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Now You Know Series. 1 of 2. ACU Sunday Series. Watch these videos at- https://youtu.be/pj1TNrciyZc   What is Revelation? The Holy Bible: A Witness of Jesus Christ What is Doctrine? The Book of Abraham What Are the Book of Mormon Gold Plates? Who was Joseph Smith? God Loves His Children The Judgment of God or Final Judgment Where Did the Book of Mormon Come From? What Is the Purpose and Meaning of Life? Joseph Smith's First Vision How the Church of Jesus Christ Is Organized Joseph Smith and Masonry What Happens to Our Bodies and Spirits After We Die? Where Did We Come From? Missionaries of Jesus Christ The Word of Wisdom: A Health Code   Learn More: Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Revelations of Joseph Smith: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Ongoing Prophetic Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Subscribe to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the latest videos: http://bit.ly/1M0iPwY​ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/churchofjesu​... Twitter: https://twitter.com/churchnewsroom​ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ChurchOfJes​... Website: ChurchOfJesusChrist.org The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Walter Veith is available at ⁠⁠⁠⁠Amazing Discoveries⁠⁠⁠⁠ This is from Walter's ⁠⁠⁠⁠Total Onslaught⁠⁠⁠⁠ Series. Premiered Sep 29, 2011 This is episode 6 of 35. ~~~ Is Revelation Meant to Be Understood? Unlocking Rev 1 The Revelation of Jesus Christ ~~~ What is the best way to interpret the visions in the book of Revelation? What background knowledge do we need to understand God's Word correctly? This presentation is a verse-by-verse exposition of Revelation 1, highlighting the deity of Christ and the great battle between good and evil. It takes us back to the time of ancient cultures right up to the present, showing that apostasy from the truth in the past finds its mirror image in the present. Some other topics explored in this episode include: An overview of Revelation's chiastic structure, the symbols of Revelation, sun worship and its symbols, symbols used as occult communication, the Rabbinic course, and an overview of the time of the end and the 2300-day prophecy. Click here to download the Study Guide for this lecture. http://pdf.amazingdiscoveries.org/Stu... Intro [00:00] Genesis Vs Revelation [1:48] Topics Covered in Revelation [5:26] Sanctuary Language in Revelation [8:01] Seven Blessings [13:18] Chiastic Structure [17:12] Christ and His People vs Satan and His People [24:14] Jeremiah Importance [30:35] Idols in Last Days [32:50] History on Idol Worship [34:30] Women with Cup [41:48] Temples of Death [42:20] More Pagan History [43:01] First Chapter of Revelation [47:40] First Chapter Continued [53:36] Epanadas [54:50] Difference Between Jesus and other gods [58:15] In the Spirit in the Lord's Day [1:03:34] seven churches introduced [1:04:38] Where is Jesus in heaven? [1:05:12] Old Postal Route of Seven Churches [1:06:10] Paul seeing Jesus in the midst of seven candles [1:06:28] Thank God we are not gods [1:07:46] Current State of the World [1:08:15] Revelation 1:13-15 [1:10:38] Revelation 1:16-18 [1:11:45] Revelation 1:19-20 [1:12:38] Ministry of Christ In the Sanctuary [1:15:44] Daniel 8:14 Cleansing of Sanctuary [1:16:32] Rabbinic Curse [1:17:48] Predictions of The Messiah (2300) Prophecy [1:19:27] Hebrews 9:11-12 [1:20:32] Hebrews 9:3 [1:22:32] ~~~ Watch more: https://adtv.watch/Subscribe to our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/Official...Visit our website: https://new.amazingdiscoveries.org/ ~~~~~~~ From ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Me⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Be Good Broadcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ No, I am not going SDA. I just love Walter's love for the Word. I don't love that he thinks Jesus is the Almighty. Eat the meat and spit out the trinitarian and or SDA bones. And as alway... I just rebroadcast publicly available content of those spreading The Word Propagate it. Share it. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Contact⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Me My ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Twitter⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Please Rate or Review on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Apple --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/begoodbroadcast/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/begoodbroadcast/support

The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassuming Ku “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact Drake Bell once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassuming Ku “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact Drake Bell once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassuming Ku “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact Drake Bell once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

The Gospels contain the history of Jesus Christ.-Who is Jesus Christ-- What you believe about Christi will determine your present blessings and your future destiny.-Learn five statements that explain the Person and work of Jesus Christ.

The Gospels contain the history of Jesus Christ.-Who is Jesus Christ-- What you believe about Christi will determine your present blessings and your future destiny.-Learn five statements that explain the Person and work of Jesus Christ.

Meghan is joined by Hannah Stoddard to discuss Joseph Smith and his ongoing role in the Kingdom of God, preparatory to the return of Jesus Christ. Topics Include: - Joseph Smith's key importance- Our individual mandates as disciples of Jesus Christ- What stopped the early saints from building Zion?  What stops us?- Joseph Smith's vision of establishing Zion-Joseph as the latter-day Moses.L. Hannah Stoddard is the lead author of Faith Crisis, Volume 1: We Were NOT Betrayed!, Seer Stone v. Urim & Thummim: Book of Mormon Translation on Trial, Faith Crisis, Volume 2: Behind Closed Doors, Joseph Smith's Plural Wives: Helen Mar Kimball, and A Christ-Centered Home. She is the director of the Joseph Smith Foundation, and producer or director of seven documentary feature films.Nephites in Europe (Episodes 1 & 2, Quest for the Nephite Remnant) (2019)Hidden Bloodlines: The Grail & the Lost Tribes in the Lands of the North (2017)Unlocking the Mystery of the Two Prophets: Revelation 11 Part 1 (2017)The Prophet Joseph: More than we know (2015)Statesmen & Symbols: Prelude to the Restoration (2014)For Our Day: Divinely Sanctioned Governments (2013)For Our Day: Covenant on the Land (2013)In addition to directing Joseph Smith Foundation projects for over a decade, she is often invited to speak on various radio and video programs. Hannah helped direct her first documentary film, beginning at age 16. She has worked as a history and literature teacher, graphic design artist, software developer, videographer, project manager, agriculturist and research assistant. Her work focuses on Church history and doctrine, answers to Latter-day Saint faith crisis questions, educational philosophy, culture, and defending the Prophet Joseph Smith. Hannah's research supports the writings and teachings of ancient and latter-day prophets.

Greetings and welcome- This is our daily devotional for May 18, 2023. Today we continue with our series in the book of Acts with Saul of Tarsus preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ- What an incredible turn of events in the life of the church, and what an incredible reminder for all of us who know the Lord. Thanks for joining us-

"But I have called you friends..." - Jesus Christ What is true friendship? How to we unlock the treasure therein? Christianity and many philosophers have taught us over time the key to true friendship — a mutual sharing of our hearts and minds.  A friendship with the Lord, first and foremost, is possible, but requires our participation and desire. Time invested in prayer is a perfect exercise of friendship and is most pleasing to God! References: John 15:15 Search for More Episodes: https://www.arlingtondiocese.org/searchingformore #SearchingForMore #SFM #Relationship #Jesus

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The LA Standard] Oh, You're on my mind Your on my mind My mind My, my You're on my mind You're on my— My, my— You're on my— You're in my My—mind You're on my mind You're in my mind You're on my Thought I should say That I just like the way you Say my name Then you walk away— Thought I should say Oh baby You really drive me crazy Thought I should seize the day But now I can't escape Now at night I lay away and think of you (Think of you) Now I know there's nothing else left to do Why'd you have to all in With that look on your face That you always had Goddamn, had to laugh It has been a long time “The Dead Mouse” As I trailed behind -king, silently waking in synchronicity and cadence in a triangular formation with his friend, not really a musician but more of a third wheel, the squirming of a small creature under the sole of my special edition Air Force One's which I could only feel, and not hear sent shivers rom up the base of my foot into the bottom of my spine. I thought to myself , “that's a dead mouse.” Not even realizing the semi-humor in it; I was running at full speed away from anything I had thought to love, but honestly God had been working on it's sense of humor in almost-delectable ways. “Oh, I get it .”, i thought to myself once more, before piping out into the silence of the Long Beach air, “You picked the wrong day, Mr. Mouse,” chucking, but under my breath for some reason worried that Deadmau5, or Joel, whichever thing, seemed to be foraging its way deeper into my conscious mind, and further out of my subconscious, where I kept almost everything, especially after Dillon Francis. I hate him. Okay. i guess we hate him. I hate all of them. What? no… I HATE MEN. But that–wasn't true. I loved men—I just hated that they all seemed to need so many women–or plain and simply just one, but that ‘one' was never me, unfortunately, either in their mind, or mine; like -king; Entering his dilapidated apartment, I of course had the urge to clean and remedy it, Egyptian hymns scryed into the walls and the cosmic lights of the universe cast into the ceilings–but, the space was in desperate need of a feminine touch–one I knew not to give to just anyone anymore, as I had done with my first love and all the others, becoming entangled more in the needs of man than my own; Then, I was, as Nick said, a true submissive, and I had been given specific instructions to be weary of the darkness that would result from submitting to the wrong kind–and-while in my mind All Is One, I was all in-and-nothing in love with whatever I had created in my own mind with lust, sapiosexuality, and the love of creativity and imagination all rolled into the goulish overkill of what might have been with any or all of them, had I been born with the right skin tone, the right figure–and of course, the right connections. I woke up the next morning–Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, pissed as all get out–all of my roommates were scrolling drones–room dwellers with less to do than just sit on their phones in bed, not moving much and taking up way too much of my precious alone time, which was rare; I had been given a bunch of particularly annoying roommates; One, a 22-year-old from New York who liked to talk on the phone and drink too much–who apparently had a boyfriend kind enough to pay for her room, but was nowhere to be found, and just-as-well was probably getting along with someone else, as she seemed to need more male attention than I could even stand. I thought, “Maybe some Techno music will make her leave.” “Earplugs still firmly planted in my brain, I queued up ‘Techno House Elephant”, probably opting for something even harder–something like ‘The Shell', by Snails, if she decided to stay around beyond the 30 or 40 minute playtime of the EP- but then again, I myself might just leave by then, as it was reaching towards noon, and, after a disappointing Acai bowl just the night before, I was craving a more put-together one–and though my aversion to the Whole Foods across the way which I still loved, I was growing tired of the place, and probably of all y surroundings–I was stuck with too many people who I didn't like, with no other choice at all really but to just sit through it, unable to afford more privacy and my body unable to work two full time minimum wage jobs. I was horny, hair disheveled, and in bad need of a manicure and pedicure, which I could afford, but hadn't the energy to pursue; It had been a long week, and I was haunted by my failed dreams of becoming someone, anyone other than who I was -likable, of course, but not pretty enough to have any real fun in the city, and of course, anything I was attracted to at all only reminded me of y awful placement as a black girl in a white girl's world. I hadn't thought to be jealous, at least, of jy roommate , which seemed to be her placement in the Matrix: making me jealous that she was beyond petite, toting a child's figure, which of course men seemed to adore – the notion of pedophelia being a blurred line between attraction and sexuality I still had yet to understand. The men I seemed to find myself particularly attracted to were of course out of my league, my sapiosexuality of course always getting the better of me– and now, a new tipping point in the alt-right insanity that had to have been the confines of my inner mind itself. It shouldn't have been bothering me as much as it was, but it was–and there was going to have to be an elemental change in my coping mechanisms, before I altogether dropped off into an intricate world that seemed to be designed to torment me with remnants from an old world; though I was no longer married, it seemed as though there was nothing else really in the world left for me It wasn't working. My roommate had asked very nicely twice for me to turn down my music, but I just wanted her to leave. I needed a moment of calm and clarity to myself, after a week of too much nonsense at all to make anything worth it, I wasn't making any real music, and my mixtape series had come to a plateau, after posting [The Next Level] and feeling that the energy of that mix couldn't be topped– if I was going to be a real DJ, I knew I needed to play that way every time, but it seemed that day that a new energy entirely had taken over for exactly 1 hour 8 minutes, and had resulted in the perfect mix. Now my other callings were beckoning–remembering that I was, in fact, a gifted writer, having just the day before publisted a telling entry based on my surreality, merged with my sexuality coming to a peak and noone to be found in my realm worth breaking my celibacy for; It wasn't fair at all that Drake Bell had to buy his own whippets–nor that I had to be the reciprocate, working at the smokeshop with just enough time to be reminded of my own failures, my childhood dreams, or what seemed to be the curse of a body literally not even a mother could love. I wasn't pretty or well to do enough for anyone I actually liked, and though I could have at any point easily gone to the dark side for what may have been decent dick, It wouldn't have been worth it in any effect to lay down with anyone who actually wanted to lay down with me–or at least who had made it apparent, of course–black dudes I would have been happy to keep just as friends, as if there ever was such a thing between myself, apparently in a body attractive to black men, and repellant to my type “Goddammit” I thought. Drake Bell looked good: too good, actually– the reason I had ignored him intentionally the first time he came into the store, and before I had realized who he was; not that I would have believed Nick if he hadn't come back a couple nights later. “Fuck this.” What's a girl to do in the midsts of being reminded of What? Nevermind. What. I don't know how to word this. Well, try. ‘Nick' Get it? Very funny, God. But God is Funny, Undoubtedly. WHY. Why what? WHY would you do this? By the end of The Shell, I was ready to leave myself; I wanted an acai bowl, and had no intentions of heading towards the gym, but needed to– I was, at least for the moment, okay with my figure–though something about the experience had pissed me off just enough to know that I needed to return to ‘The Hollywood Diet' ; there seemed to be an attraction to the vibration of fame and fortune that was ever fleeting, and with a plethora of one-dimentional fuck-boxes that paraded around in model hot bodies, spending upwards of thousands in whippets – of course, there were the upper echelon women, too– the high bar, classy and well-achieving type I knew I wouldn't see any time between the Graveyard hours of tomfuckery at which I was posted in this Downtown Los Angeles Smokeshop–and it was surprising even to me that I had chosen this employer over Aziz, who had insulted my intelligence enough that I felt no need to explain my disappearance–but now God was playing tricks with my mind. WHY GOD. Because. WHY. Because. IT ISN'T REAL. A strange thing was happening inside my sick and twisted mind ; Repressed sexuality collided with rage in the seat of my soul, and there could be only one thing left to blame for any of it. Hollywood. It's always Hollywood. And it was–always Hollywood. They know how to pick ‘em. That's the point. The miniature pinata, my only real prize from having worked at Higher Livin, for all and none of what it was worth; I felt myself sinking into an abyss of carelessness, on the verge of a bender of sorts, sexual or otherwise–I had again fallen victim to the cruelty of Hollywood's chaotic clammerings of magic and insensible display of wonder, and what could be. Now I had an array of men I desired ranging in a spectrum, not all together alike, but not altogether separate: I did seem to have a type, and a tendency to be attracted to what was clearly out of my league, at least for the moment I knew that Hollywood had had it's cyclops eye on me since my early years, and perhaps even at birth– but I was unaware of how to break the barrier between this– poverty and mediocrity–, and the limelight of success in the entertainment industry. For some or any reason, Drake Bell and his Whippets had caused a flat-out degradation of my exterior and formerly safe reality; My multidimensional world was blending together almost harshly with the taste of reality that I was still working an almost-dead-end job, which required too much of me. I was a easy egg to crack: my attraction to anything could be calculated in an algorithmic cocktail of 1 + 2 = 3. Hollywood could do anything. After throwing Skrillex in my tent of course, there was absolutely no denying how easily I could be manipulated with the wrong type of attention: not to ever think I would be lucky enough to get any dick out of it, but at least I was writing; First about Jon, Then about Sonny, Then About Dillon Francis –Sometimes about Joel, And now about Drake Bell, Who, to be fair, I had begun writing about some time ago in Mexico, when I had decided that all of the characters and personalities of the fourth dimension were still alive out there somewhere, and the only way tha SUPACREE could ever exist is if they did too. I wanted to cry. I felt I was being tormented, played with–and of course, rather than to act in rebellion, I submitted, as probably at least somewhat expected, still upset at any of the aforementioned for living my dream life, or probably just as jealous of the innumerous women that they had their pick of at any moment because of it, my ugly, too-blacl-too-fat self included from anything I might have once wanted, besides a peaceful and restful peace of death, suicide once again in my mind's eye and in my grips. “Maybe I should just do some whippets,” SUPACREE was nowhere to be found, really–but Sunni Blu was making the rounds in another word away, just a parallel and a stones throw from mine. “Fuck it.” –And, I'm not into you, I'm just that miserable I ain't got much to do But think about my every move And every movie I've seen you in, For the moment. At least this Flum gives me a headrush, And just enough Remove my trust, Perhaps, move from this gloomy room I just assume that this is what you do To keep me moving So much for an encore So much in store; A bargain for a robbery, A sob story on your arms; An informant, A mormon, an adorable girl, an honorable martyr, a star, A scar across my heart, For all you are, And all I wanted, Too far gone, But not quite yet forgotten On my awful God: A mockery, we all are Aren't we? Stop. I just can't go on any longer, I– I can't go on anymore. It's just a storefront, it's , It's just a front, or something What do you want from me? What more than just a start, To stop working too hard, At the corner market, (and more on my art) I'm up in arms, And out of armor, All at once “What did you do this for?” –I asked my God, And now, she won't respond, She just laughs harder and harder. Do I scare you? Only a little. Huh. What? Nothing.. I hate you. ihateyou. Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene. They already have. Oh, Christ Almighty. He's not coming. JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY [Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty –WHERERU? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT. Fascinating. Do my eyes deceive me, Or Is there a secret between us: A secret illusion; Should I bury it, Or keep it neatly And unseen, Between my knees, And where you need me? Is there a thing that I should need, But never speak– I'll keep it in my sweet release To dream beliefs of evil Seen, aquamarine revines, And pulsing veins, –and stolen hearts, Not passing judgment, But just passing by To hide, to pass the time To find a high, Align in color Fly, Write another rhyme, Or wire fireflies a transfer of light, Like blue eyes reflect to mine. WHY would you write this? WHY. I hate blue eyes. That's racist. No it isn't. Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed. A coincidence, this is not. I have something for you. I don't need anything from you. That's because I gave you everything you need. Right. I have everything. RIght. So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price. What makes you think I need something? You said you have something for me? Yes I do. You don't seem the gift giving type. I'm not. So, what do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Oh. it's another one. What's he need? Probably nothin, really Oh, it's something. This shouldn't be happening. I agree. why is this bothering me. Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was stil chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue; Man, the Illuminati is high-key hilarious. The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well-dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more as Nick said he was—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE (THE SINGER) WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can. SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? Okay, this is bothering me too much. Okay. Okay. A man in colored graphic motorcycle helmet popped up on a wheelie, aligning with and then passing by me, reminding me of something that had not quite left my mind since the time of its reentry. Come on, Don't let me take this on Come on, I'm unremarkable, Honored, but on one Come on, I'm tired I'm on one You're ok one Come on! Are you alright, my guy? It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Just one look in your eyes It's gonna kill me inside Kill me inside Kill me inside Now, my idol— Rest your eyes and Set your mind on Fire On fire Come on! I can shrug it right off, If I want I can rub it right off on the morning With soap Are you suffering? What! Have you lost God? God, this is awful, God, I don't want it no more And I'm on one Gotta be on love Gotta be on something Watching the stars Coming on as I follow, They fall in my honor And I'm not a God— Come on, I'm just watching it all From my awesome apartment Or loft, Turn it off, though, I'm done with it God, this is awful You turn me on And the world keeps on turning I'm falling apart In the heart of Los Angeles Honestly, God, You're a Dog, (And adorable) I should be jotting my thoughts, But I'm lost in a document, Mocking my mantras And talking to God, All in awe with the colors of Love Come on. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

On this day –and it had to be the day I had just go happened to be flush with ideas, filled with music and enough anger and angst to have thrown or smashed something The energy seated deep inside me wanted–needed to explode into a fit of fury and rage; but the calm forces of love and nature overtook and relaxed me–and though I envisioned myself tearing the world apart, I remained explicitly calm and collected, breathing in a shallow heap beneath my breath and through a layers of thick clothing, I walked alongside the pavement nearly wherever I was going with a stout and callous, yet not altogether unforgiving faith,my misjudgement of what had gathered around me in a collusion of Dammit. Fuck, I know I had it. That's why I told you to complete the thought before searching the word. Well, no going back now. How could you even use a word to describe thisfeeling? UGH. no Maybe it's not a word. –and here it comes. Maybe it's music. Maybe it's– Stillex *Skrillex. Right. …Does that exist? ITDOESEXIST. Stop doing this. Stop doing that. What are you doing? I'm working On What. My Problems. I thought this was a different series. IT was. oh . Now it's this one. Which one is this? The other one… The other–?? GERALD. Oh no. It's this dude. TUrn this off. NO Turn it off NO. TURN IT OFF. NOW. Ok mom. ok . [shuts off lights] …goodnight. _-goodnight –goodnight. …. …. ….. TURN IT– Now what happened? Now we're in a black hole. cute . Oh. Oh. Oh. he's cute. …oh. ____ NOW IT”S THE NEXT PART. Next part: Welcome to multidimensionality, folks. What is it. This is it. tater tots. What? gimme tater tots. why . #IT”SSEASON6BITCH. HOW– THis show's only been on for two years; –yeah. how does it have SIX SEASONS? I HATE YOU. –YUR FACE. Where is Skrillex? ………. …………… … … …? Uh. you're welcome. !x? What? GERALD. What Oh yeah, this dude exists apparently. CHeck it 0utt. What for? I don't know, man. Just a feeling. DOn't D0 ThiS in LA ok . DO THIS INSTEAD: Jesus Christ Almighty! Quick! I need a side hustle! THE GODDESS PRISHNA I just made $800 on a one minute video. (Cool, keep it classy.) But I wanna do the R-Rated Version. IF it's a movie about Skrillex it's gonna be an R Rated Movie. RATED NC-17?! I'm sorry, guys. IT”S RATED X? WHAT? Check this out. What. Some girl wrote a movie about Skrillex and the MPAA GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘Who rates the movies?' GOOGLE MPAA (See, I was right. ) tater tots. ANYWAY. Ugh, Okay, now the novel part. “I'm probably going to kill one of these dudes if I don't let out.” The celibacy was paining me; I hadn't been myself at all lately much, besides at what was now my only job, after obstinately GOOGLE Are you sure you know what that means? … … .. yes… *this is how often I think about tater tots. –stubbornly adhering to an opinion, purpose, or course in spite of reason, arguments, or persuasion. obstinate resistance to change. : not easily subdued, remedied, or removed. right again. “BLŪ” disappears. (now back to the novel.) alright . The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” [The LA Standard] Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

On this day –and it had to be the day I had just go happened to be flush with ideas, filled with music and enough anger and angst to have thrown or smashed something The energy seated deep inside me wanted–needed to explode into a fit of fury and rage; but the calm forces of love and nature overtook and relaxed me–and though I envisioned myself tearing the world apart, I remained explicitly calm and collected, breathing in a shallow heap beneath my breath and through a layers of thick clothing, I walked alongside the pavement nearly wherever I was going with a stout and callous, yet not altogether unforgiving faith,my misjudgement of what had gathered around me in a collusion of Dammit. Fuck, I know I had it. That's why I told you to complete the thought before searching the word. Well, no going back now. How could you even use a word to describe thisfeeling? UGH. no Maybe it's not a word. –and here it comes. Maybe it's music. Maybe it's– Stillex *Skrillex. Right. …Does that exist? ITDOESEXIST. Stop doing this. Stop doing that. What are you doing? I'm working On What. My Problems. I thought this was a different series. IT was. oh . Now it's this one. Which one is this? The other one… The other–?? GERALD. Oh no. It's this dude. TUrn this off. NO Turn it off NO. TURN IT OFF. NOW. Ok mom. ok . [shuts off lights] …goodnight. _-goodnight –goodnight. …. …. ….. TURN IT– Now what happened? Now we're in a black hole. cute . Oh. Oh. Oh. he's cute. …oh. ____ NOW IT”S THE NEXT PART. Next part: Welcome to multidimensionality, folks. What is it. This is it. tater tots. What? gimme tater tots. why . #IT”SSEASON6BITCH. HOW– THis show's only been on for two years; –yeah. how does it have SIX SEASONS? I HATE YOU. –YUR FACE. Where is Skrillex? ………. …………… … … …? Uh. you're welcome. !x? What? GERALD. What Oh yeah, this dude exists apparently. CHeck it 0utt. What for? I don't know, man. Just a feeling. DOn't D0 ThiS in LA ok . DO THIS INSTEAD: Jesus Christ Almighty! Quick! I need a side hustle! THE GODDESS PRISHNA I just made $800 on a one minute video. (Cool, keep it classy.) But I wanna do the R-Rated Version. IF it's a movie about Skrillex it's gonna be an R Rated Movie. RATED NC-17?! I'm sorry, guys. IT”S RATED X? WHAT? Check this out. What. Some girl wrote a movie about Skrillex and the MPAA GOOGLE SEARCH: ‘Who rates the movies?' GOOGLE MPAA (See, I was right. ) tater tots. ANYWAY. Ugh, Okay, now the novel part. “I'm probably going to kill one of these dudes if I don't let out.” The celibacy was paining me; I hadn't been myself at all lately much, besides at what was now my only job, after obstinately GOOGLE Are you sure you know what that means? … … .. yes… *this is how often I think about tater tots. –stubbornly adhering to an opinion, purpose, or course in spite of reason, arguments, or persuasion. obstinate resistance to change. : not easily subdued, remedied, or removed. right again. “BLŪ” disappears. (now back to the novel.) alright . The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so. “You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited “What about it?” , I asked unassumingly “That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded— “Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of. His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background “What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?” Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly. It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely.. TIMMY TURNER open the registers. CASHIERS Fuck that, bro— —no, way, man —on God— TIMMY TURNER produces a Glock. OH SHIT —OH HELL NAW. The cashiers raise their arms in surrender. TIMMY TURNER Now open the register. —Alright man, ok Oh, fuck, man— [The cashiers obey his command—the registers spring open, clinging.] TIMMY TURNER Cool, now—in the bag. CASHIERS All of it?! Come on, man. TIMMY TURNER Oh yeah, I want all that shit! [He leaves, palming a soda on the way out.] TIMMY TURNER Suckas. Timmy Turner- Acoustic Version, Various Artists BLŪ / SUPACREE skates to work in the heart of downtown Los Angeles 3 weeks later: Cosmo. What. Get up. What. What do you want. Get up. Stop touching me! No! Get up! What?! —just get up. What is it? It's Timmy. TIMMY. TIMMY WHAT. He made a wish. He—he did?! YES. WHERE IS HE? —I don't know. INT/EXT. SMOKESHOP - 5:50 AM GET LOW It's too early for this. Can I get some whippets? Yes. LEGENDS: EPISODE 3 “Hoes Love Whippets” [The LA Standard] Timmy, what happened? ...I don't remember. The True Origins of the Bampheramphs are Unknown. I know what they are. No you don't--nobody knows. Yah. I'm nobody. *Running at exactly 140 BPM* SAMMI! SAMMI! SAMMI!! WHAT? Listen to me! I'm—listening to something else— What is it? Something more important. That cannot be! Why?! LISTEN TO ME: What?! Something very strange is about to happen to you. To me? Yes, to you— I just said that. Just making sure. LISTEN TO ME: I've been listening… Bampheramph Camp Welcome to your dwelling. This is disgusting. I don't care. I'm beat! Yeah, me too. Dibs on top!!! Aw, no fair! [he jumps onto the top bunk; amattress spring quickly protrudes from the top of the bed] Oh, well, never mind. [another camper opens the bathroom door, to find only the foundation of plumbing for a toilet] Uhhh… where's the toilet? (From afar) It's...over here. What. You're welcome. You're welcome?! For what! Not all the cabins even have toilets. That's seriously disturbing. It's supposed to be— And why is the bathtub separate from the toilet— —or where the toilet should be— Right— Because— there are 43 of us in this quadrant; some of you are gonna have to shit and shower at the same time. What! 43 of us?! Are you blind? There's like 16 of us! I'm pretty sure there's only 9; we lost those guys. [a group of dilapidated campers huddled in a pile] Nah, they're alive… well, maybe like five of them. [immediately, the front door swings open— a drove of campers come pouring in] Alright guys, single file lines. [not even close] Perfect. What the fuck. Who are they?! Who are you? What the fuck! There's 10 beds! Learn to share. Get off me! GET OFF THE FLOOR. Mm—no, probably not… Ughuhhhuhhh—- [blows gym whistle] OH MY GOD! THEN GET UP. I'm so drunk. I've been drunk for three days. Flicker the lights. I WANT MY MOM. Too bad—she's with me! Noooo! The rise free your mind>< I still care Cosmo and Wanda share stories of their lives as Fairies (before becoming Godparents) with their androgynous offspring. Poof, this is reckless. You can't just go granting every wish he makes-- Why not? One, It's dangerou-- He isn't evil. Secondly, it's irresponsible. SUPACREE TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!! DRAKE BELL Goddamn, girl. SUPACREE SHUT UP, DRAKE— DRAKE WHAT I DO?! SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty. SUPACREE not you, dumbass. DRAKE continues dusting. DRAKE BELL enters the suite. CONT'D This dumbass. She attempts another huff from the empty can SUPACREE this shits out. DRAKE BELL Jesus Christ. JESUS CHRIST WHAT? BOTH NOT YOU. SUPACREE CONT'D —you get my whippets? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

From a  world series to being fractured and broken and now saved, that was Kevin Santiago's life story. Found himself miserable after all the trials he faced unplanned and unexpectedly and even attempt suicide, but everything change when he found the way, the truth, and the life following Jesus Christ. In this episode, Kevin shares the life-changing experience that lead him to the path he was taking right now, as a coach and as a follower of Jesus Christ. “Be a coach and a team player”- Kevin Santiago   You don't want to miss:   How does he see the clarity? Servant leadership His way of thinking change after the suicidal thought Finding life purpose, following Jesus Christ What happens inside the prison The prison ministry How does he deal with anxiety and depression    Guest Link: Email:  Social: @kpsantiago10   Tweetable quote's: “society's starving for  authenticity and genuineness “  It's just a game” “Were not very good when we're self focuses”-Trent “When we talk about these decisions we make it's not always the things we do and sometimes things we don't do”-Trent    Links and resources   Download my free Cheat Sheet: The Top Ten Behaviors of Leaders that are great at coaching Follow me on my Social Media Accounts: https://linktr.ee/TrentMClark For more about me and what I do, check out my website.     Please make sure you hit SUBSCRIBE, so you don't miss out on any of our valuable episodes and lessons coming up soon. Please continue listening and rate Winners Find A Way 5 stars if you enjoyed today's episode! We work hard to find value-delivering stories from 1% leaders for you every episode.  

From a  world series to being fractured and broken and now saved, that was Kevin Santiago's life story. Found himself miserable after all the trials he faced unplanned and unexpectedly and even attempt suicide, but everything change when he found the way, the truth, and the life following Jesus Christ. In this episode, Kevin shares the life-changing experience that lead him to the path he was taking right now, as a coach and as a follower of Jesus Christ. “Be a coach and a team player”- Kevin Santiago You don't want to miss:   How does he see the clarity? Servant leadership His way of thinking change after the suicidal thought Finding life purpose, following Jesus Christ What happens inside the prison The prison ministry How does he deal with anxiety and depression    Guest Link: Email:  Social: @kpsantiago10   Tweetable quote's: “society's starving for  authenticity and genuineness “  It's just a game” “Were not very good when we're self focuses”-Trent “When we talk about these decisions we make it's not always the things we do and sometimes things we don't do”-Trent    Links and resources   Download my free Cheat Sheet: The Top Ten Behaviors of Leaders that are great at coaching Follow me on my Social Media Accounts: https://linktr.ee/TrentMClark For more about me and what I do, check out my website.     Please make sure you hit SUBSCRIBE, so you don't miss out on any of our valuable episodes and lessons coming up soon. Please continue listening and rate Winners Find A Way 5 stars if you enjoyed today's episode! We work hard to find value-delivering stories from 1% leaders for you every episode.  

(Click on any of these links to be taken to their respective pages) Instagram: TCV_Podcast TikTok: TCV_Podcast Support this podcast through Anchor, the best way to create your own podcast. In this episode, Noah and Kessler discuss How God Judges aborted babies/babies that die prematurely How God judges those who have never heard of Jesus Christ What this should cause us to do Bible Verse(s): Romans 2:12-16 Make sure to follow us on Instagram, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, like, comment with any questions or ideas, and share with your friends.

Now You Know Series. 1 of 2. ACU Sunday Series. Watch these videos at- https://youtu.be/pj1TNrciyZc   What is Revelation? The Holy Bible: A Witness of Jesus Christ What is Doctrine? The Book of Abraham What Are the Book of Mormon Gold Plates? Who was Joseph Smith? God Loves His Children The Judgment of God or Final Judgment Where Did the Book of Mormon Come From? What Is the Purpose and Meaning of Life? Joseph Smith's First Vision How the Church of Jesus Christ Is Organized Joseph Smith and Masonry What Happens to Our Bodies and Spirits After We Die? Where Did We Come From? Missionaries of Jesus Christ The Word of Wisdom: A Health Code   Learn More: Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Revelations of Joseph Smith: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Ongoing Prophetic Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Subscribe to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the latest videos: http://bit.ly/1M0iPwY​ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/churchofjesu​... Twitter: https://twitter.com/churchnewsroom​ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ChurchOfJes​... Website: ChurchOfJesusChrist.org The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Now You Know Series. 1 of 2. ACU Sunday Series. Watch these videos at- https://youtu.be/pj1TNrciyZc   What is Revelation? The Holy Bible: A Witness of Jesus Christ What is Doctrine? The Book of Abraham What Are the Book of Mormon Gold Plates? Who was Joseph Smith? God Loves His Children The Judgment of God or Final Judgment Where Did the Book of Mormon Come From? What Is the Purpose and Meaning of Life? Joseph Smith’s First Vision How the Church of Jesus Christ Is Organized Joseph Smith and Masonry What Happens to Our Bodies and Spirits After We Die? Where Did We Come From? Missionaries of Jesus Christ The Word of Wisdom: A Health Code   Learn More: Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Revelations of Joseph Smith: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Ongoing Prophetic Revelation: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/s...​ Subscribe to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the latest videos: http://bit.ly/1M0iPwY​ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/churchofjesu​... Twitter: https://twitter.com/churchnewsroom​ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ChurchOfJes​... Website: ChurchOfJesusChrist.org The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

Disciple Up #200 Looking Back To Look Forward By Louie Marsh, 2-24-2021   Intro – Open, then play opening of episode #1.   The Value of History – a Christian view of history – watching God and man act, as God slowly works out his plan for the age in spite of our sin and folly.   First Episode Discussion of the word Disciple   DISCIPLE   (1) Usually a substantive (μαθητής, mathētés, "a learner," from manthánō, "to learn";   Latin discipulus, "a scholar"):   The word is found in the Bible only in the Gospels and Acts. But it is good Greek, in use from Herodotus down, and always means the pupil of someone, in contrast to the master or teacher   In all cases it implies that the person not only accepts the views of the teacher, but that he is also in practice an adherent. A disciple is a “follower,” someone who adheres completely to the teachings of another, making them his rule of life and conduct.   The word has several applications. In the widest sense it refers to those who accept the teachings of anyone, not only in belief but in life. Thus the disciples of John the Baptist (Matthew 9:14; Luke 7:18; John 3:25); also of the Pharisees (Matthew 22:16; Mark 2:18; Luke 5:33); of Moses (John 9:28).   But its most common use is to designate the adherents of Jesus. (a) In the widest sense (Matthew 10:42; Luke 6:17; John 6:66, and often).   “42And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.”” (Matthew 10:42, ESV) It is the only name for Christ's followers in the Gospels. But (b) especially the Twelve Apostles, even when they are called simply the disciples (Matthew 10:1; Matthew 11:1; Matthew 12:1, et al.).   In the Acts, after the death and ascension of Jesus, disciples are those who confess Him as the Messiah, Christians (Acts 6:1-2, 7; Acts 9:36 (feminine, mathétria); Acts 11:26, "The disciples were called Christians"). Even half-instructed believers who had been baptized only with the baptism of John are disciples (Acts 19:1-4).   The disciple of Christ today may be described in the words of Farrar, as "one who believes His doctrines, rests upon His sacrifice, imbibes His spirit, and imitates His example."   Jesus used the term disciple but never Christian. The first instance of the word Christian is found in the book of Acts: “The disciples were first called Christians in Antioch” (Acts 11:26). Most Bible scholars agree that it is unlikely that the believers themselves thought up the name “Christians.” The early church had other names for themselves, such as “disciples” (Acts 13:52; 20:1; 21:4) and “saints” (Romans 1:7; 1 Corinthians 16:1; Ephesians 1:1) and “brothers” (1 Corinthians 1:9; 1 Peter 3:8). The name “Christian,” meaning “belonging to Christ,” appears to have been invented by those outside of the church. It was most likely meant as a derogatory term. Only two other times does the word appear in the New Testament (Acts 26:28; 1 Peter 4:16). The idea that the term Christian was originally a pejorative finds some support in 1 Peter 4:16: “However, if you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed, but praise God that you bear that name.” Thoughts on: Personal Relationship with Jesus Christ What does this mean to me? What does this mean to my listeners? How can I improve on this – how can I communicate this better?   THE “DISCIPLE UP LOW DOWN” From Ep. 1 The Low Down on the “Christian Ghetto.” When it comes to engaging culture as a Disciple or followers of Jesus there's several errors that we see over and over again in church history. You can sum them up in three words – Capitulation, Isolation, Communication. Capitulation. This is probably the most common response of the church to culture. It's common because it's unconscious. We are so absorbed by our culture that we don't even see how we are surrendering the Gospel to the culture. You can see this in the church of the south that taught slavery for blacks was God's will. You can see it in the churches in Germany who supported Hitler. Today we see this in churches that almost automatically accept and seek to advance whatever the cause of the moment is. From women's lib to ecology all the way to gay marriage it's most common in theologically liberal churches but can be seen everywhere as well. Isolation is the exact opposite of Capitulation. This occurred quickly in church history. All the monks and people who fled into the desert to live alone or in a small community are examples of this.  All of the pole sitting monks – like Simon the Stylite (now a saint in the Catholic church) who lived on top of a pole for decades. They were known as Pillar Saints and were deemed holy because they disengaged from their culture as much as possible. Ironically in so doing they created their own culture of asceticism. Links on this in the show notes on Discipleup.org. Isolation comes in degrees of course. There aren't many people who can completely disengage and live in a monastery.  But we can create a subculture within our own and that's exactly what we do. We have Christian versions of just about any business you can think of. From Christian music, books and movies, to Christian stores, people are pressured to only partake of those and shun all the bad stuff the world is putting out. Steve Taylor captured this brilliantly in his song, “Guilty By Association” on his Meltdown album way back in 1984 – when they still made albums by the way -  when he said… “Only drink milk from a Christian Cow”… what else can I say to that but halle-moooo-yah! Links to Steve's music are in the show notes at discipleup.org. My name for this is the Christian Ghetto. By cutting ourselves off from the culture we make it all but impossible to obey Christ's commands to “make disciples.” Now you might respond, “Hey if we build it they will come.” I say not only is that unscriptural but it's been tried for centuries and has failed for centuries as well! And then there's communication. This of course is what we're supposed to be doing. Being in the world but not of it. Engaging our culture, understand and taking part in it when and where we can with a clear conscience. Being light in the ever increasing darkness instead of hiding our light under a basket that's hidden inside our little Christian Ghetto. Communication is rare because it's hard and complicated. We won't always agree with each other about what we should be doing. How do we show our world that God loves them but does not approve of what they do? We must engage and engage with them in way that they find meaningful. If that makes us feel uncomfortable then that's the price we must pay to really love the world that way Jesus does. The incarnation and redemption on the cross was anything but comfortable or acceptable for that matter.  If we really are followers of Jesus then we must be willing to go to any length to, in the words of an old hymn, “Rescue the perishing, care for the dying, Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.” In the end engaging the culture isn't about the culture or you and me at all. It's all about them, those outside of Christ. They are ones we must bring to Jesus. Their souls are what's at stake. We cannot and will not be able to do that if we choose to remain safe, sound and comfortable in our little Christian Ghettos. So disciple – are you willing to Disciple Up, what are you willing to do to rescue the perishing? And that's my Disciple Up Low Down on the Christian Ghetto. Let me know what you think by e-mailing me at louie@discipleup.org.    

Do you know the true Jesus Christ- What do we mean by true- The one revealed in Scripture- And on this edition of The Truth Pulpit, Pastor Don Green will show you why such a belief is the key to salvation. --TheTruthPulpit.com

Romans 12: Living Life Study 04: Transformation Romans 12:2 Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. When you became a Christian, if you are one, is that God is transforming you into the image of Jesus Christ. That is part of what the Apostle Paul has been saying and in the preceding verse 1, had encouraged them in response to this news, to worship God with all their minds and their bodies. It is transformation of mind and body! That is worship! How do we do that, you may ask? It is a fundamental of living a Christian life – transformation! WOW! The process of transformation starts with the Holy Spirit who lives within you, who is your seal of salvation and is the agent of change in your life. This transformation starts in the mind through reading the Bible and praying! Listening to God is part of prayer! Are you aware of that? Of course the world we live in has many different values to that of the Christian or indeed the universal church. People will try to get you to not change and get you to compromise  and adopt or maintain habits and behaviours that are distinctly not Christian. But we, as the Church, are to resist this. We can resist in the power of the Holy Spirit. Because if we resist in our strength and confidence in ourselves, then we are destined to fail. But by using the power of the Holy Spirit, who lives within you remember, we can prevail, overcome temptations and be transformed into the image of God the Son, Jesus Christ…  What are you personally struggling against? What is your church struggling with? Accede to the impulse of the Holy Spirit who is quietly urging you, prompting you and encouraging you. Then as you learn to listen to His urges, you will as Paul acknowledges, know what God’s will is for you in your life – not only transformation but also what you are to do and how you are to go about it to the praise and glory of God – Father, Son and Spirit. We hand not just our bodies over to worship Jesus, but also our minds! What you input to your mind will dominate your mind! Sins start in the mind, then transfer to your will. Remember, if you are struggling with sin, confess it quickly to the God and ask to be continually filled and controlled by the Spirit! If the church were to be a lighthouse to the world, this world would be changed to the glory of God and God alone! Worship God – body, mind and will. Part of living life wholly for God in the 21st century. Right Mouse click or tap here to save this Episode as an audio mp3 file Click on the appropriate link below to subscribe, share or download our iPhone App!

Script – https://talkingtomormons.com/mormon-7-9-who-will-judge-us-at-the-last-day Moroni has, to finish his father’s record, since Mormon has died. Moroni teaches that God is unchangeable and is the same yesterday, today, and forever – but Joseph Smith strongly disagrees. Who will judge us at the last day? Will it be a hierarchy of judges, or only Jesus Christ? What happens […] The post Mormon 7-9 appeared first on Talking to Mormons.

Script – https://talkingtomormons.com/mormon-7-9-who-will-judge-us-at-the-last-day Moroni has, to finish his father’s record, since Mormon has died. Moroni teaches that God is unchangeable and is the same yesterday, today, and forever – but Joseph Smith strongly disagrees. Who will judge us at the last day? Will it be a hierarchy of judges, or only Jesus Christ? What happens […] The post Mormon 7-9 appeared first on Talking to Mormons.

What’s really going on behind the adversities and attacks we experience because we are followers of Jesus Christ? What do we need to know most of all in the midst of these many trials that come upon us and surround us with increasing intensity?

To Learn More About Plenteous Redemption:https://plenteousredemption.com/ To Learn More About Pastor Phillip C. Pinkston:https://goodmanroadbaptist.org/Interview With A Bible Believer | Pastor Philip Pinkston Questions:What is your name and where do you serve Jesus Christ? Tell us about the immediate members of your family?  Early Life:Where did you grow up? What was life like for you as you grew up, what was the religious atmosphere? Were you a rebellious or obedient teenager?Who was influential in your early life, in terms of preparing you for what would become your future? Adult Life / Ministry:At what age were you saved, and how did you come to know the Lord Jesus Christ?How did you meet your Mrs. Priscilla and how did you convince her to marry you?How did you meet, how did you finally convince her?At what point in your life did you come to be interested in serving the Lord?How did you end up here in Southaven?And what was your initial role here at Goodman Road Baptist Church?After serving in the capacity as the Assistant Pastor for some time, you then came to be the Pastor, tell us a little about that process?Make sure to talk about Jim GatlinMake sure to express brother Phil's patience in becoming the pastor was a blessing.From your perspective, what is the spiritual condition of the Memphis, TN, and North Mississippi areas?What has the King James Bible meant to your ministry? How does your daily life reflect your faith in Jesus Christ?What advice would you give young men just getting started in the ministry? Comparison/Contrast Questions:Call or Text?Book or Ebook?Math or Science?Coke or Pepsi?Cats or Dogs?Android or IOS?Sunrise or Sunset?Laundry or Dishes?Mornings or Nights?Coffee or Tea?Fruits or Vegetables?Sweet or Salty?Mountains or Oceans?Africa or Asia?City or Country?Summer or Winter?Serious or Sarcastic?

Well ! What will people say if you tell them about Jesus Christ ? What would they say if you told them that you have seen a miracle ? What would they say if you told them that Jesus Christ is alive ? What would they say if you told them that He speaks to you from the Holy Bible ? What would they say if you told them that you can perceive the sin in their lives ? What would they say if you told them that the Holy Spirit has shown you things about the future ? What will they say once you walk away ? What will they REALLY think of you ? Does it matter to you ? Does it matter to God ? What will God say ? Proverbs 22:1 King James Version (KJV) 22 A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.” What is “new” about Jesus’ new commandment? How does our love rise to the level of the love of Jesus Christ? What is so significant about Jesus washing our feet and feeding us a Meal? Join us as we dig into some of the powerful truths Jesus taught right before He was betrayed into the hands of sinners! Truths we can rely on completely!

God’s love for humanity is so obvious in John 3:16 that we sometimes ignore it. His love is also signposted throughout and in humanity and through the story of the Bible. This sermon seeks to explore God and His love for humanity by looking at three things: Why did God choose to save us? Why did it have to be Jesus Christ? What should our response be to such outpouring of the Creator’s love?

Do you have an attitude of gratitude? Sometimes it seems that we have every reason in the world to feel sorry for ourselves. Corona, job problems, illnesses, divorces, bad finances, whatever it is, we all seem to have something that can pull us down. But, is it possible to flip the screen and look at everything that we have that has blessed us. What about all the people that have sacrificed before me to give me the great country that we have? What about those people that taught me about faith in Jesus Christ? What about that person that connected me to the person I married and now have created a family? In this show, Merrill and Linda take a few minutes to discuss not just Memorial Day, but all the things that we choose to remember as blessings in our lives. This is an active process of doing things to remind us of what we need to be grateful for, even in difficult times!Take a minute and thank someone that has blessed your life. Support the show (https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=0Gu_CU51XtrK1z7cJxUO4BlOgzML2iPZFzYxn5WvnE-59-sq_NHQrti0JG6z2k84mOVEWm&country.x=US&locale.x=US)

**Topics discussed:** 1. He talks about his early life 2. His future plans in psychology 3. And how the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has helped him grow closer to Christ. **Links mentioned in this episode:** * https://www.churchofjesuschris... Topics discussed: He talks about his early life His future plans in psychology And how the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has helped him grow closer to Christ. Links mentioned in this episode: https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2020/04/31gong?lang=eng Join a class: icl.churchofjesuschrist.org Questions What did you learn from Adam that could help you strengthen your conversion to Jesus Christ? What do you learn from Elder gong about strengthening your faith in Christ? This podcast is hosted by ZenCast.fm

Discussion Questions: Paul "struggles" in prayer for the Colossian believers. Who has the Lord burdened your heart to pray for like this? Paul prays that their "hearts may be encouraged" as God's love for them becomes real to them not just intellectually, but as something they feel. Can you think of times that the reality of God's love for you has encouraged your heart? Discuss the elements of Paul's prayer in Colossians 2:2. How could you pray these same things for the people you identified in Question 1? Discuss what it means to "receive Christ Jesus as Lord"? What is the significance of receiving Him as "Christ"? What is the significance of receiving Him as "Jesus"? What is the significance of receiving Him as "Lord"? How does the Hebrew metaphor of "walking" help us understand what it means to follow Jesus Christ? What does it mean that Jesus is "the path"? Discuss the images Paul uses of being "rooted" in Christ, "built up" in Christ, and "established" in the faith. What does it mean that Jesus is "the soil," "the foundation," and "the cement"? Discuss the meaning and application of John Henry Jowett's statement: "Gratitude is a vaccine, an antitoxin, and an antiseptic."

The Doctrine of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ – What’s the World Coming To Notes Second Coming of Jesus Christ Discussion Guide

The Reign of Grace - Part I: How is Adam connected to Jesus Christ? What is typology? Part one looks at the reign of sin as a result of Adam's "transgression".

Plenteous RedemptionInterview With A Bible Believer: Justin Wittlin When I think of Justin Wittlin, I think of faithful Christian living. I had the tremendous blessing of sitting down with my good friend Justin Wittlin. I have often said, I don't believe it's possible to meet a better man than Justin Wittlin. The Bible says we are to be lovers of good men, and through the course of this interview, you will learn the amazing details that brought one of the best of men to the knowledge of the truth.  Introduction: 1. What is your name and what church do you attend? 2. Briefly tell us about the members of your immediate family (wife, children, etc.)  Childhood/Early Life: Where did you grow up? What was life like as you grew up, from childhood to teenage years?Did you grow up in a Christian home? If not, what was the background of your early life?Throughout your childhood and teenage years, were you rebellious or obedient?You have a unique and "New Yorkish" relationship with your family, tell us a little about your parents and family background?  Adult Life:What direction did your life take after high school?You were involved quite a bit in business, how did that help you overall in life? You and your wife Danielle were at very distant ends of the personality spectrum when you met, how did you meet her and elaborate on how different you were from each other? You had a great experience as you began searching for truth, tell us about when you were baptized before you were saved?  Ministry: At what age were you saved and how did you come to know the Lord? You were in a unique situation with Kent Hovind after you trusted the Lord, can you tell a little about that? How did you come across James Knox and the Bible Baptist Church?Back in tune with your faithful work ethic, you worked full time and attended the Deland School of The Bible, how did the Bible School help you? Who in life has been your greatest influence?How does your daily life reflect your faith in Jesus Christ?What has the King James Bible meant to you in your life? Final Questions: What would you do differently if you could start all over?What advice would you give young people just starting the Christian life? Funny Comparisons: - Call - Text - Book - eBook- Email - Letter- Driver - Passenger- Coke - Pepsi - Cats - Dogs - Android - iOS - Sunrise - Sunset - Laundry - Dishes - Mornings - Nights - Coffee - Tea - Fruits - Veggies - Sweet - Salty - Mountains - Ocean - Africa - Asia - City - Country - Sarcastic - Serious Conclusion: From normal life as a teenager that excelled at whatsoever, he put his mind to, from a conservative business owner that stumbled upon a little light, to the prepper concerned the world would soon burn, eventually, his thirst and hunger for truth caused much light to break through the darkness. As a result of our God's desire to give that light along with brother Justin's willingness to submit to that light, his sins were forgiven, he now has access to everlasting truth, and the body of Christ has added to its many members a faithful servant. Thank you for listening, and God bless. The Bible Baptist Church: https://jameswknox.org/The Deland School of The BIBLE: https://dsbkjv.com/

The culture is confused about Easter. What could chocolate bunnies and painted eggs possibly have to do with the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ? What’s so “good” about Good Friday? In this series, our outreach radio team first hits the streets to go, tell, and broadcast real-time conversations with everyday people about the true meaning of Easter in the hope that all who hear the Good News will come to believe. We then close each episode back in the studio opening Scripture to see how we might each relate to the various characters involved in the crucifixion account as we consider the ultimate decision we all face: what to do with the Son of God? Listen to the teaser trailer for this series now!

ersecution is coming. Be Ready! Isn't that encouraging? It's what Jesus said and so Pastor Sean teaches what that may look like and what our response should be and can be. Am I proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ? What kind of persecution should I expect for proclaiming the gospel? What is a disciple? Am I looking more and more like Jesus? How can I look more like Jesus, my teacher, as one of His disciples? Let's look into Matthew 10 and hear what Jesus tells us and hear Him say "Do not be afraid."

Merry Christmas, from Grace Gospel Fellowship---Today, we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ- What a joyous occasion this is---This past Tuesday, for our Christmas Eve service, Pastor Kent W. Clark turned to John 1 to paint a picture of what God has done for us through His Son, Jesus Christ---In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. He then created Adam and Eve, who sinned against Him. Because of this, we were separated from our creator- there was no longer that sweet fellowship.--But the Bible, from cover to cover, declares the very truth that we're celebrating today- Our eternal God became flesh- He lived a spotless life, went up on Calvary, and died in our room, stead, and place- He paid our debt- Through Him, we've been reconciled with our magnificent creator---What a beautiful and glorious truth---Make time today, just you, wherever you are, to contemplate- He came for you, He died for you, He loves you-

Merry Christmas, from Grace Gospel Fellowship---Today, we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ- What a joyous occasion this is---This past Tuesday, for our Christmas Eve service, Pastor Kent W. Clark turned to John 1 to paint a picture of what God has done for us through His Son, Jesus Christ---In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. He then created Adam and Eve, who sinned against Him. Because of this, we were separated from our creator- there was no longer that sweet fellowship.--But the Bible, from cover to cover, declares the very truth that we're celebrating today- Our eternal God became flesh- He lived a spotless life, went up on Calvary, and died in our room, stead, and place- He paid our debt- Through Him, we've been reconciled with our magnificent creator---What a beautiful and glorious truth---Make time today, just you, wherever you are, to contemplate- He came for you, He died for you, He loves you-

This and the next two messages will be an in-depth look at the significance of the three gifts presented to the Christ Child by the Magi: The Gifts of Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. What does each particular gift say about its recipient Jesus Christ? What does it say about who He is and what He has done? This message is about Gold: A Gift Fit for a King.  

If there’s been a rising chorus of lament over young people in the church, it’s been the rate at which young people are graduating from high school and leaving the church. For several years now, research projects have identified this post high school exodus as a growing concern. But in their recently released book, David Kinnaman and Mark Matlock share research that helps us understand why those who stay, decide to stay. What are the youth ministry practices that build resilient disciples of Jesus Christ? What can we do to turn tide on this discouraging trend? We’ll talk to our friend Mark Matlock about the new book, Faith for Exiles, on this episode of Youth Culture Matters.

Isaiah 11.1-10, Psalm 72.1-7, 18-19, Romans 15.4-13, Matthew 3.1-12; Is there a Weird Methodist Twitter? Does God really rectify ALL things in Jesus Christ? What happens when you depoliticize justice? These questions and more on this episode of Strangely Warmed with guest Ben Crosby.

Isaiah 11.1-10, Psalm 72.1-7, 18-19, Romans 15.4-13, Matthew 3.1-12; Is there a Weird Methodist Twitter? Does God really rectify ALL things in Jesus Christ? What happens when you depoliticize justice? These questions and more on this episode of Strangely Warmed with guest Ben Crosby.

Why are we afraid of Jesus Christ? What are we really afraid of...Are we basing our potential salvation, freedom and deliverance off of someone else’s Jesus experience? Are you afraid to be associated with Jesus because of what he represents? Based off of how others believe or serve? Let’s Talk About It --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Which takes more faith to believe in? The evidence of the Big Bang Theory and Abiologenesis vs the evidence of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead? What is the evidence of the empty tomb of Jesus Christ? What is the gospel message of Jesus Christ death and resurrection? In this video … Continue reading →

Why are we afraid of Jesus Christ? What are we really afraid of...Are we basing our potential salvation, freedom and deliverance off of someone else’s Jesus experience? Are you afraid to be associated with Jesus because of what he represents? Based off of how others believe or serve? Or is it because you know for a FACT You will have to get your stuff together? Let’s Talk About It! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Can we die before our time? Does it matter if I was baptised but didn’t walk with the Lord? Will smoking send me to hell? How can I best defend the deity of Jesus Christ? What does the Bible say about divorced people leading ministries? Is church membership biblical? What does the Bible say about ... Read more Episode 32: Questions and Answers

Lester Sumrall left a legacy with a television network where his son has decided to pimp the precious gospel of Jesus Christ What happened to this family? Is greed the motive??