Podcasts about Imaginary

https://vimeo.com/1103580709?share=copy Those of us with eyes to see and ears to hear are waking up to the world as it is and as it has been. In that seeing and feeling and witnessing, it can feel really harsh and really hard. It can be very serious. How then, can we bring ourselves to the point of seeing that all of this is beautiful? Join us for a powerful conversation with Ash Ruiz, who is a seasoned guide in self realization, non-duality and trauma-informed in plant medicine facilitation. Ash is a beautiful blast of light and love in this world. If you need some inspiration, join us! Ash Ruiz began his career as a young boy singing to local ladies on the beaches of Miami, Florida. Sensational fame quickly found him as a teenager, while singing and performing on stage for millions with the Latin pop band, Menudo. When a trip to Machu Picchu changed his perspective on life, and called him into a two year time period of intense self-inquiry guided by shape-shifting shamans deep in the rainforests of the Amazon. After 30 years of sharing the lessons of love learned in the rainforest. Ash now writes musical poetry and sings soul inspired harmonies with the "Conscious Pop” band, Here II Here. He offers private self realization mentorship sessions as well as an Immersion of Luminosity trauma informed plant medicine experience. He offers The 4E Process life coaching, An Introduction to Clarity six week program, a three month Clarity Recharge, a six month Love is Action course, and a Sublime Being, twelve month immersion program which includes two private nature retreats with Ash. Watch or listen to the show to discover practical tools for self-realization and clarity. You're Invited!   ASH RUIZ BIO Ash Ruiz is a seasoned guide in self-realization, nonduality, and trauma informed plant medicine facilitation, with over 30 years of experience. His journey has been one of profound healing and transformation. Having lived in Peru for over 2 years in his early 20s he was welcomed into the shape shifting realms of many indigenous cultures most notably the Shuar where he got to live and absorb their teachings, traditions and magical songs aka icaros. It was during this time his unique approach to inviting others “to notice how vividly awake and free they are” began to take form. Blending his love of pristine nondual awareness and Plant Medicine Ash often says with a universe of sparkles in his eyes “Imaginary medicine, for an imaginary disease” As the lead singer of Here II Here, Ash shared stages with luminaries like Eckhart Tolle, Byron Katie, Gangaji and Deepak Chopra, offering music as a gateway to awakening. Now, through retreats, workshops, Satsangs and private mentorship, he supports others in embodying presence, radical authenticity, and the unwaveringly peaceful clarity of being. His work has been featured at The United Nations, Good Morning America, and various spiritual communities around the globe. LINKS Web: https://www.ashruiz.com/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/illusionslicer/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/illusionslicer YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@ashruiztv   YOUR GUIDE TO SOUL NECTAR: KERRI HUMMINGBIRD I love mentoring women to rewrite the story of their lives through inner transformation, connection to essence, remembrance of purpose, and realignment to authenticity and truth. If you don't want to settle for anything less than a life of passion and purpose, book a Discovery Call and let's talk! Schedule today! http://bit.ly/2CpFHFZ FREE GIFT: The Love Mastery Game, an oracle for revealing your soul's curriculum in every day challenges. http://www.kerrihummingbird.com/play JOIN SOUL NECTAR TRIBE! https://kerrihummingbird.com/membership Do you lack the confidence to trust yourself and go for what you want? When you take actions towards your dreams, does self-doubt infect your certainty? Do you find yourself distracting and numbing while also feeling some...

Calls: Women. More WHM heroes and ladies. Poverty mindset vs "middle class." Cool AI "Hake" song! Caitlin Clark stalker sentenced. Which is worse: Slavery or war?The Hake Report, Tuesday, July 29, 2025 ADTIMESTAMPS* (0:00:00) Start: violence* (0:05:48) Disclaimer* (0:08:37) Hey, guys! Obvious globe tee* (0:11:12) S/O Caledonian Elixir, Hake Appearances* (0:16:52) JERMAINE, Canada: What I love about a female: "Imaginary relationship"* (0:22:05) JERMAINE: black lady sentenced, niece, nephew in back* (0:28:07) JERMAINE: Another story, fight, security* (0:29:00) MICHAEL, Canada: MJ, Jacques Cartier, Samuel de Champlain, GSP, Celine* (0:42:19) "Man in the Mirror," written by a woman* (0:43:38) TERRI, OR: Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor's 2x ex* (0:49:31) TERRI: Framework for Understanding Poverty, mindset* (0:57:56) TERRI: "Middle Class" and Communism* (1:03:10) TERRI: Henry Ford or John Brown? Asking for money…* (1:08:46) "It's Time for The Hake Report"

Jeff Jarvis and Jason Howell start things off by chatting with Soundslice's CEO Adrian Holovaty who responds to OpenAI inventing an imaginary feature. Then its news roundup time: The Trump administration's sweeping new AI action plan, why AI shopping assistants still struggle with trust, the future of always-on AI wearables after Amazon acquires Bee, and Netflix officially embraces generative AI in its productions. Enjoying the AI Inside podcast? Please rate us ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ in your podcatcher of choice! Note: Time codes subject to change depending on dynamic ad insertion by the distributor. CHAPTERS: 0:00:00 - Podcast begins 0:01:01 - A Conversation with Adrian Holovaty, Soundslice 0:26:24 - White House Unveils Sweeping AI Action Plan to Boost Development 0:34:32 - OpenAI launches personal assistant capable of controlling files and web browsers 0:39:02 - Perplexity in talks with phone makers to pre-install Comet AI mobile browser on devices 0:39:36 - AI shopping assistants have a trust problem 0:42:32 - Replit makes vibe-y promise to stop its AI agents making vibe coding disasters 0:47:38 - Amazon buys Bee AI wearable that listens to everything you say 0:48:42 - Limitless AI 0:55:40 - OpenAI's Sam Altman warns of AI voice fraud crisis in banking 0:59:23 - US authors suing Anthropic can band together in copyright class action, judge rules 1:01:25 - Netflix uses generative AI in one of its shows for first time 1:06:06 - Google's ‘Big Sleep' Just Became the First-Ever AI to Prevent a Cyberattack 1:07:03 - Researchers from top AI labs including Google, OpenAI, and Anthropic warn they may be losing the ability to understand advanced AI models Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Miles Klee is the author of a recent Rolling Stone article titled People Are Losing Loved Ones to AI-Fueled Spiritual Fantasies which tells the stories of ChatGPT users who have come to believe that their chatbot is a sentient spiritual being. For this episode, Miles and I discuss the experiences of these ChatGPT worshippers, why the chatbot's answers have sometimes encouraged this type of divine delusion, and what history has to say about the human relationship between spirituality and technology. Read Miles' Rolling Stone article Become a Patron⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to support our show and get early ad-free episodes and bonus content Or subscribe to American Hysteria on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Leave us a message on the Urban Legends Hotline Producer and Editor: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Miranda Zickler⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Associate Producer: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Riley Swedelius-Smith⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Hosted by Chelsey Weber-Smith Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

2:49" - The boys put Abby up for her BIGGEST challenge yet…

As promised, our fun episode: pets! Did we end up keeping it G-rated and uncritical, no! Did we find a way to critique the adorable perfection of our feline and canine friends, yes! We also talked about sweet-16 Ponies, crazy cat ladies, imperialism, and Lacan's Imaginary.

This week, prepare for an imaginative journey as Devin and Zyber dive into the chaotic world of Blumhouse's latest offering, "Imaginary." With drinks in hand and a blind viewing approach, this episode is packed with unexpected twists, bizarre characters, and a healthy dose of dark humor. From teddy bears to the complexities of childhood trauma, our hosts navigate the film's eerie narrative while sharing their own hilarious commentary. Tune in for a wild ride filled with laughter, insights, and, of course, plenty of shots! Remember to SMOKE/DRINK AND RIFF RESPONSIBLY!

"You're an outsider. And as you linger in that space, you start to become an insider ... but you're still an outsider. Don't forget that, even though you know more about it, you're an insider and an outsider," says Jeff Sharlet about when he's reporting on, say, far-right religious groups.OK, we've got Jeff Sharlet, which is pretty stunning when you think about it. I mean, this guy is the author of The Undertow: Scenes from a Slow Civil War, The Family, among other books. He often covers the far right and far-right fundamentalism and what's he's been able to document is scary and often unsettling. We don't dig too much into that, because mainly we just talk about doing this kind of work. It was really a fun and illuminating conversation and I'm pretty stoked.He teaches writing and creative nonfiction at Dartmouth College. That was where I desperately wanted to go to school. I was set to be their starting shortstop, but I couldn't get my goddam SATs above remedial and thus I attended good ol' UMass … back in the late 1990s, if you could funnel a beer in five seconds you got a scholarship #yoloIn this episode, Jeff and I riff about: His key influences Treating your book badly as a way of treating it well Using your outsiderness to your advantage His love of sportswriting, or interest in sportswriting, despite not following sports And real toads in imaginary gardensYou can learn more about Jeff and his work @jeffsharlet on Substack and his newsletter there called Scenes from a Slow Civil War … I admire people like Jeff who are just so damn smart in how they articulate things seemingly on the fly. Meanwhile, ya boi BO sounds about as coherent as a chimpanzee.Order The Front RunnerNewsletter: Rage Against the AlgorithmWelcome to Pitch ClubShow notes: brendanomeara.com

In this highly scientific and not at all petty episode of Past Tens, Dave and Milt throw down in the only arena that really matters anymore: pop culture debates. It's the Past Tens Riff-Off, where no sacred cow is safe, every cow is delicious, and every opinion is shouted like it's 1986 and you just lost your cassingles collection. The format? Timed debates. The stakes? Imaginary. The judgment? Left up to you, our dear listeners with way too much time on your hands. From Freddie Mercury vs. Mick Jagger (tight pants vs. tighter pants) to the eternal dilemma of whether a hot dog is a sandwich (it's not, calm down), Dave and Milt spar over music, movies, TV, theme park rides, game show hosts, and more. Along the way, you'll hear grunts, woos, awkward impersonations, and the occasional moment of clarity. Then you vote on our Facebook page to settle the debates because we're way too biased to be trusted. Timestamps for your convenience (or if you're hate-skimming): 00:00 – Welcome to Past Tens (you know the drill) 00:56 – Warning: Musical debates ahead 01:56 – The Riff-Off explained (kind of) 05:43 – Debate 1: Freddie Mercury vs. Mick Jagger (glam vs. strut) 11:26 – Debate 2: Pirates of the Caribbean vs. Space Mountain (eyeliner vs. nausea) 18:40 – Debate 3: Chrissie Hynde vs. Stevie Nicks (scowl vs. shawl) 24:20 – Debate 4: Top Gun ‘86 vs. Maverick ‘22 (volleyball vs. trauma) 29:52 – Debate 5: “Holiday Road” vs. “I'm Alright” (Lindsey Buckingham tries, Kenny Loggins is alright) 35:36 – Coin flips and shameless begging for votes 36:26 – Debate 6: Trebek vs. Sajak (intellect vs. wheel-spinning) 41:35 – Debate 7: “Woo” vs. “Uh!” (James Brown intensifies) 47:44 – Debate 8: Al Michaels vs. John Madden (miracle calls vs. turducken) 53:07 – Debate 9: “Come On Eileen” vs. “Turning Japanese” (one-hit wonderland) 58:45 – Final Debate: Is a hot dog a sandwich? (Yes, we're doing this.) 01:06:53 – Wrap-up and wild speculation about future episodes

The production design of the film Fantastic Four: First Steps is an homage to the early ‘60s comics created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. While Kirby is best known for his bold, fist-popping drawing style, he was also a great storyteller who redefined what comic books could be. He was appreciated by hardcore fans at the time, but he never got the same media attention as Stan Lee and wasn't compensated for the fortunes his characters made. I talk with Kirby experts Charles Hatfield, Mark Evanier, Randolph Hoppe, and Arlen Schumer about where we can see Jack Kirby's influence on comics like The Fantastic Four, Thor, The Hulk, Captain America and Black Panther. And I explore Kirby's childhood at the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side, where every day was “clobberin' time,”and he first learned how to use a garbage can lid as a shield. This week's episode is sponsored by ButcherBox, Hims and ShipStation. ButcherBox is offering our listeners $20 off their first box and free protein for a year. Go to ButcherBox.com/imaginary to get this limited time offer and free shipping always. Start your free online visit today at Hims.com/IMAGINARY Go to shipstation.com and use the code IMAGINARY to sign up for a free trial. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

What if your imagination is as spiritually consequential as your actions? In this thought-provoking message, we explore the biblical idea that we live in three interconnected worlds: the physical, the spiritual, and the imaginary. You'll discover why Jesus took thoughts as seriously as deeds, how the inner world fuels real-world behavior, and what Scripture says about the power of what happens in your mind. With insights from Matthew 5, Psalm 139, and 2 Corinthians 10, this sermon will challenge your view of what's “real,” and inspire you to live more intentionally in every world you inhabit. Don't miss this journey into the unseen, the often-dismissed, and the eternally important world of the imagination.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Welcome to this BEST OF episode, which is all about this idea of falling off the imaginary wagon and what to do to reset yourself.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Bloody Awesome Movie Podcast - Jurassic World Rebirth Bloody Awesome Movie Podcast - Jurassic World Rebirth This week, we review Jurassic World Rebirth. We also discuss Collectibles in Concessions of a Cinephile, and more! The Bloody Awesome Movie Podcast delivers a spoiler-free review of a film, usually a new release, with some exceptions, every week. Then Matt Hudson (@wiwt_uk) from What I Watched Tonight and Jonathan Berk (@berkreviews) from disappointment media will introduce a variety of movies or pop-culture-related topics in a series of segments. Review of Jurassic World Rebirth Director, writer, and cast provided by Letterboxd.com IMDb.com Synopsis: Five years after the events of Jurassic World Dominion, covert operations expert Zora Bennett is contracted to lead a skilled team on a top-secret mission to secure genetic material from the world's three most massive dinosaurs. When Zora's operation intersects with a civilian family whose boating expedition was capsized, they all find themselves stranded on an island where they come face-to-face with a sinister, shocking discovery that's been hidden from the world for decades. RATINGS: 52% RT critic 72% RT audience 52 Metascore 6.3 IMDb user score 2.8 Letterboxd $159,522,890 domestic Concessions of a Cinephile In this segment, we switch to movie-motivated conversations of a large variety that could include headlines, trailers, top five lists, best of, competitions, etc. Topic Collectible What's your favorite movie-inspired collectible that you own? Why do we feel compelled to “rep” our favorite films? How much is too much? Media Consumption Movies, TV, Video Games, Music, Podcasts (not ours), etc, that we use to pass the time Matt's consumption Imaginary, The Sixth Sense, Se7en FIFA Club World Cup Jon's consumption Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood, Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday, High and Low, Tron: Legacy, I Know What You Did Last Summer

Creativity is not a gentle muse that visits the idle; it's a relentless force that demands your full engagement, discipline, and honesty. In episode 152, Gary Stevens strips away the romantic myths surrounding creative work and expose its true nature: ideas are raw materials mined from the grind of lived experience, relentless questioning, and the courage to confront failure head-on. Stevens, a visual artist and the author of All of Your Friends are Imaginary, reveals that creativity flows from the friction of real-world challenges and that the spark of an idea is only the beginning. The real test is in execution: the willingness to distill complex insights into their core components, to pare down the noise, and to shape raw intuition into something others can learn from and use. The conversation is a masterclass in creative rigor. Stevens describes his process of ruthlessly editing his work, soliciting brutally honest feedback across industries and generations, and refusing to let past failures die unused — salvaging frameworks and lessons from abandoned projects and transforming them into new successes. We emphasize that the work of creativity is not just about having ideas, but about refining them through iteration, feedback, and the humility to recognize what we don't know. We argue that true creative value comes from making your insights accessible and actionable for others, using our own hard-won lessons as blueprints and warnings. If we want to create work that matters, we must be willing to thicken both our skill and our skin, distill our experience down to their essence, and share it with clarity and conviction. No shortcuts, no excuses, just relentless execution. Episode Sponsors: VM Merch Go Pills -- use "VM15" at checkout for 15% off your order. BUBS Naturals -- use "veteranmade" at checkout for 20% off your order. True Made Foods -- use "VET" at checkout for 15% off your order. Ruck Sox -- use "VETERANMADE15" at checkout for 15% off your order. Bravo Actual -- use "Veteran Made" at checkout for 15% off your order. Intro Song composed and produced by Cleod9. SOCIALS: https://www.instagram.com/veteranmade.ck/ http://x.com/veteranmade.ck https://www.instagram.com/gary_stevens_art/

Despite no air pollution detected as a result of the anti-xAI supercomputer activism, Rep. Justin Pearson is still standing firm claiming that nothing matters "if you cannot breathe clean air, drink clean water, and plant in clean soil." In other words: "Yeah...BUT STILL!" Also on the show, we react to a great clip of Marco Rubio losing it when the President is asked about being called 'Daddy', NYC Mayor Eric Adams rips into mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani a "snake-oil salesman", and we give you today's Wheel of Weird story. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Tonight's Episode Is My Podcast Series BrandonJaneauShow:I Bleed Sports And On This Episode I'm Talking About Everything Happening In The World Of Sports Right Now

The nineteenth-century spread of democracy in Britain and its colonies coincided with an increase in alcohol consumption and in celebratory public dinners with rounds of toasts. British colonists raised their glasses to salute the Crown in rituals that asserted fraternal equality and political authority. Yet these ceremonies were reserved for gentlemen, leaving others – notably women and Indigenous people – on the political margins. Drink and Democracy: Alcohol and the Political Imaginary in Colonial Australia (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2025) by Dr. Matthew Allen traces the development of democratic ideas in New South Wales through the history of public drinking and temperance. As the colony transformed from a convict autocracy to a liberal democracy, Dr. Allen argues, public drinking practices shaped the character of the emerging political order. The ritual of toasting was a symbolic display of restraint – drunkenness without loss of self-control – that embodied the claim to citizenship of white male settlers. Yet the performative sobriety of the temperance movement was also democratic, a display of respectability that politicized its supporters around a rival vision of responsible citizenship. Drink was a way to police the limits of the political realm. The stigma of female drunkenness worked to exclude women from the public sphere, while perceptions of heavy drinking among Aboriginal people cast them as lacking self-control and hence unworthy of political rights. Drink and Democracy reveals that long before the introduction of the franchise, colonists in Australia imagined themselves as citizens. Yet even as democracy expanded, drink marked its limits. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

The nineteenth-century spread of democracy in Britain and its colonies coincided with an increase in alcohol consumption and in celebratory public dinners with rounds of toasts. British colonists raised their glasses to salute the Crown in rituals that asserted fraternal equality and political authority. Yet these ceremonies were reserved for gentlemen, leaving others – notably women and Indigenous people – on the political margins. Drink and Democracy: Alcohol and the Political Imaginary in Colonial Australia (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2025) by Dr. Matthew Allen traces the development of democratic ideas in New South Wales through the history of public drinking and temperance. As the colony transformed from a convict autocracy to a liberal democracy, Dr. Allen argues, public drinking practices shaped the character of the emerging political order. The ritual of toasting was a symbolic display of restraint – drunkenness without loss of self-control – that embodied the claim to citizenship of white male settlers. Yet the performative sobriety of the temperance movement was also democratic, a display of respectability that politicized its supporters around a rival vision of responsible citizenship. Drink was a way to police the limits of the political realm. The stigma of female drunkenness worked to exclude women from the public sphere, while perceptions of heavy drinking among Aboriginal people cast them as lacking self-control and hence unworthy of political rights. Drink and Democracy reveals that long before the introduction of the franchise, colonists in Australia imagined themselves as citizens. Yet even as democracy expanded, drink marked its limits. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/food

The nineteenth-century spread of democracy in Britain and its colonies coincided with an increase in alcohol consumption and in celebratory public dinners with rounds of toasts. British colonists raised their glasses to salute the Crown in rituals that asserted fraternal equality and political authority. Yet these ceremonies were reserved for gentlemen, leaving others – notably women and Indigenous people – on the political margins. Drink and Democracy: Alcohol and the Political Imaginary in Colonial Australia (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2025) by Dr. Matthew Allen traces the development of democratic ideas in New South Wales through the history of public drinking and temperance. As the colony transformed from a convict autocracy to a liberal democracy, Dr. Allen argues, public drinking practices shaped the character of the emerging political order. The ritual of toasting was a symbolic display of restraint – drunkenness without loss of self-control – that embodied the claim to citizenship of white male settlers. Yet the performative sobriety of the temperance movement was also democratic, a display of respectability that politicized its supporters around a rival vision of responsible citizenship. Drink was a way to police the limits of the political realm. The stigma of female drunkenness worked to exclude women from the public sphere, while perceptions of heavy drinking among Aboriginal people cast them as lacking self-control and hence unworthy of political rights. Drink and Democracy reveals that long before the introduction of the franchise, colonists in Australia imagined themselves as citizens. Yet even as democracy expanded, drink marked its limits. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/sociology

The nineteenth-century spread of democracy in Britain and its colonies coincided with an increase in alcohol consumption and in celebratory public dinners with rounds of toasts. British colonists raised their glasses to salute the Crown in rituals that asserted fraternal equality and political authority. Yet these ceremonies were reserved for gentlemen, leaving others – notably women and Indigenous people – on the political margins. Drink and Democracy: Alcohol and the Political Imaginary in Colonial Australia (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2025) by Dr. Matthew Allen traces the development of democratic ideas in New South Wales through the history of public drinking and temperance. As the colony transformed from a convict autocracy to a liberal democracy, Dr. Allen argues, public drinking practices shaped the character of the emerging political order. The ritual of toasting was a symbolic display of restraint – drunkenness without loss of self-control – that embodied the claim to citizenship of white male settlers. Yet the performative sobriety of the temperance movement was also democratic, a display of respectability that politicized its supporters around a rival vision of responsible citizenship. Drink was a way to police the limits of the political realm. The stigma of female drunkenness worked to exclude women from the public sphere, while perceptions of heavy drinking among Aboriginal people cast them as lacking self-control and hence unworthy of political rights. Drink and Democracy reveals that long before the introduction of the franchise, colonists in Australia imagined themselves as citizens. Yet even as democracy expanded, drink marked its limits. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/australian-and-new-zealand-studies

The nineteenth-century spread of democracy in Britain and its colonies coincided with an increase in alcohol consumption and in celebratory public dinners with rounds of toasts. British colonists raised their glasses to salute the Crown in rituals that asserted fraternal equality and political authority. Yet these ceremonies were reserved for gentlemen, leaving others – notably women and Indigenous people – on the political margins. Drink and Democracy: Alcohol and the Political Imaginary in Colonial Australia (McGill-Queen's University Press, 2025) by Dr. Matthew Allen traces the development of democratic ideas in New South Wales through the history of public drinking and temperance. As the colony transformed from a convict autocracy to a liberal democracy, Dr. Allen argues, public drinking practices shaped the character of the emerging political order. The ritual of toasting was a symbolic display of restraint – drunkenness without loss of self-control – that embodied the claim to citizenship of white male settlers. Yet the performative sobriety of the temperance movement was also democratic, a display of respectability that politicized its supporters around a rival vision of responsible citizenship. Drink was a way to police the limits of the political realm. The stigma of female drunkenness worked to exclude women from the public sphere, while perceptions of heavy drinking among Aboriginal people cast them as lacking self-control and hence unworthy of political rights. Drink and Democracy reveals that long before the introduction of the franchise, colonists in Australia imagined themselves as citizens. Yet even as democracy expanded, drink marked its limits. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/british-studies

Lauren sits down with Nick Brown, the managing director of Imaginary Ventures, which he co-founded in 2018 with Natalie Massenet. Through his work at Imaginary and, previously, 14W, Nick has invested in dozens of modern brands, including but not limited to: The RealReal, Glossier, Everlane, Reformation, Skims, The Row, Cann, and many others. They discuss the evolution of venture capital firms investing in consumer products, the rise of digital commerce, the importance of branding for long-term commercial success, changing consumer behavior, exit scenarios, and plenty more. To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Ever started a fight in your head, won it spectacularly, only to realize the other person didn't even show up to the battlefield? Welcome to adulthood, where conflict is less about actual shouting and more about side-eyeing someone into oblivion while whispering “I'm fine” with enough passive-aggression to wilt a cactus.In this episode, Pete and Tommy wade into the murky, tepid waters of grown-up conflict—armed only with podcast-sponsored razors, psychological aphorisms, and a deep, festering resentment for group texts. From Hanlon's Razor (“Maybe they're not evil, just an idiot”) to the Cold War of Thermostat Settings, they explore why modern fights are quieter, pettier, and increasingly fought through emoji avoidance and artfully delayed email replies.Tommy investigates the ancient science museum exhibit that accidentally gave him an emotional breakthrough (shoutout, Exploratorium), while Pete reveals he spent years treating a perfectly lovely human as his secret archnemesis. They tackle imaginary nemeses, real micro-aggressions, and that one Ralph's employee who doesn't know they're the final boss in your personal hero's journey.Also: the War of the Bucket. Yes, an actual war. Over an actual bucket. Two Italian city-states. Thirty thousand troops. And one wooden container that still hangs in a death-sentence room like a medieval mic drop. Because adult conflict, like medieval conflict, is never about the thing—it's about the bucket.So guard your emotional buckets, find peace in the possibility that no one is thinking about you at all (liberating!), and if you must fight… maybe don't do it in a podcast.Become a Feeling Friend!Help us keep the precinct weird: allthefeelings.funGet early access, bonus content, stickers, and the satisfaction of supporting emotional democracy for only $35 a year. (Or just vote Pete back into office. Either works.) ---Learn more about supporting this podcast by becoming a member. Visit our website to learn more.

While House Speaker MikeJohnson has been supporting President Trump's “One Big, Beautiful Bill,” its proposed Medicaid cuts could cause many of his constituents to lose coverage. The Gulf States Newsroom's Drew Hawkins traveled to Shreveport to hear what people are saying. One of the longest-running Broadway productions, “A Chorus Line,” opens at the Tulane Summer Lyric Theatre this weekend. And for the first time in the company's history, all productions this season are directed and choreographed by women. Director and choreographer Jauné Buisson and cast member Michael Paternostro share the details.Another performance debuts at Tulane this weekend as the New Orleans Shakespeare Festival continues its run of “The Imaginary Invalid.” Cast members Doug Spearman and Alix Paige tell us about performing Molliere's 17th century comedy.__Today's episode of Louisiana Considered was hosted by Diane Mack. Our managing producer is Alana Schreiber and our assistant producer is Aubry Procell. Our engineer is Garrett Pittman.You can listen to Louisiana Considered Monday through Friday at noon and 7 p.m. It's available on Spotify, the NPR App, and wherever you get your podcasts. Louisiana Considered wants to hear from you! Please fill out our pitch line to let us know what kinds of story ideas you have for our show. And while you're at it, fill out our listener survey! We want to keep bringing you the kinds of conversations you'd like to listen to.Louisiana Considered is made possible with support from our listeners. Thank you!

Hey there! Dive into our latest episode as we chat about crafting fantastical and fun D&D campaigns you never knew you needed. From exploring the vibrant world under the sea with all its mythical creatures to discovering hidden realms within your mundane office space, we've got creative juices flowing. Join us as we brainstorm epic campaigns, including a thrilling podcast interruption leading to a mission of judge-like heroics, and navigating the treacherous court of King Henry VIII as one of his wives. Whether it's hunting for sunken treasures or evading a historical king's wrath, our ideas are bound to spark your imagination. We also share how pop culture and classic elements can fuse to create unforgettable gaming experiences. So whether you're a seasoned dungeon master or just dipping your toes in role-playing games, this chat will inspire your next adventure. Plus, we're excited to reveal some new swag we've got lined up for you! Don't miss out, and let's get those creative minds rolling! Cheers!

Trump's invasion of Los Angeles isn't about immigration—it's about power, manipulation, and preparing you for a crackdown. WE are the real targets. The Trumps, the Millers, the Bondis, the Patels, they are praying for violence to legitimize a massive military escalation. Fox News, Twitter, and Facebook are deeply complicit. They may be pulling immigrants off the streets for the cameras, but they're really coming for you. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

New studies on pain and mental illness are blowing minds - because a lot of what works best is ... placebo? Today we are talking about the new research on placebo pills, how even imagining taking a pill helps and also how it relates the future of medicine. We even explain exactly HOW placebo pills work.STUDYTIME: why imaginary pills are curing illness!WDWLTW:is decaf coffee as effective as real coffee?when did birds ACTUALLY evolve? Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Today we dissect some of the ways we hold ourselves back by creatine false narratives. By identifying limitations, we can work and grow through change!

Peter Filichia, James Marino, and Michael Portantiere talk about Red Bull Theater’s production of The Imaginary Invalid, South Pacific @ John W. Engeman Theater, Bowl EP @ Vineyard Theatre, Matt Doyle: Bon Voyage! @ The Laurie Beechman Theatre, and Chiaroscuro: A Light and Dark Skin Comedy @ The Flea Emily read more The post This Week on Broadway for June 8, 2025: Red Bull Theater’s production of The Imaginary Invalid appeared first on BroadwayRadio.

In RTB 151, you heard the Kristin, Nasser and John discussing what might happen before their Northeastern Victorian Studies Association conference actually took place. This episode, recorded a few weeks later, looks back at what actually occurred and see how it aligned with or defied the panelists' prior expectations. The three discuss what it means to have an emergent and residual shticks; differences between how you prepare to talk to undergraduates and your peers matter, and the three agree that going in without any expectations of your audience makes for a weaker presentation. Imaginary interlocution makes for better pre-gaming. Kristin Mahoney 's books include Literature and the Politics of Post-Victorian Decadence (Cambridge UP, 2015) and Queer Kinship After Wilde: Transnational Decadence and the Family. Nasser Mufti 's first scholarly book was Civilizing War and he is currently working on a monograph about what Britain's nineteenth century looks like from the perspective of such anti-colonial thinkers as C.L.R. James and Eric Williams. (RTB listeners don't need to hear about John or his Arendt obsession). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

In RTB 151, you heard the Kristin, Nasser and John discussing what might happen before their Northeastern Victorian Studies Association conference actually took place. This episode, recorded a few weeks later, looks back at what actually occurred and see how it aligned with or defied the panelists' prior expectations. The three discuss what it means to have an emergent and residual shticks; differences between how you prepare to talk to undergraduates and your peers matter, and the three agree that going in without any expectations of your audience makes for a weaker presentation. Imaginary interlocution makes for better pre-gaming. Kristin Mahoney 's books include Literature and the Politics of Post-Victorian Decadence (Cambridge UP, 2015) and Queer Kinship After Wilde: Transnational Decadence and the Family. Nasser Mufti 's first scholarly book was Civilizing War and he is currently working on a monograph about what Britain's nineteenth century looks like from the perspective of such anti-colonial thinkers as C.L.R. James and Eric Williams. (RTB listeners don't need to hear about John or his Arendt obsession). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In RTB 151, you heard the Kristin, Nasser and John discussing what might happen before their Northeastern Victorian Studies Association conference actually took place. This episode, recorded a few weeks later, looks back at what actually occurred and see how it aligned with or defied the panelists' prior expectations. The three discuss what it means to have an emergent and residual shticks; differences between how you prepare to talk to undergraduates and your peers matter, and the three agree that going in without any expectations of your audience makes for a weaker presentation. Imaginary interlocution makes for better pre-gaming. Kristin Mahoney 's books include Literature and the Politics of Post-Victorian Decadence (Cambridge UP, 2015) and Queer Kinship After Wilde: Transnational Decadence and the Family. Nasser Mufti 's first scholarly book was Civilizing War and he is currently working on a monograph about what Britain's nineteenth century looks like from the perspective of such anti-colonial thinkers as C.L.R. James and Eric Williams. (RTB listeners don't need to hear about John or his Arendt obsession). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literary-studies

That's just some of the hilarity on Police Blotter Fax Friday and The Chumpline! Visit the Howie Carr Radio Network website to access columns, podcasts, and other exclusive content.

Children have imaginary friends, but what about adults? Stephanie Madsen, professor of psychology at McDaniel College, examines this with athletes in mind. Stephanie Madsen is professor of psychology at McDaniel College. She joined the college in 2001 after earning her master's and Ph.D. in child psychology from the University of Minnesota, and graduated magna cum […]

Murderbot is a killing machine in the far future that would rather spend its time binging an intergalactic soap opera. Shooting bad guys with lasers is much less stressful than making eye contact or engaging in small talk with humans. Murderbot is also the main character of Martha Wells' best-selling series of books, The Murderbot Diaries. The books have been adapted into a fun new show on Apple TV+ starring Alexander Skarsgård. I talk with Martha Wells, and the showrunners Chris and Paul Weitz, about the challenges of adapting the books for television -- from casting choices, to translating Murderbot's anxious inner monologue into voice-over narration, to finding the right balance of comedy, action, and sci-fi. This week's episode is sponsored by ShipStation. Go to shipstation.com and use the code IMAGINARY to sign up for a free trial. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Battle of the Big Bang: The New Tales of Our Cosmic Origins examines the most profound idea: how did the universe begin? Watch the video, as it includes illustrations in the final 10 minutes. Although I'm not a physicist, I have read many books about the Big Bang, physics, and the universe. This book is an in-depth exploration of the competing models that hypothesize about our origins. I appreciated learning about the Ekpyrotic universe and Conformal Cyclic Cosmology (CCC), two novel ideas. For instance, CCC posits that "the universe is cyclic but never re-collapses. Each eon expands until all mass disappears." "In the Ekpyrotic universe, the movement of the branes is controlled by a springlike force, operating in a higher dimension. What was being suggested was that this force is felt in our reality as dark energy." I also appreciated that the book included several illustrations that were essential for grasping these counterintuitive topics. One of the authors, Phil Halper, is a well-known YouTuber.  The other co-author is Niayesh Afshordi, a cosmologist. I interviewed Phil Halper on my WanderLearn Show. Watch the 30-second book trailer If you're fascinated by the Big Bang, watch the video below, where I interview Phil Halper, one of the book's co-authors. Here's the timeline: 00:00 Problems with the Big Bang 04:00 Before the Big Bang 06:20 Stephen Hawking's Strange Theory 09:30 Imaginary numbers and time 11:11 Natural Selection of Universes 19:30 Are we in a white hole? 23:40 Conformal Cyclic Cosmology CCC 25:00 Ekpyrotic theory 28:30 Carroll-Chen Model   Feedback Leave anonymous audio feedback at SpeakPipe More info You can post comments, ask questions, and sign up for my newsletter at http://wanderlearn.com. If you like this podcast, subscribe and share!  On social media, my username is always FTapon. Connect with me on: Facebook Twitter YouTube Instagram TikTok LinkedIn Pinterest Tumblr My Patrons sponsored this show! Claim your monthly reward by becoming a patron at http://Patreon.com/FTapon Rewards start at just $2/month! Affiliate links Get 25% off when you sign up to Trusted Housesitters, a site that helps you find sitters or homes to sit in. Start your podcast with my company, Podbean, and get one month free! In the USA, I recommend trading crypto with Kraken.  Outside the USA, trade crypto with Binance and get 5% off your trading fees! For backpacking gear, buy from Gossamer Gear.

David does The News.

Where did it all begin? Middle-earth, the languages, the books, the stories, the legends . . . Why did JRR Tolkien imagine Middle-earth? What does it all mean? What is the meaning of life?Today we explore these questions of the soul as we journey through the Waldman Letter, penned by JRR Tolkien. Okay, to confess, we may not get to the meaning of life . . . but who knows? We're wandering Middle-earth, and if we don't keep our feet, there's no knowing where we'll be swept of too, as uncle Bilbo used to say!Share this episode using this link:ringspodcast.com/214Who are you?Please tell me a little about you: ringspodcast.com/surveyWander Farther: A Free Reading GuideDownload my FREE guide for reading Tolkien's Silmarillion: https://ringspodcast.kit.com/a982347493Deals for you, my fellow wandererExclusive discount for Lore of the Rings Listeners: 25% off your entire order at Manly Bands. Details at https://www.ringspodcast.com/p/rings/Want to sponsor the Lore of the Rings?Sponsor rates, details, and inquires hereSupport Lore of the Rings with a donationAbout the Lore of the Rings PodcastContact the show, donate, and find past episodes: ringspodcast.comEmbark on an immersive journey through the captivating realms of J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth, where the epic sagas of the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, the Silmarillion, and Unfinished Tales, and more come to life. Join us as we delve into the rich tapestry of Tolkien's masterful storytelling, drawing intriguing comparisons between his literary works and the cinematic adaptations crafted by Peter Jackson. Be at the forefront of the latest developments as we explore the highly anticipated Rings of Power series from Amazon. Prepare to be enthralled as we uncover hidden connections, untold tales, and delve into the depths of Middle-earth lore. Tune in now and become part of our fellowship on this extraordinary journey!This podcast is not affiliated with the Tolkien Estate.Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/ringspodcast/donationsAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Next year marks the 60th anniversary of Dark Shadows. The gothic soap opera wasn't originally intended to include a vampire, but when creator Dan Curtis introduced the character of Barnabas Collins in a last-ditch effort to avoid cancellation, he inadvertently launched a cultural phenomenon. As portrayed by actor Jonathan Frid, the character of Barnabas sparked a never-ending debate among horror fans as to whether vampires should be depicted as pure predators or tragic, misunderstood outcasts. I talk with Danielle Gelehrter (host of the podcast Terror at Collinwood) and authors Mark Dawidziak and Jeff Thompson about why the show had a meteoric rise and fall, what the series reflected about the 1960s, and whether Dark Shadows can have eternal life as a form of IP. This week's episode is sponsored by Hims and Remi Get your free online visit at hims.com/IMAGINARY. Go to shopremi.com/IMAGINARY and use the code IMAGINARY to save up to 50%. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Our main feature is Final Destination: Bloodlines. We're also reviewing Final Destination 2-5, Scanners 3, 65, Car Man, The Brood, Bring Her Back, Imaginary, and Locked Door by Frieda McFadden.

We play a "mind game" of sending Andy back to one of her previous HSE roles with her existing HOP knowledge and ask what she would do differently - all of which we recorded in during a long drive.

Or Angry Street, Insect Home, Pretend Maxamillion.

Scavengers Reign, the Emmy-winning Netflix show, has done something most sci-fi shows or movies struggle to do. Build a world that feels truly alien. Guests: ⁠⁠Joe Bennett⁠⁠, co-creator of Scavengers Reign, and ⁠⁠Sean Buckelew⁠⁠, writer on Scavengers Reign For show transcripts, go to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠vox.com/unxtranscripts⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ For more, go to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠vox.com/unexplainable⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ And please email us! ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠unexplainable@vox.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ We read every email. Support Unexplainable (and get ad-free episodes) by becoming a Vox Member today: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠vox.com/members⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

We all have that one thing we just can't watch. For me, it's body horror -- the kind of horror where grotesque and disturbing things happen to someone's body, like in The Thing, The Fly, or The Substance. There is a long history of body horror as a form of social commentary and special effects showmanship. I respect the artform, but I can't stomach the art. So I decided to figure out why. I talk with Chioke l'Anson (horror fan and voice of NPR underwriting), author David Huckvale (“Terrors of The Flesh: The Philosophy of Body Horror in Film”) and author Xavier Aldana Reyes (“Contemporary Body Horror”) about how this subgenre taps into fundamental aspects of being human that we often try to put out of our minds. Plus, I speak with listener Lillie Andrick about why some transgender fans, like her, feel a special connection to body horror. This week's episode is sponsored by ShipStation. Go to shipstation.com and use the code IMAGINARY to sign up for a free trial. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

The late Syd Mead was a visual futurist who was hired to imagine the worlds of Blade Runner, Tron, Aliens, Elysium and other sci-fi films. His work in Hollywood has been lauded for decades, but there's a new exhibit in New York that shows a different side of the artist. Syd Mead: Future Pastime is a collection of his personal and commercial paintings, which are all works of science fiction. Despite his connection to the dystopian world of Blade Runner, Mead's personal vision of the future was unwaveringly optimistic. I talk with Mead's husband and business partner Roger Servick, and the curators of the exhibit, Elon Solo and William Corman, about Mead's predictions for the future of technology, sexuality and spirituality. (Image courtesy of Syd Mead Inc.) This week's episode is sponsored by ShipStation and Hims Go to shipstation.com and use the code IMAGINARY to sign up for a free trial. Get your free online visit at hims.com/IMAGINARY. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Luke and Andrew open up the phone lines and offer listeners a chance to buy, sell and give away their stuff! Watch the show on YouTube here!