch," she moaned into his ear. "Touch! It's been so fucking long since I touched anybody. And I'm going to touch the fuck out of you nonstop, you beautiful bastard."He was slightly taken aback at how tightly she was holding him. "I mean, you don't have to ""I don't have to do any fucking thing I don't want to," she whispered into his ear. "But it is taking every bit of willpower I have not to drop to my fucking knees and rip those pants right off you. Because that's what I desperately want to do right now."Andy could feel her nipples pressed firmly against his chest through the sports bra, and her breath was hot against his skin. "Wah, why?""We've been in isolation for months," Aisling said as her hand grabbed onto his ass through his jeans. "They gave us injections to help us build our immune system against the virus, but they said it was going to stoke our libidos a bit. God, wasn't that a fucking understatement." She nibbled on his earlobe for a moment. "They showed me twenty pictures of men with a bit of description beneath each of them on what they wanted and didn't want, and I picked you."His hand moved along the small of her back, trying to keep it from going anywhere inappropriate, but she reached behind herself to grab his arm by the wrist and push his hand down onto her ass, which invoked another moan from her. "Why did you pick me?""You like gingers, which I am obviously. I'll be sure to show you it's natural in just a smidge," she said with a smile. "But you like both submissive and aggressive women, and I can be both. You're open to polyamory. I like both men and women, and I know that polyamorous men with large beds get multiple partners, so that's something to look forward to. I consider myself a switch, so I'm looking forward to having another girl to play with, one I can order around a bit." Andy started to try and pull his hand upward a bit, and she rubbed her hips forward a bit more insistently. "If you're lifting that hand up, it'd better be to slip it under my shorts onto my bare ass.""Is, is that what you want?""For an appetizer," she purred. "But you know what made me want you most of all?"Andy lifted his hand just to the top of her booty shorts, hesitating for just a second before he slid his fingertips beneath the hem of them. He realized he must've been hesitating a bit too long, because she reached back and pushed his hand down firmly until he had a full handful of toned butt in his grasp. "What's that?""Out of that long, long list of sexual turn ons and offs, the thing you put that turned you on the most, was dirty talk," she practically moaned at him. "I fucking love dirty talk. I am an absolutely filthy little slut. No," she giggled, licking her tongue along the shell of his ear, "I'm your filthy little slut now. I am going to beg you to fuck me stupid over and over again. I can't wait to suck on that cock of yours, to make you fuck my face until there are tears rolling down my eyes and I can't breathe. God, that makes my little cunt clench. It's tight, too. I've only fucked two guys before, and each of them only a couple of times. But you are going to fucking plow that gash of mine so much I may have to etch your name into it. You are going to fuck your little whore so much that you fall asleep inside of my cunt more often than not, and wake up to me sucking your cock clean to get you ready for another round." She turned around in his arms, which made his hand slide up to her stomach, her head leaning against his shoulder. "Here," she said, taking his hand on her belly, pushing it down the front of her shorts. "Feel just how sopping wet a bitch you own now, sir. Should be it sir? Master?" She giggled a little, wiggling her eyebrows. "Daddy?"Andy stuttered for a second, as his fingertips pushed through a small strip of hair before reaching the most drenched snatch he'd ever felt. "Fuck, you are soaked,”"Umm," she said with a nod. "So I'll just use all three then.""Not,” Andy sputtered, "not in front of my roommate.""The other guy? Oh, he's going to be more than a little distracted. I talked with Lily a little bit on the way over here “ Lily's the girl waiting for him in his room “ and she's more worked up than I am. And your roommate likes them to be a little dominant with him, so I don't think he'll have time to say anything, but if it makes you feel better, sir, I'll just call you Andy when we're out in the common areas. Or honey or baby. Something innocuous. As long as you're going to hold up your end of our deal.""My end?" Andy said, as he pushed a fingertip inside of Aisling's drenched cunt, feeling her clench down on it as she shivered slightly."You owe me one load of spunk every fucking day," she said, grabbing his other hand to push it up and under her sports bra to cup her tit, feeling how hard her nipple was against his palm. "I don't give a shite where you put it “ on my face, down my throat, across my tits, up my cunt, you can even stuff it up my virgin asshole, something I can't wait to feel the first time “ but you don't fall asleep at night without making sure I got my daily dose of your jizz. Think you can live up to that?""God, I hope so," he said, lifting her bra up to her collarbone, as her hands moved to pull it up and over her head, tossing it aside. "You really want that?"Aisling giggled again, a sound that sent shivers up Andy's spine every time. "I honestly can't wait to get started, Master. I want you to fuck me so bad, I can feel it trickling down my thighs. You've got yourself a needy little slut on your hands. How do you want our first time to be?"Andy's hand slid up from her shorts and brought his fingertips to his lips, licking them clean, seeing her nuzzling her face against his neck, so he offered his pointer finger to her, which she wrapped her lips around and suckled hard on before letting it pop from her mouth. "You were going to prove to me you were ginger, weren't you?""Hmm, I'm sure you can see the freckles all over my tits," she said, crossing her arms at the wrists in front of her to push them together and up towards his eyes. "But you want to be sure you've got an honest slut on your hands, hmm? Boots off or on, you think?""The boots are dead sexy, but let's have them off.""You like them though, yeah?" she asked as she put one foot up on his bed, and started unzipping one of the boots."Oh yes, they're fantastic. A lot of forethought in thinking to bring them.""We were allowed to made a list of things to get packed up for us, so I've got all sorts of little surprises in my wheelie bag, but I'll tell you one, I've got a plaid skirt in there, back from my days at Mercy College. Every man around the world loves a schoolgirl." She pulled her other boot off and set it on the floor next to its companion. Then she unbuttoned the front button of her jean shorts, unzipping them before bending forward over the corner of Andy's bed. She pushed the shorts slowly over the curve of her ass and down her thighs before stepping out of them, leaving her in a tiny silky red thong. "Like the view?""God you're fit. I feel like a bit of fat man in your presence, I'm afraid.""Don't you worry, lad," she purred. "You and I are going to be doing a lot of exercise." She slid on her belly further onto the bed and then rolled onto her back. "I'll fuck you back thin, daddy." Aisling pulled her thighs back to her chest, reached down and drew her thong up along her legs. As soon as she lifted the fabric upward, Andy got his first view of her cunt, and she was glistening. With her ankles to the side of her head, she drew the thong off and tossed it to the side before spreading her legs wide. True to her word, there was a neat shaved triangle of copper curls just above her snatch. "See? Ginge minge. Now what're you gonna do about it?""Aren't you sweet as candy?" Andy slowly crawled onto the bed next to her. He didn't have shoes to kick off “ he'd barely put them on since the lockdown began. "You're down for anything?"Aisling rolled onto her side. "You want the first time to be something particular? How sweet. What did you have in mind?""Something simple. So you can show me what you like. You on top. That okay?" Andy said as he pulled his shirt up and over his head.She giggled a little bit, reaching a fingertip over to brush it along his chest. "Tattoos? You're full of surprises. I wouldn't have pegged you as a man with ink." Andy had a tattoo of a griffon starting on his right pectoral going down to his stomach, done in an elaborate and detailed style. It had been the better part of two days worth of work ten years ago. "I like the look of it, though. And if you want our first time to be me riding you, I say giddyup partner. Any other surprises down here I should be looking forward to?" Her fingertip moved to smooth down over the swell of his cock through his jeans."You can have a looksee for yourself after you do one more thing," Andy said, with a little laugh."Tell me what it is, so I can see the thing that's going to change my life." She was rubbing the palm of her hand firmly against that buldge now, her eyes looking down at her hand before bringing those green eyes up to meet his gaze, a girlish smile on her lips. "Stop teasing and tell me.""I've never shown my cock to girl I haven't kissed before," he said with a wry smile. "I don't intend to stay"Andy didn't even finish getting the sentence before Aisling had crawled all over him, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was intense, more intense than he'd ever remembered before. It came on strong and kept getting stronger, her lips parting after several seconds to let her tongue slip into his mouth and spiral around in a hungry dance. After a few minutes of making out like a couple of teenagers, she pulled back just an inch or so. "God, I hadn't realized how much I missed kissing someone. You're a great kisser." She pressed her lips against his once more and this time didn't wait to push her tongue in. After a few more minutes, she pulled back again. "That what you wanted?"He laughed softly. "You really want to see it, don't you?""See it, touch it, taste it, fuck it. I want to do everything you can think of with that cock, and once we're done with all of that, we can do it all over again." Her fingertips plucked at the button of his jeans, popping them undone. "Can I see it now, daddy?""I'm no porn star, Aisling, so I wouldn't get your hopes up," he said. "But yes, you can see it." He felt her drawing down his zipper and lifted his hips up so she could tug his jeans down and off, but she made a point of grabbing his boxers with them. "See? Not any longer than the average man.""Jaysus," she said quietly, "maybe not any longer, but certainly thicker. A lot thicker. That is a great big fat ol' cock you got there, Master." Her voice was one continuous purr as her slender fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and started to slowly stroke it. "Thicker than any cock I've ever had inside of me. Can I?""Hop aboard." The whole thing felt vaguely dreamlike. He wasn't sure she was real, wasn't sure any of this was real. He half expected to wake up and for everything to disappear at any moment. But that didn't happen."Gladly," she said, as she straddled one leg over his hips. She snaked a hand between them to grab the base of his cock, angling it properly, setting the tip against wet snatch before sinking down onto it with one continuous motion. As soon as her hips touched down against his, his cock bottoming out inside of her cunt, he felt her entire body slump forward atop him in a colossal shiver, her cunt spasming and clenching on his shaft. A tiny moan burbled from her lips, one that bubbled over into a breathy laugh against his neck, desperate and delirious. "Fer fuck sake. I've never cum that hard in my entire fucking life, and you just put the fucking thing inside of me. Nothing more. Just from putting him in.""Do you want to stop?""Are you out of your fucking mind?" she giggled, placing both of her hands on Andy's chest. "I haven't gotten my daily nut yet, daddy. And your girl wants what's coming to her. And by hook or by crook, she will fucking having it." Her arms pressed together to push her tits out even more, as she started to snake her hips backwards only to thrust them forward again. "It's been two years since I got properly fucked last. How long's it been for you?""You'll only laugh at me," Andy said with a slight frown."I promise I won't," she purred. "Has it been longer?""A lot longer.""How long?""Over a decade."She leaned down and kissed him again, this time a bit more softly and tenderly. "Well, you're never going to go a day in your life without fucking ever again, so it'll be alright." She had a magical way of swaying atop of him, shimmying back and forth on his cock. Her body ground down onto him over and over, sweat glistening off her freckled pale skin.His hands latched onto her hips, trying mostly to hold on. His fingertips clenched onto her smooth skin, pressing her down a little more than she'd been trying to push onto his cock, as if he felt like he wanted to contribute something to her effort."C'mon. Make me your girl, claim your whore, daddy," she whimpered, her face looming over his. "I wanna feel it. Gimme that cum. Own me. Own me. Cum in her tight little cunt. Paint it. Take it. Fucking own me, Master. Own. Me."Just outside of his room, he heard Eric's door open and then slam shut again, but it was only a momentary distraction, as Aisling continued to bear down on him, her ass slamming against the top of his thighs.It wasn't long before he could feel that release building up on him, and much sooner than he'd have liked, his body was shuddering in the throes of an orgasm as he started to spew hot cum inside of her tight young twat. As soon as he started to orgasm, however, it was almost like Aisling had been struck by lightning, her whole body violently shaking as a guttural sound was wrenched from her throat, primal and whorish, before her body collapsed on top of him, her body trembling for a long moment before she lay still atop of him.After a few minutes, he slowly moved her to one side of him so he could slip out from under her. She was completely unconscious, and he was almost certain he could her hear whispering nigh imperceptibly the word 'imprinting' over and over again.He didn't want to wake her, so he went and showered, then headed downstairs to grab himself a bit of dinner. The two cats sat at the foot of his bed, peering at the unconscious redhead in his bed, wondering what the hell was going on.The madness had barely even gotten started.Chapter 3When Andy woke up the next morning, he was almost certain he'd been dreaming yesterday. But he felt an odd sensation and lifted his head to look down. There he saw Aisling's coppery ponytail bouncing over his crotch. And he could feel her lips sealed around his cock, as she continued to face fuck herself on his shaft.Andy had never woken up to being blown before, and it certainly was a delightful experience. He tried to pull her head up, to give her a break, but she reached up and pressed his hand away with her own, a delightful little giggle rolling from her lips onto his cock.He thrust his hips towards her face because it seemed like the thing she wanted him to do, and sure enough, she kept pushing her head down again and again. She wasn't letting up until she got what she needed.In the end, resistance was futile.His body tensed up and his back arched as he felt her lips around the base of his cock, the head lodged in her throat as he started to spew cum. When he did, he could feel her body shake and quiver against his thigh.A few minutes later, both of them had regained their composure, and she'd snuggled up alongside him, her face nestled in the crook of his neck as she laughed almost deliriously. "It's actually true. The taste of your cum gives me an orgasm. Each and every time, harder than I'd ever known before I met you," she purred. "You really do fuckin' own me, daddy.""You say that," Andy said, "but eventually you'll get bored of me, and you'll come to resent me, resent being attached to me like this."She rolled over a little bit, pressing one of her arms against his chest as she shook her head, a crooked smile on her lips. "I woke up in the middle of the night and looked around the room while you were asleep. There are bookcases everywhere. My first boyfriend was a footie player who dreamed of going pro when he could barely get up in the morning. My second boyfriend? He was a shitty musician who claimed he was being artful when he couldn't carry a tune. You're surrounded by books. Have you read all of them?"Andy shrugged a little. "Maybe half of them. But I like having books around, knowing that when I'm ready for another, it's right there.""See?" she giggled. "I've never been with anyone so smart before. And I've never been with someone who'll let me be myself and not force me to hide it.""Hide what?""What an absolute slut I am," she said, kissing his neck. "Your absolute slut, if I'm honest." She wasn't trying to wind him up, just more of delighting in learning all the nooks and crannies of his body. "And I don't have to pretend I'm a good Catholic girl who'd never let a boy put his hand up her skirt when I'd rather be bent over getting my tight young gash plowed. You'll have to do that next, have me on my hands and knees, your good little proper bitch."Andy laughed. "You sound rather eager for that."" Umm," she mumbled, nibbling on his ear, "you want me to beg again?""Let me do it later," he said. "We should get up, shower, and we should meet our new roommates.""I talked to Lily a bit on the ride over. I'll tell you about it in the shower."Each of the bedrooms in the condo had an attached bathroom so they didn't even have to get dressed to get up and move to the bathroom. She scooted ahead of him quickly, and he could see the inside of her thighs were damp as she climbed out of the bed and moved into the bathroom.It was the first time he'd had a woman in his bathroom in a decade, and so he was a little embarrassed about the state of it. "Of course you don't have a hair dryer," Aisling giggled, as she ran her fingertips over Andy's shaved head. He'd started developing a bald spot in his mid twenties, so he'd been shaving his head every since then. "Don't worry, I've got one in my suitcase. Speaking of which, you're going to need to give me one drawer in that dresser to myself. That okay?""You're really in this for the long haul, aren't you?" He turned on the water in the shower as he closed the top of the toilet.She leaned in and folded her hands behind his neck, pressing her body up against his. "What did I tell you? You. Own. Me." She kissed him briefly in between each of the last three words. "But that means you belong to me as well. Whenever you go, I go. And I need to take care of you. And you need to take care of me.""I can clear out a drawer for you, no problem, Aisling.""See? It's not that hard to pronounce, is it?""But hey, this is your bathroom now too, so feel free to make it home.""Oo!" she said suddenly and darted back out into the bedroom. Andy could hear her unzipping her little suitcase before she sprinted back in, a giant tricolor beach towel which she set on top of the toilet. It didn't even take him half a second to recognize it was the colors of Ireland's flag. "Little bit of the home country. Now let's get wet. I've never taken a shower with another person before." She lifted her fingers and pressed them against his hair chest, almost shoving him back into the shower.It was rather a long shower, where they got dirty before they got clean again.About forty minutes later, they'd both gotten dried off and dressed and headed downstairs, Aisling bringing her laptop bag with her. Sitting on the couch was a Japanese woman dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t shirt typing away on her laptop while Eric was sitting at his desk on the other side of the room."Andy, meet Lily," Eric said to Andy as he walked down the stairs. "She's my new partner.""S'up," Lily said, not even looking up from her typing."She's kinda in the zone right now. She's a coder with DoorDash.""We talked a bit on the ride over here," Aisling said. "Hi, I'm Aisling. I'm Andy's first partner.""First?" Lily said, stopping typing and looking up and over her shoulder at them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.Andy scowled. "She didn't mean it like that. I wasn't a virgin."Lily snickered a bit. "I know. I'm fucking with you," she said, looking back down to her laptop. "So how was he Ash?""Fucking amazing," Aisling said. "How about yours?""I have a name you know," Eric said."Good but not great," Lily said. "But I'll train him to be the best ever. Best for me, anyway.""Hi Eric," Aisling said, shaking Eric's hand. "Nice to meet you.""I cleared off the dining room table behind Andy's desk to give you a bit of work space, Ash," Eric said. "Lily said you're an artist?""Graphic designer for Alphabet."Andy cocked his head as he and Aisling started to cross the living room, heading towards the dining room. "I didn't know you were a Googler.""I'm a contractor for them, so they don't really consider me a Googler," she sighed. "They might move me from contract to full time at some point, but it's just as likely they're going to just keep giving me new contracts over and over again.""Welcome to life in Silicon Valley," Andy laughed. "Everything's forever, for exactly five minutes."Aisling pulled her laptop out of her bag and set it on the table, noticing the box pushed off to one side. "Blake Conrad, huh?" she said, taking a book out from the box. "My older brother loves these books, but I've never read any of them. Are you a big fan?"From the other room, Eric couldn't help but laugh. "Go on!" he yelled at Andy. "Tell her."Andy rolled his eyes. "Look inside the back flap."Aisling took the hardcover and opened to the back of it, looking at the inside flap where Andy's picture peered back at her. "Wait, are you Blake Conrad?""It's a pen name.""Oh my god! I'm shagging Dermot's favorite pen!" she giggled. "I can't wait to phone him and tell him.""Mmm. I can even autograph a copy of the new one for him and you can mail it out to him, as long as he's not going to be mad that I'm sleeping with his sister."Aisling pulled out a Wacom tablet from her laptop as well as a power cord, plugging it into the wall. "Andy. You're a bloody hero to him. He'll be over the moon.""He's not going to be upset that you're shacking up with a guy you just met? Or that he's going to have, other women?"Aisling kissed him for a long moment, soft and tender. "You're sweet, Andy. But this is the way the world works now. And you're a good man, so Dermot'll be happy that I didn't end up with someone crazy or ugly.""Oh, you don't think I'm ugly?" Andy grinned impishly, as Aisling pushed him back down into his desk chair."Look fella," she teased. "If I thought you were ugly, I'd have said so. Now don't you have work to get to or something?"Andy turned on his computer and the two monitors on his desk sprung to life. "Well, yeah, but theoretically I'm on new partner leave, so I don't really have to be working."She stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, I don't get any such luxury as a contractor, so I need to get some work done today. How does a novelist get partner leave anyway?"He sighed a little. "That's just my side hustle. My day job is as a marketing writer for Netflix."Aisling's face scrunched up in cute confusion. "The books don't pay enough?""Not until they get optioned, which my agent seems to think will happen eventually, but hasn't yet.""I'll have to read them then." Andy tried to mask the look of surprise on his face, but apparently wasn't great at concealing it. "What? I said I hadn't read them, not that I didn't want to read them.""Fair enough!" Andy grabbed his headphones and pulled them onto his head, clicking on iTunes to bring up his music. He wasn't allowed to check out new tasks for his day job, so he figured he might as well get a bit of writing in on his next novel.After a few minutes, Aisling tapped him on the shoulder, so he pulled the headphones off. "What's up?""What're you listening to?""Right now? Post rock band called God Is An Astronaut, but I usually just put my music on shuffle and let it ride.""Can I listen too?"Andy nodded. "Sure, as long as you've got headphones with a long cable and a USB plug.""Certainly do!" she said, holding out the cable.He plugged her in, did a few clicks on his computer, and then they were both listening to his music, just a few feet apart.Andy found it a little hard to focus on his writing, so he decided to take a bit of time to read up on the level system. His boss seemed to know a lot more about it, so he figured it didn't hurt to see what was coming down the pipeline.The virus, it seemed, was hitting the coasts hardest, with N Y C being the biggest disaster area, but the Silicon Valley wasn't far behind. Isolation was the best path, but the bodies were still piling up, so the country was looking to build some stability into people's lives. That meant pairing the single people up. Men were dying at a significantly higher rate than women to the virus, so protecting them had become extremely important. The virus had a mortality rate that was fifty times higher in men than it was in women.Because of that fact alone, it had been determined that virus free men would be ranked on a scale of one to five in terms of their importance to society, and that the higher a man was ranked, the more that person's personal needs would be tended to. So level 1s, which it seemed like was most people, would simply be given the barest amount of effort to find someone to pair with their basic desires. 80% of the men were classified as level ones. Level twos were essential, low risk workers such as construction engineers, clerks, judges and the like. Level three was law enforcement. Level four was figures of high impact. Mark Zuckerberg would've supposedly been a level four if he wasn't already married, one article said. Level five was the front liners in the fight in the virus and those who had made extraordinary contributions to society. They made up a fractional amount of people in the pool, less than half of one percent.A kind of hushed up mythology had been built up around level fives from what Andy could find on the internet. There were stories of emergency doctors who were on the best of days a six in any woman's estimate getting partnered up with women who would never be any less than a ten.Andy scoffed a little bit until he started looking at some of the pictures, and noticed that there were endless pictures of ER doctors and genetics researchers with women way, way, way, way out of their leagues.It was on the fifth collection of photos he spotted a familiar face. There was Dave, the man who'd tested them just a few short days ago, with his arm around a Hispanic knockout who couldn't have been pressed closer to him. And in the group shot with Dave, there were nearly a dozen other similar pairings of schlep and stunner.Once paired, men were being kept in isolation for an indeterminate amount of time. They were allowed to go out for walks, but had to keep fifteen feet away from anyone else. They weren't even permitted to go into stores to go shopping. Andy and Eric had been living on food delivery for weeks now. They'd even had groceries delivered and left on their doorstep. The receipt said the person who delivered them was named Silva, but neither Andy nor Eric had seen them. Andy wondered which of the two women would volunteer to go and get groceries first.During the middle of the day, Eric wanders over to take their orders as he placed a food delivery, but none of them had any chance to talk until dinner, which they also had delivered. Lily got free deliveries working for DoorDash, apparently, so both lunch and dinner had been brought that way."So how did you guys meet?" Lily asked as she was bringing in the bag of food that had been left on their doorstep.Eric laughed. "You want to tell them or should I?"Andy waved his hand, turning his desk chair around so it was up against the dining room table. "You're looking forward to it, so you tell them."Eric grinned as Lily started to take the food “ cheesesteaks it seemed “ and put it out on the table. "He was trying to bang my sister.""I was trying to date your sister," Andy said as Aisling giggled. "There's a difference.""Date her so you could fuck her, let's be clear."Andy rolled his eyes. "That was over a decade ago, so it's probably time to let it go.""She's married and lives in Florida down with her husband and their four kids, so we never really see her much anymore," Eric said."But Eric needed a roommate and I needed a place to live, so I moved into his spare room, and we've been flatmates since then," Andy said. "Aisling's from Dublin, but are you local Lily?""Second generation Bay Area native," Lily said as Eric set a beer in front of her. "My parents live up in Petaluma these days. Are your parents still around here, Eric?""They retired and moved down to Santa Cruz, although they spend half their time out in Florida with their grandkids. I'll introduce you to them over Facetime when they call next.""They going to be happy you hooked up with a Japanese woman?""They'll be happy I'm happy," Eric said. "Beyond that, I don't think they care.""What about you, Andy? You got local family?"Andy shook his head. "I'm from Ohio originally, but I've been out here for longer than I was there. My dad died a few years back, but my mom's still out there, as is my older brother with his wife and their son.""How old's your nephew?" Aisling asked."Conner will be 11 in July. I generally go back every year for Christmas, but this year seems like that's probably out."The Irish girl cocked her head slightly. "How much older is your brother?""Nine years older than me.""No siblings in between?""Nope," Andy said. "You said you have an older brother named Dermot. That your only sibling?"Aisling almost snorted she laughed so suddenly. "Jaysis no. Dermot's the eldest, then me, then my sisters Aoife and Niamh, and the last one is my baby brother Colin, who's about as old as your nephew. What about you, Lily?""Only child, thank fuck," she grumbled. "So, Andy, I understand Aisling's not going to be your only partner. What makes you think you deserve more than one partner, hmm?"Andy raised a hand defensively. "Hey now, I never said I deserve anything.""She's fucking with you, love," Aisling said, poking him with a grin."Spoil sport," Lily said, sticking her tongue out. "I don't really care as long as you're not going to take a pass at me.""You're Eric's partner, Lily. I'm going to respect that.""Good, and I'll make sure he keeps his hands off your girls.""I would never " Eric started to say before Lily raised a finger in his direction and he felt silent."Good boy," Lily said with a smirk. "I'll get him trained yet."Andy had never seen Eric get cowed quite so severely before, but he could swear his flatmate was blushing a little."I'm actually looking forward to seeing who else we get to play with," Aisling said."How many names should I expect to have to learn?" Lily asked."It's a fookin' huge bed, Lil," Aisling giggled. "So I expect a few more.""What I was reading about on the internet says I'm supposed to share my bed with four partners," Andy said, "but that can't possibly be right can it?""Umm. I can't wait," Aisling purred.She didn't have long to wait.To be continued in part 2, by CorruptingPower for Literotica.

May 4, 2025 Daily Devotion from Lutheran Hour Ministries

PM Anthony Albanese says he'll work to secure a call with Donald Trump to negotiate tariffs if they win the election; Peter Dutton has been asked about a secretive sect called the Brethren who have been seen supporting Liberals at polling stations despite their ban on voting; A political activist says those spam election texts we've been getting are more likely to turn us off than change our minds; Inflation has dropped into the RBA's target band for the first time in 3 years raising hopes for more rate cuts; The Prince and Princess of Wales are spending their 14th wedding anniversary back in Scotland where they first met. The Quicky is the easiest and most enjoyable way to get across the news every day. And it’s delivered straight to your ears in a daily podcast so you can listen whenever you want, wherever you want...at the gym, on the train, in the playground or at night while you're making dinner. Support independent women's media CREDITS Host/Producer: Audio Producer: Lu Hill Become a Mamamia subscriber: https://www.mamamia.com.au/subscribeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Pastor Wayne Van Gelderen shares biblical truth that will bring hope and comfort in these uncertain days. May we draw closer to God through this time and impact those around us for eternity. https://fallsbaptist.org https://baptistcollege.org https://www.theegeneration.org https://ontovictorypress.com If you'd like to support this ministry - https://fallsbaptist.org/give/

1 Corinthians 15:12-19 | Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek

Good morning! On today’s show, Matt Swaim and Anna Mitchell welcome Kris McGregor to share a Holy Week reflection from the Office of Readings. Other guests include Steve Ray to discuss the meaning of the word Hosanna, which we proclaimed on Palm Sunday, and Fr. Boniface Hicks with more thoughts on personal prayer. Plus news, weather, sports, and more… ***** St. Thomas More Prayer Give me thy grace, good Lord,Not to long to hear of any worldly things,But that the hearing of worldly fantasies may be to me displeasant.Gladly to be thinking of God,Piteously to call for his help.To lean unto the comfort of God,Busily to labour to love him.To know my own vility and wretchedness,To humble and meeken myself under the mighty hand of God,To bewail my sins passed.For the purging of them, patiently to suffer adversity. ***** Fr. Philip Larrey is online at philiplarrey.com. Dr. Benjamin Reinhard, author of The High Hallow: Tolkien’s Liturgical Imagination Full list of guestsSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Better to Lose your Life than Waste it (Piper) . . . I. Live in a Way that Commends the Gospel! (17-19, 33ff) II. Rely on and Minister the Word to People! (20-21; 24b-25; 26-27; 31-32) III. Gladly be Mastered by God come what May! (22-24) IV. Love the Church! (28-32a) Practical Implications o How do you interpret and apply “Better to Lose your life than to waste it” where you are? o Do an Unwasted Life Review o Prepare for Supper:

Better to Lose your Life than Waste it (Piper) . . . I. Live in a Way that Commends the Gospel! (17-19, 33ff)II. Rely on and Minister the Word to People! (20-21; 24b-25; 26-27; 31-32) III. Gladly be Mastered by God come what May! (22-24) IV. Love the Church! (28-32a) Practical Implications o How do you interpret and apply “Better to Lose your life than to waste it” where you are? o Do an Unwasted Life Review

Your Nightly Prayer

Ephesians 4:31-32

Switch to Catholic Radio for Lent! Download our PDF, cut up the cards, and hand them out to your friends who are looking for something edifying to listen to during Lent… Switch to Catholic Radio for Lent – Download and Print ***** Happy feast of Sts. Perpetua and Felicity! On today’s show, Matt Swaim and Anna Mitchell welcome Mike Aquilina to discuss how their witness of martyrdom took the Roman world by storm. Other guests include Fr. Hezekias Carnazzo from the Institute of Catholic Culture and Fr. Jonathan Duncan from the Bone Church Revival podcast to preview the Mass readings for the First Sunday of Lent. Plus news, weather, sports, and more… ***** A Prayer of St. Thomas More Give me Your grace, good Lord, to set the world at nought, to set my mind fast upon You. And not to hang upon the blast of men’s mouths. To be content to be solitary. Not to long for worldly company, little and little utterly to cast off the world, and rid my mind of all the business thereof. Gladly to be thinking of God, piteously to call for His help, to lean unto the comfort of God, busily to labor to love Him. To have continually in mind the passion that Christ suffered for me; for His benefits incessantly to give Him thanks. To think my most enemies my best friends, for the brethren of Joseph could never have done him so much good with their love and favor as they did him with their malice and hatred. ***** Joseph Rule, author of Giovanni and the Fava Beans Full list of guestsSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

"Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!" Numbers 23:10John Trapp: Some faint desires, and short-winded wishes, may be sometimes found in carnal men--but the mischief is that they would break God's chain, and would sunder . . . holiness, from happiness; sanctification, from salvation and the means, from the end.They would dance with the devil all day--and then dine with Christ at night! They would live all their lives in Delilah's lap--and then go to Abraham's bosom when they die! ~ ~ ~ ~Matthew Henry: "There are many who desire to die the death of the righteous--but do not endeavor to live the life of the righteous. Gladly would they have their end like theirs--but not their way. They would be saints in Heaven--but not saints on earth. If you resolve to serve God--you must renounce all competitors with Him!" ~ ~ ~ ~Edward Taylor: "I hope none of you calculate on serving the devil all your lives--and cheating God with your dying breath. You can't cheat God by giving him the last snuff of an expiring candle!" (Edward Taylor) ~ ~ ~ ~Adam Clarke:"He who would die well, should live well; for a bad death must be the outcome of a bad life!" ~ ~ ~ ~Brownlow North: "A Christian is not afraid of death--but of sin! An unconverted man is not afraid of sin--but of death!""It is appointed unto men once to die--but after this the judgment!" Hebrews 9:2"No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money!" Matthew 6:24

When don't we suffer fools gladly? When we know best, when we have made up our minds, when we don't need more ideas, when we want to get things done. When we believe our own nonsense.

Did you know that 64% of Americans report feeling guilty about the food they eat during the holidays? I don't know about you, but I find that really sad. The holidays are meant to be a time of joy, celebration and connection - not guilt.   In this episode, I'm digging into how to give yourself permission to enjoy the holiday foods that you love, without going overboard, and without feeling like you've done something wrong.   Let's face it, diet culture is especially loud this time of year, and all of that noise makes it hard to listen to your body and to trust yourself with food. I'm going to give you some really practical strategies to help you enjoy food this holiday season, while also listening to your body.    Intuitive eating can be your superpower this time of year! Go ahead and hit play, and I'll show you how to use intuitive eating to your advantage as you navigate the holidays, so that you can have peace and freedom with food (minus the side of guilt).    Today's Wellness Woo is collagen   Resources Mentioned   Grab the Free Holiday Intuitive Eating Guide Here   Read the full episode show notes here.   Resources for Your Intuitive Eating Journey   Intuitive eating education on the blog Work with Katy Explore the self-paced mini-course Stepping Off The Dieting Rollercoaster     Connect with Katy Harvey   Website: KatyHarvey.net Instagram: @katyharvey.rd Facebook: KatyHarveyRD      Subscribe and Review   Rate, Review, & Follow on Apple Podcasts   I would be thrilled if you could rate and review my podcast! Your support helps me reach and encourage more people on their intuitive eating journeys. Click here, scroll to the bottom, tap to rate with five stars, and select “Write a Review.” Don't forget to share what you loved most about the episode!   Also, make sure to follow the podcast if you haven't already done so. Follow now!  

LESSON 323I Gladly Make The “Sacrifice” Of Fear.Here is the only “sacrifice” You ask of Your beloved Son; You ask him to give up all suffering, all sense of loss and sadness, all anxiety and doubt, and freely let Your Love come streaming in to his awareness, healing him of pain, and giving him Your Own eternal joy. Such is the “sacrifice” You ask of me, and one I gladly make; the only “cost” of restoration of Your memory to me, for the salvation of the world.And as we pay the debt we owe to truth, - a debt that merely is the letting go of self-deceptions and of images we worshipped falsely - truth returns to us in wholeness and in joy. We are deceived no longer. Love has now returned to our awareness. And we are at peace again, for fear has gone and only love remains.- Jesus Christ in ACIM

Loving acts are genuine to the degree that they are not done begrudgingly.

In this episode of FUT in Review, John discusses the latest SBC updates, including player reviews for Retegui, Lindsay Horan, and Alexia Putellas. He emphasizes the need for player picks and shares insights on the value of the new cards, particularly the high-cost Putellas SBC. The episode concludes with a reminder for Patreon supporters and a preview of upcoming content. Chapters 00:00 Introduction and Housekeeping 03:13 SBC Updates and Player Reviews 06:02 Player of the Month: Retegui and Horan 08:56 Analyzing the Putella SBC 11:53 Value Assessment of Putella's Card 15:14 Conclusion and Final Thoughts ⁠⁠Join the Discord Server for Free! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ https://discord.gg/rzAjWezwr3 Questions:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠futinreview@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://youtube.com/futinreview⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://www.futinreview.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://patreon.com/futinreview⁠

Some of the most realistic, sympathetic, complex, and villainous women of the ancient world are found in the works of Euripides. He seemed to have had an interest in the people on the margins, women, foreign "barbarians", and enslaved people. Today we're looking at them, and Euripides through them. Find the International Podcast Day livestream here! CW/TW: far too many Greek myths involve assault. Given it's fiction, and typically involves gods and/or monsters, I'm not as deferential as I would be were I referencing the real thing. Sources: (Translations listed under each) Euripides' Hecuba, The Trojan Women, Medea, Hippolytus, Andromache, The Suppliant Women; Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazusae; Mary Lefkowitz' Euripides and the Gods. Attributions and licensing information for music used in the podcast can be found here: mythsbaby.com/sources-attributions.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Is this "Republican convention" unity? Why is the media spending so much time on Biden saying "bullseye" & ignoring the divisiveness going on at the RNC convention? Crazy Alert! Conservatives slammed RNC for giving prime speaking slot to someone into Satanism. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.