Podcasts about Lapping

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Den ene er fra Bærum – den andre fra Dalen i Telemark. I dag driver Thorstein Sjursen og Anders Storøygard noe så sjeldent som et ekte skredderverksted i Oslo. Selv har de en forkjærlighet for komfort i klesveien, som de mener får folk til å slappe av og dermed også veien til å se bedre ut. Hva etterspør kundene deres? Hva koster en skreddersydd dress? Og hva skjedde da kong Olav fikk nei til svar da han etterspurte en bunad hos en skredder fra Gol – tross invitasjon til slottsmiddag? Stikkord: Kongevognen!

NFL No Huddle: A great night on Monday night Football with 2 great games, and budding superstar Jaxon Smith-Njigba got to show the world why he is the most underrated receiver in the NFL. Andy and Abe also start to turn the page to the Miami Dolphins matchup for the Falcons.

Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-good-morning-portugal-podcast-with-carl-munson--2903992/support.Let us help you find YOUR home in Portugal...Whether you are looking to BUY, RENT or SCOUT, reach out to Carl Munson and connect with the biggest and best network of professionals that have come together through Good Morning Portugal! over the last five years that have seen Portugal's meteoric rise in popularity.Simply contact Carl by phone/WhatsApp on (00 351) 913 590 303, email carl@carlmunson.com or enter your details at www.goodmorningportugal.com And join The Portugal Club FREE here - www.theportugalclub.com

Beautiful German Girl at the Munich October-fest.By Stonemarten, Listen to the podcast at Steamy Stories.One of my favorite things in the World is beautiful women dressed in their dirndls, which is the traditional, female dress of Bavaria and Austria. The women look amazing in their dirndls with pushed-up breasts showing ample cleavage, whereas guys in lederhosen look a bit silly really, sorry lads.Anyway, on with the story. Even though I was on my own at the festival, people are generally very friendly and merry at Oktoberfest, so it's not too hard to join in with folk from all nationalities. I was with a group of lads from Australia, the States and some fellow Brits all trying to chat-up the incredibly beautiful German women, all looking fabulous in their dresses. They really seemed to enjoy the attention of the guys, smiling and laughing at our terrible jokes, but I guess a few liters of festival strength beer might have fueled that positive interaction.At one stage in the evening, I spotted a lovely, slender, blue-eyed girl with long, straight brown hair standing alone in a corner. She was wearing a fine quality dirndl of a burgundy satin skirt and a sage-green, laced bodice pushing-up pert little tanned breasts. She looked so pretty, but sadly she seemed to be crying. Like many guys, I have a soft spot and protective feeling for girls who are crying, so I approached her gently, excusing myself and asking in a sensitive tone if she needed any help. She had ceased crying and gave me a weak smile, so I invited her to join our group, which I was sure would cheer her up, as we were on very good form.The young woman's name was Lilly and it was great luck finding her for she turned-out to be delightful company. Lilly was a student at the University of Heidelberg and had come to Oktoberfest with a friend, who had sadly abandoned her for a boy, leaving her alone and naturally unhappy. I was determined to look after her and keep her entertained so she would forget her troubles.The drink was flowing freely and so was the fun, as folk started to stand on tables in the beer hall sinking steins of beer straight down-in-one to the cheers of the crowd. At the encouragement of my companions and after having boasted of drinking a “yard” of beer at home, I too climbed onto our table and to the bellow of the crowd proceeded to down a liter of beer, turning the stein upside down over my head as proof it was empty. Feeling very manly and proud of myself, I gave an enthusiastic Lilly a hug and a kiss on the lips.Lilly may have been slight, but she was made of strong stuff, as she too climbed onto the table with her stein and to our surprise and to a huge roar from the crowd, proceeded to sink her beer in such a smooth and efficient manner that this would have impressed even a fat builder down the pub. I kind of fell in love with Lilly at that moment, as any girl that can do that will always have a special place in my heart.Soon Lilly and I were kissing and cuddling, somewhat rudely for public consumption since we were both very drunk. I put my strong arms around her and she held onto me tightly as we walked back to the little flat that I had rented. I bought a couple of flowers from a stall to put in her hair, which made her look so cute and as pretty as a picture.When we had entered the cozy, warm flat, we proceeded to the sofa, snogging passionately. We were both kissing and stroking each other's adoring faces, my hands then fondling the lovely round globes that had been teasing me all evening from above her tight-laced dress. Soon my other hand had worked up under her skirt and was rubbing her moistening slit through silky panties. Lilly began to moan and reached to stroke my swelling cock trapped uncomfortably in my trousers.I moved my head down to Lilly's pert boobs, releasing them gently from her dirndl and sucking on them with my mouth wide open, my tongue flicking her stiff little nipples. Pulling panties aside allowed my fingers to stroke her pussy lips, rubbing rapidly to and fro over her engorged clit, causing Lilly to arch her back and groan as she approached her first orgasm. Within a minute or so, this gorgeous girl was writhing and spasming as she came on my probing fingers.We both undressed, admiring each other's firm bodies as we did so. Lilly slid her hands down my muscular frame and dropped onto her knees to envelop the head of my stiff cock into her mouth, whilst stroking up and down the thick shaft. My knees almost buckled at the pleasure of it and I stroked her face lovingly, as she looked up at me with wide, lustful eyes.I could not hold back for long and so with balls rising and pressure building to bursting point, I spurted my seed into Lilly's mouth, onto her pretty face and then my last drops of pearly spunk sprinkling onto small, tanned boobs. This longed for release had me groaning manfully and gently cupping Lilly's approving face.Lilly went to the bathroom and I lay down to recover my strength. When the lovely, slender girl returned, she laid back on the soft couch and opened her legs to allow easy access for my tongue to her very wet pussy. Lapping at her lips and darting my tongue over her love-bud soon had her mewling like a cat and clutching my head between her thighs. Probing in and out her with my tongue like a little wet cock, whilst flicking her sensitive clit lightly from side to side with my thumb, soon had her twisting and turning in a second huge orgasm.Laying back with my big cock pointing obscenely into the air was all the invitation Lilly needed to hop on board. Facing me, she eased down slowly, impaling her tight pussy onto my prick, moaning as she did so. Her mouth gaped in ecstasy as she bobbed up and down, my hands holding her soft bottom and I could hardly take my eyes from her lovely boobs jiggling away.Picking Lilly up and standing, I continued to pump, much to her delight, as I turned around to place her on her back, thighs wide apart, so I could continue to thrust deeply in the missionary position. I loved seeing the pleasure on her face and hearing her high-pitched yelps as I ploughed into this beautiful little creature.The pace of our lovemaking became faster and faster and more desperate at the coming explosion. Bodies slammed against one another, balls smacking against swollen lips making wet slapping sounds as we screwed like beasts. There was no holding back and with a great cry, suddenly it came, spunk splashing out in hot white streams coating the insides of a grasping and welcoming pussy which itself was contracting rhythmically in orgasm.Lying next to each other, we kissed and cuddled, then slowly drifted off to sleep. Later in the morning, we ate bread rolls for breakfast and then went back to bed for we both had terrible hangovers from a day and night of partying.It was a sad feeling when Lilly finally left that day to re-join her disloyal friend for the journey back to Heidelberg, as our fun and erotic acquaintance might have been short, but that beautiful girl had surely become one of the great lovers in my life.The mountains of Bavaria are one of my favorite places, great for walking and watching nature, which are my main hobbies. A few years ago I drove across Europe in my Jeep to stay at an Alpine chalet with the aim of finding some Edelweiss flowers and watching Chamois, which are rare mountain goats. Both of these species live high on the tops which meant strenuous climbing up into the snow zone. It's such good exercise that German Alpine troops are encouraged to scale the mountains to find Edelweiss as proof of their fitness and courage. They used to pick them for their lapels, but today these are actually quite rare flowers and now a protected species. As I was in Bavaria in September time, I also booked accommodation in Munich in order to attend the famous Oktoberfest; yes, I know, it actually takes place in September, rather than October for some odd reason. If you have never been to the Oktoberfest, I would strongly recommend it at least once in a lifetime, as it's an amazing party. If you don't like crowds then it might not be for you, but if you enjoy quaffing large steins of beer, scoffing bratwurst and watching the colorful spectacle of folk dressed-up traditional costumes, you would love it.by Stonemarten, for Literotica

Beautiful German Girl at the Munich October-fest.By Stonemarten, Listen to the podcast at Steamy Stories.One of my favorite things in the World is beautiful women dressed in their dirndls, which is the traditional, female dress of Bavaria and Austria. The women look amazing in their dirndls with pushed-up breasts showing ample cleavage, whereas guys in lederhosen look a bit silly really, sorry lads.Anyway, on with the story. Even though I was on my own at the festival, people are generally very friendly and merry at Oktoberfest, so it's not too hard to join in with folk from all nationalities. I was with a group of lads from Australia, the States and some fellow Brits all trying to chat-up the incredibly beautiful German women, all looking fabulous in their dresses. They really seemed to enjoy the attention of the guys, smiling and laughing at our terrible jokes, but I guess a few liters of festival strength beer might have fueled that positive interaction.At one stage in the evening, I spotted a lovely, slender, blue-eyed girl with long, straight brown hair standing alone in a corner. She was wearing a fine quality dirndl of a burgundy satin skirt and a sage-green, laced bodice pushing-up pert little tanned breasts. She looked so pretty, but sadly she seemed to be crying. Like many guys, I have a soft spot and protective feeling for girls who are crying, so I approached her gently, excusing myself and asking in a sensitive tone if she needed any help. She had ceased crying and gave me a weak smile, so I invited her to join our group, which I was sure would cheer her up, as we were on very good form.The young woman's name was Lilly and it was great luck finding her for she turned-out to be delightful company. Lilly was a student at the University of Heidelberg and had come to Oktoberfest with a friend, who had sadly abandoned her for a boy, leaving her alone and naturally unhappy. I was determined to look after her and keep her entertained so she would forget her troubles.The drink was flowing freely and so was the fun, as folk started to stand on tables in the beer hall sinking steins of beer straight down-in-one to the cheers of the crowd. At the encouragement of my companions and after having boasted of drinking a “yard” of beer at home, I too climbed onto our table and to the bellow of the crowd proceeded to down a liter of beer, turning the stein upside down over my head as proof it was empty. Feeling very manly and proud of myself, I gave an enthusiastic Lilly a hug and a kiss on the lips.Lilly may have been slight, but she was made of strong stuff, as she too climbed onto the table with her stein and to our surprise and to a huge roar from the crowd, proceeded to sink her beer in such a smooth and efficient manner that this would have impressed even a fat builder down the pub. I kind of fell in love with Lilly at that moment, as any girl that can do that will always have a special place in my heart.Soon Lilly and I were kissing and cuddling, somewhat rudely for public consumption since we were both very drunk. I put my strong arms around her and she held onto me tightly as we walked back to the little flat that I had rented. I bought a couple of flowers from a stall to put in her hair, which made her look so cute and as pretty as a picture.When we had entered the cozy, warm flat, we proceeded to the sofa, snogging passionately. We were both kissing and stroking each other's adoring faces, my hands then fondling the lovely round globes that had been teasing me all evening from above her tight-laced dress. Soon my other hand had worked up under her skirt and was rubbing her moistening slit through silky panties. Lilly began to moan and reached to stroke my swelling cock trapped uncomfortably in my trousers.I moved my head down to Lilly's pert boobs, releasing them gently from her dirndl and sucking on them with my mouth wide open, my tongue flicking her stiff little nipples. Pulling panties aside allowed my fingers to stroke her pussy lips, rubbing rapidly to and fro over her engorged clit, causing Lilly to arch her back and groan as she approached her first orgasm. Within a minute or so, this gorgeous girl was writhing and spasming as she came on my probing fingers.We both undressed, admiring each other's firm bodies as we did so. Lilly slid her hands down my muscular frame and dropped onto her knees to envelop the head of my stiff cock into her mouth, whilst stroking up and down the thick shaft. My knees almost buckled at the pleasure of it and I stroked her face lovingly, as she looked up at me with wide, lustful eyes.I could not hold back for long and so with balls rising and pressure building to bursting point, I spurted my seed into Lilly's mouth, onto her pretty face and then my last drops of pearly spunk sprinkling onto small, tanned boobs. This longed for release had me groaning manfully and gently cupping Lilly's approving face.Lilly went to the bathroom and I lay down to recover my strength. When the lovely, slender girl returned, she laid back on the soft couch and opened her legs to allow easy access for my tongue to her very wet pussy. Lapping at her lips and darting my tongue over her love-bud soon had her mewling like a cat and clutching my head between her thighs. Probing in and out her with my tongue like a little wet cock, whilst flicking her sensitive clit lightly from side to side with my thumb, soon had her twisting and turning in a second huge orgasm.Laying back with my big cock pointing obscenely into the air was all the invitation Lilly needed to hop on board. Facing me, she eased down slowly, impaling her tight pussy onto my prick, moaning as she did so. Her mouth gaped in ecstasy as she bobbed up and down, my hands holding her soft bottom and I could hardly take my eyes from her lovely boobs jiggling away.Picking Lilly up and standing, I continued to pump, much to her delight, as I turned around to place her on her back, thighs wide apart, so I could continue to thrust deeply in the missionary position. I loved seeing the pleasure on her face and hearing her high-pitched yelps as I ploughed into this beautiful little creature.The pace of our lovemaking became faster and faster and more desperate at the coming explosion. Bodies slammed against one another, balls smacking against swollen lips making wet slapping sounds as we screwed like beasts. There was no holding back and with a great cry, suddenly it came, spunk splashing out in hot white streams coating the insides of a grasping and welcoming pussy which itself was contracting rhythmically in orgasm.Lying next to each other, we kissed and cuddled, then slowly drifted off to sleep. Later in the morning, we ate bread rolls for breakfast and then went back to bed for we both had terrible hangovers from a day and night of partying.It was a sad feeling when Lilly finally left that day to re-join her disloyal friend for the journey back to Heidelberg, as our fun and erotic acquaintance might have been short, but that beautiful girl had surely become one of the great lovers in my life.The mountains of Bavaria are one of my favorite places, great for walking and watching nature, which are my main hobbies. A few years ago I drove across Europe in my Jeep to stay at an Alpine chalet with the aim of finding some Edelweiss flowers and watching Chamois, which are rare mountain goats. Both of these species live high on the tops which meant strenuous climbing up into the snow zone. It's such good exercise that German Alpine troops are encouraged to scale the mountains to find Edelweiss as proof of their fitness and courage. They used to pick them for their lapels, but today these are actually quite rare flowers and now a protected species. As I was in Bavaria in September time, I also booked accommodation in Munich in order to attend the famous Oktoberfest; yes, I know, it actually takes place in September, rather than October for some odd reason. If you have never been to the Oktoberfest, I would strongly recommend it at least once in a lifetime, as it's an amazing party. If you don't like crowds then it might not be for you, but if you enjoy quaffing large steins of beer, scoffing bratwurst and watching the colorful spectacle of folk dressed-up traditional costumes, you would love it.by Stonemarten, for Literotica

SUBSCRIBE NOW!!!! on iTunes, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Stitcher & Audible. This week on the Press X to Start Gamer's Digest: DJ & Sean talk about the BF6 beta eating COD's lunch, Rumors of the next-gen Xbox, the Like A Dragon devs' insane work ethic, whatever the hell My Mario is and much more! Gaming News - Time code: 2:06 The BF6 Beta is outpacing COD's all-time numbers on Steam; The next-gen Xbox may just be a PC with changeable hardware; PS5 has brought in a 5 year tally of 80 million units; Like A Dragon devs shock their peers after revealing the insane juggling act the pull off with one team; A series of Mario themed products dropping the 26th of this month; Digital Foundry is going independent; The remaining co-founder of Media Molecule resigns after almost 20 years.  What Have We Been Playing - Time code: 47:14 Sean & DJ talk more Donkey Kong Bananza & Death Stranding 2 If you're enjoying the show, please take a moment to rate/review it on whatever service you're using. Every little bit helps!  Want to ask a question, ask us at PressX2start.com/Questions Join/Follow Us: Youtube: Press X To Start TV Twitch: pressxtostarttv Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pressx2start Twitter: @PressX2S  Instagram: @PressX2Start TikTok: @pressx2start You can find more info about the Press X and who we are at www.PressX2start.com. If you have any questions or just want to tell us how great (or just slightly okay) we're doing or how we can be better, be a friend and reach out and email us at pressxtostartpodcast@gmail.com End music by @MarcoMavy on IG & Twitter Be good to each other, Peace!

Analyzing MicroStrategy's new preferred stock strategy that requires $400M in annual dividends while their core business only generates $111M in revenue. Are Bitcoin treasury companies creating a bubble?Michael Saylor's controversial pentagram post and MicroStrategy's pivot to preferred stocks. With 145+ companies now adopting Bitcoin treasury strategies and institutions holding 10% of all Bitcoin, we explore whether this paper Bitcoin summer represents genuine adoption or a dangerous leveraged bubble waiting to burst.Subscribe to the newsletter! https://newsletter.blockspacemedia.com**Notes:**• MicroStrategy owes $400M annually in dividends• Core business only generates $111M revenue• 145 Bitcoin treasury companies now exist • Institutions hold 10% of Bitcoin supply• Daily institutional buying 10x mining rate• Treasury companies bought 39K BTC/monthTimestamps:00:00 Start00:48 Bitcoin's "Defense Dept"03:04 Preferred stock pivot04:40 Where does the yield come from?07:29 Dividends can't come from company profits19:22 MSTR memes-

Disclaimer: While there is plenty of fantasy INDUSTRY talk, there isn't a ton of fantasy football analysis... which is why this might be our best episode in a long time. 00:00 SocrDave Cold Open 1:30 Arguing About Arguing 8:45 Overzet's Overview 12:00 The Justin Herzig Rolling Stone Article 17:00 Gilbert Arenas In The Best Ball Lobbies 23:45 Whoop 4.0? 31:40 Field Day 38:00 The Rope Climb? Do you remember? 45:00 What is the show going to be? 1:00:00 A lot more show for some reason Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

On today's show, Jase has a drama-free weekend??? Mike's got big plans for our Backbone Burger, and Keyzie's downstairs-shy. TIMESTAMPS (not):(00:00) Intro:(01:46) Jase gets his piece out(06:55) Mogey gets his piece out(11:37) Charlie Gubb on the Wahs(17:19) What's On The Telly (21:57) Intro: REEEEEEBURGEEERRRR(25:16) Backbone Burger Chat(30:34) WHO'S COMING TO BRISSY(34:55) G Lane VS A Coin(39:19) Back to the Backbone Burger(41:58) Intro: GOING HARD(44:19) MEATPATTYNIPS69(48:48) GOLF CHAT(52:07) What we learned! Follow The Big Show on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/haurakibigshow Subscribe to the podcast now on iHeartRadio, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts! Featuring Jason Hoyte, Mike Minogue, and Keyzie, "The Big Show" drive you home weekdays from 4pm on Radio Hauraki. Providing a hilarious escape from reality for those ‘backbone’ New Zealanders with plenty of laughs and out-the-gate yarns. Download the full podcast here: iHeartRadio: www.iheart.com/podcast/1049-the-hauraki-big-show-71532051/?follow=true Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-hauraki-big-show/id1531952388 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/20OF8YadmJmvzWa7TGRnDI See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Former Missouri State Senator John Lamping joins Mark to talk about the conversations around the difference between the press under Biden vs. Trump and the continuing issues of crime & a lack of prevention & enforcement in St. Louis.

Join us for our daily rundown of the Howard Stern Show, as awful as it is, it is the best show he will do this year, and also the worst. Howard Stern Forum:  www.radiogunk.com/forums Follow us on Twitter @RadioGunk @330SMG (Dennis) Follow me on Instagram @radiogunk Dennis' channel – https://www.youtube.com/@DJsClassicGarage Buy Gunk Merch at https://www.teepublic.com/user/radiogunk1 […]

In the second of the “three wise men” interviews ahead of the BizNews monthly portfolio update on Tuesday, Ranmore Chief Investment Officer Andrew Lapping shares his thoughts. Lapping, like his Ranmore colleague Sean Peche, is a graduate of the Dr Simon Marais ‘school of investing', having worked at Allan Gray for almost two decades, the last quarter of which was as its Chief Investment Officer overseeing hundreds of billions in funds entrusted by South African savers. Never one for the limelight, in this rare interview Lapping shares his wisdom with BizNews editor Alec Hogg. Brilliant. Sign up for your early morning brew of the BizNews Insider to keep you up to speed with the content that matters. The newsletter will land in your inbox at 5:30am weekdays. Register here. The seventh BizNews Conference, BNC#7, is to be held in Hermanus from March 11 to 13, 2025. The 2025 BizNews Conference is designed to provide an excellent opportunity for members of the BizNews community to interact directly with the keynote speakers, old (and new) friends from previous BNC events – and to interact with members of the BizNews team. Register for BNC#7 here.

TOPICS: Hardmilling endmills came in Heat treating and worried about warp Kern still dropping tools Kind words from a listener Solution to Saunders' tolerance issue 50 tidbits by Dave Arneson https://www.airbearings.com/old-pages/news/50-tidbits Lapping for flatness and shiny!

Download our Mobile App! Apple App Store | Google Play Store --- Pleasantly warmed by the sun high overhead, you feel drowsy listening to small wavelets tap the boat's sides. The rocking motion is soothing, like a baby in a cradle. The muffled echoes of the water pacify. Relax completely, knowing you are protected by the hull and supported by the sea. ---

Matt Smethurst preaches Judges 7–8 at River City Baptist Church, a new congregation in Richmond, Virginia. For more information or to get in touch, visit https://rivercityrichmond.org.

Italy is a beautiful and varied country and its beaches are no exception. Enjoy the soothing ambience of gentle waves lapping onto perfect Italian shores. Spotify listener? Lose the intros by becoming a subscriber!⁠⁠ https://anchor.fm/tmsoft/subscribe⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Learn more about the White Noise App⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Download the White Noise app for free!⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Download this sound to White Noise for free!⁠

Do you enjoy the Franciska Show? Then please consider treating me to a cup of coffee:  https://www.buymeacoffee.com/franciska Email Franciska: franciskakay@gmail.com,I love hearing from you!      Understanding Dissociative Identity Disorder: Sara Lapping's Journey   In this episode, Sarah Lapping shares her personal journey of living with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). She details her life from childhood in Los Angeles, through her move to Israel, and her early experiences with pregnancy and motherhood. Sarah describes her diagnosis of DID following intense trauma and the complex dynamics of her multiple identities. Through poignant anecdotes, she explains the impact of trauma on her mental health, the therapeutic process, and the role of her supportive husband, Max. Sara and Max also discuss the nature of healing, the importance of empathy, and creating a safe environment for their family. They further explore the parallels between Sarah's experiences with DID and issues surrounding gender identity, offering a perspective that emphasizes understanding and acceptance.   Sara lives in northern Israel with her husband and children. She tries to be the change she would like to see in the world (and often speaks in cliches).   00:00 Introduction to Sara Lapping 00:41 Early Life and Family Background 03:03 Marriage and Motherhood Challenges 04:10 First Signs of Mental Health Struggles 05:13 Diagnosis and Initial Treatment 07:45 Living with Dissociative Identity Disorder 10:54 Understanding Dissociative Identity Disorder 16:34 The Impact of Trauma 18:47 Healing and Personal Growth 34:43 Max's Perspective on Sara's DID 42:18 Understanding Internal and External Perceptions 42:50 Max's Perspective on Living with DID 43:05 Challenges and Misunderstandings in Treatment 45:13 Navigating Parenthood with DID 45:45 The Healing Journey and Personal Growth 46:31 The Role of Acceptance and Safety 47:07 The Complexity of Identity and Healing 50:00 The Impact of Trauma and the Path to Recovery 51:56 Balancing Personal and Shared Experiences 54:45 Reflections on Identity and Society 58:03 Final Thoughts and Messages of Hope     https://www.instagram.com/saralapping?igsh=OXRsbnJ1MjkwYngw https://www.facebook.com/sara.lapping?mibextid=ZbWKwL   Check out: www.JewishCoffeeHouse.com for more Jewish Podcasts on our network.

“Lapping everyone on the couch!” Everyone wants to jump out of bed when that alarm shouts, but dragging yourself out of it doesn't always work! Welcome to the Learn Develop Live, ‘Quote Of The Day', where your host, Chris Jaggs shares an inspiring and thought-provoking quote to help kickstart your day. Whether you're still yawning trying to make your morning coffee, bored at work or have a smelly armpit in your face on the train, this show is here to help refocus your motivation for your day!  So tune in, kick back, and enjoy the fun! Continue to be inspired with the motivation to help you ‘level up' daily! www.learndeveloplive.com

A continous car horn sounding at 4:00am in Wairoa got Kim Laura Gilmore and her husband out of bed to investigate, only to discover water lapping at the Kopu Road house where they stay in, Kim Laura Gilmore speaks to Lisa Owen.

Episode #245: Barry Lapping shares his spiritual odyssey from the turbulence of the Vietnam War era and counterculture movement, to the serene hills of Bodhgaya, India, to becoming a vipassana meditation teacher in western Massachusetts.His story begins with a chance encounter with a captivating magazine photo of a meditator in the mountains of New Mexico, which ignited his quest to find true happiness. His subsequent journey led him to try kibbutz life in Israel, before traveling overland through Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan to India, where he found his spiritual home at the Burmese Vihara in Bodhgaya. There, under the guidance of his first teacher, Munindra, and later S.N. Goenka, Barry delved deep into the practice of vipassana meditation.Barry highlights the essence of Goenka's teachings, which focus on the purification of the mind through a non-judgmental observation of physical sensation that leads to an experiential understanding of impermanence, suffering, and non-self. Despite initial struggles, Barry found profound transformation through this practice, which provided him with the tools to navigate the complexities of life with equanimity and wisdom. He has devoted his life to helping spread these teachings, and is now the Center teacher at Dhamma Dhara, in western Massachusetts.Barry's story is a testament to the enduring power of meditation to bring about profound personal change and contribute to a more compassionate and understanding world.

Listen ad free at: https://www.solgoodmedia.com - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of sounds, hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and original podcasts - all ad-free!! Rain, rain sounds, thunderstorm, nature sounds, waterfall, ambient sounds, relaxation, sleep, meditation, white noise, calming, peaceful, atmospheric, weather, rain, lightning, stormy, dark skies, soothing, natural, environment, ASMR, podcast

Join us for discussion at www.radiogunk.com/forums Follow us on Twitter @RadioGunk @arm34 (john) @330SMG (dennis) @bonjovial2  Join our Discord – https://discord.com/invite/EejXJjgrNH Follow me on Instagram @radiogunk Follow John & Sara's show, “Wino Forever: The Deppening” https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHVi0zT32e6TBYbCxa1tYaw?sub_confirmation=1 Dennis' channel – https://www.youtube.com/@DJsClassicGarage BonJovial's channel  – https://www.youtube.com/c/BonJovial?sub_confirmation=1 Want to create live streams like this? Check out StreamYard: https://streamyard.com/pal/d/6646480887611392 […]

Hey, it's Katie and I want to welcome you to this special bonus episode. It'll be here for you completely ad-free for the next week so you can get a feel of what it's like to be a PREMIUM member. If you'd like an easy ad-free experience for all of our podcasts - that's over 200 episodes each month, then JOIN PREMIUM today at https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium There are pools of energy, Deep within you. Infinite waves of blue, Lapping upon your shores.  PAUSE… The shape, size and colors of these waters, Are unique to you, And yours to use. PAUSE… So tap into your energy, And embrace its power, And its never ending stream of life. Come inside, And invite your body to settle. Let your mind clear, And your eyes get heavy. PAUSE… Be here in this moment, One with your breath, One with your body, One with you. PAUSE… Breathe in, And tap into these pools of energy, Awaiting you inside.  LONG PAUSE… Feel it hum, In sync with your beautiful rhythms. Feel it glow upon your skin, Exuding your special blend of energy. LONG PAUSE… Tap into your energy, And let it nourish you, And spread love into the world.  PAUSE… Namaste, Beautiful  

TOPICS: weird door alarm on Okuma Product design and prototyping Tolerancing parts Nut runner torque wrenches Lapping parts FLAT Johnny 5 robot!  

Portland might be getting passed over again for a pro sports franchise

Join The Kernels as they yell about Yorgos Lanthimos' Oscar winning surrealist comedy/drama: 'Poor Things'.Saluting stylistic choices, actor ambition, and homeless heroics - The Kernels share their likes, dislikes, ratings & even treat you to an original song, AND a unique game where they create a movie trailer. Enjoy you diligent Dog Ducks!Thanks for popping by. We hope you enjoy The Podcorn Kernel Podcast. Please get in touch with any praise, criticism, feedback or advice.Compliments will be greeted with kindness. Criticism will be catered to with carnage. Contact us at : thepodcornkernels@gmail.com or find us on us on the following social platforms:Instagram: thepodcornkernelsThreads: thepodcornkernelsTwitter: @podcornkernelsWebsite: thepodcornkernels.co.ukTikTok: @thepodcornkernels

AP correspondent Jackie Quinn reports on brisk fundraising by President Biden for his reelection bid.

Enjoy this conversation with CRE legend, Bob Knakal, who has sold more properties in New York than any other broker in history. We discuss his keys to building Massey Knakal, his competitive advantage today, networking, cold calling, and staying top of mind. Connect with Bob:https://www.linkedin.com/in/bobknakal/https://www.us.jll.com/en/people/bob-knakalTakeawaysBuilding relationships and networking are crucial in the commercial real estate industry.Market presence and information are key to success in the industry.Cold calling is an effective way to generate new business and build relationships.Servant leadership and empowering people can lead to long-term success and a positive company culture.Chapters00:00Introduction and Background01:57The Story of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York Transaction06:33Formation and Growth of Massey Nackle08:11Servant Leadership and Empowering People12:32The Importance of Information and Market Presence19:39The Nackle Map Room and Building a Data Set24:14The Value of Cold Calling and Building Relationships28:57Expanding Professional Networks31:15Advice for Young CRE Professionals35:10Expanding Professional NetworksSupport the podcast by making a monthly donation through Patreon. When you contribute, you'll get access to bonus content not available anywhere else. If you enjoyed this episode, you would probably enjoy reading my weekly newsletter. Every Friday, you'll get a behind the scenes look at my investing, including current events in commercial real estate, deals I'm working on, and random personal things going on in my life. It's a super quick read and you can unsubscribe anytime. - Jonathan Subscribe to the newsletter here: www.thesourcecre.com/newsletterEmail Jonathan with comments or suggestions:podcast@thesourcecre.comOr visit the webpage:www.thesourcecre.com*Some or all of the show notes may have been generated using AI tools.

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https://www.solgood.org - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of audiobooks, podcasts, short stories, & 10 hour sounds for sleep and relaxation at our website

Actually a show truly about nothing, so for those of you who did not join us live on Weds, we will review Howards scintillating opening remarks for an outdated dinosaur that is SiriusXM. Sammy Hagar tomorrow, Dolly on Weds, then we think he is off for about 2 weeks, not sure, but we will take […]

https://www.solgood.org - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of sounds, hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and original podcasts - all ad-free!! thunderstorm, nature sounds, ambient sounds, relaxation, sleep, meditation, white noise, calming, peaceful, atmospheric, weather, rain, lightning, stormy, dark skies, soothing, natural, environment, ASMR, podcastThis show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/5019077/advertisement

https://www.solgood.org - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of sounds, hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and original podcasts - all ad-free!! thunderstorm, nature sounds, ambient sounds, relaxation, sleep, meditation, white noise, calming, peaceful, atmospheric, weather, rain, lightning, stormy, dark skies, soothing, natural, environment, ASMR, podcastThis show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/5973995/advertisement

In episode #79 of BusyBee Refinishing with MelDidItHerself, I'm bringing you 6 new furniture flipping tips and tricks to whip out when you're in the workshop! We'll discuss how to remove thick, layered latex paint from pieces with ease, fixing swirl marks that may accidentally end up in your wood when sanding, and much more! Links mentioned in the episode: Want to get more furniture flipping inspo and tips right to your inbox? ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Sign up for the Friday Furniture Focus newsletter here ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Lapping fluid* 300 steel credit card sharpener* Liquid mask and peel* Links you may be interested in: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Join the waitlist ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠for the next cohort of Refinish Your Future: Two Weeks To A Profitable Furniture Flipping Side Hustle Try out Surf Prep Sanding products and ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠use this link⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or use code MDIH10 to save 10% off all their products Want help putting together a strategy for your social media, or get some support and accountability for completing your action plan and crushing your goals? Check out ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠my coaching/consultation services⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and let's get you heading in the right direction today. Sign up for a ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠BusyBees in Business Strategy Session⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to join me on the podcast to talk through a barrier/challenge you've been experiencing refinishing furniture or starting up a side hustle/business selling your painted and refinished furniture! Ready to tackle your first furniture flip!? Grab ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠the No BS Guide To Your First Furniture Makeover⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ now and get to flipping. Use code BUSYBEE for 20% off for a limited time! Want to snag some Surf Prep Sanding* or Fusion Mineral Paint* products for your furniture makeover for 10% off? See my curated Amazon Storefront* with all the furniture flipping essentials for your project? ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Click here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠! Grab your free copy of the ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Guide and Checklist For Starting Your Official Furniture Refinishing Business ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Record an audio clip through ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠my SpeakPipe Link⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ shouting out your favourite episode of BusyBee Refinishing with MelDidItHerself, and don't forget to shout out your socials so we can follow along on your furniture refinishing journey! Are you loving the Busybee Refinishing with MelDidItHerself podcast? Let the world know by leaving a rating on whatever platform you're listening on, and leave a review on Apple Podcasts letting me know what you're loving, or what you've learned that you're going to take back into your work - this will help more busybees like us discover this community and join us every week to gush about all things furniture refinishing.   Can't get enough MelDidItHerself? Check out my ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠,⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ TikTok⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more furniture refinishing, painting, DIY and lifestyle content to tide you over until next week's episode. Email ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Mel@MelDidItHerself.ca⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ for sponsorships, or just to say hey! *this means this is an affiliate code where I make a small commission when you use my link, and you save money on your order! It's a great way to support me and my small business when you're buying products you already intended on getting – thanks in advance if you use it :) 

We kick off our series on the book of Acts and start with yet another telling of the ascension of Jesus. Slightly different from Luke but very different from the other gospels.Judas gets replaced.The Holy Spirit comes on everyone at the Pentecost! Lapping up their loins with tongues of fire.And the early church starts getting persecuted simply for yelling at everyone that they killed Jesus.Support the showWebsite - https://www.biblestoriesforatheists.comReddit - https://www.reddit.com/r/bibleatheistsYouTube - https://www.youtube.com/@bibleatheists Donate - https://www.buymeacoffee.com/bsfa

Recorded August 2020The More We Listen, The More We Understand. Thank you for supporting Ambisonic Spaces. Discover more and download Binaural, Ambisonic, and Surround Sound assets for any Audio / Spatial Audio Project at AmbisonicSpaces.orgFollow:Twitter/XInstagramLinkedInYouTubeGame Audio:https://www.unrealengine.com/marketplace/en-US/profile/DavidWoje?count=20&sortBy=effectiveDate&sortDir=DESC&start=0

It's always strange when we leave the Lento box behind to record overnight. The feeling is strong, but also hard to pin down. The Lento box feels like a trusted friend, even a family member now. It has taken us years to build and refine, and lives on the shelf in our kitchen when its not out on a job which makes it more than just an object. It's travelled far and wide with us too, and made almost every episode published on Radio Lento. Will the box be there when we come back, is of course the one thought we've had to learn not to worry about, because otherwise Radio Lento and all the places that have been captured in panoramic binaural sound would not exist.  As we walk away from the box, tied to a remote tree or sturdy post, we always stop, turn around and check for one last time whether things are right. Will it be safe where it is? Have we located and angled it to capture the best panoramic "sound photograph" as possible even though we can't know what is going to happen. Is the spot really the best we can find? These thoughts are often whispered, because being out in remote locations at night never does feel comfortable. The night we set up the Lento box in Weymouth to capture this episode ran very much the same as every other night record. The tree we found in a quiet secluded shoreline spot felt mysterious in the inky dark under a full moon. Like it somehow knew we were there. The sea, only yards away, also lapped knowingly against the jumbled rocks, and the air seemed unusually still. So still in fact we could hear even the tiniest details of the shifting waves. Climbing the tree so the panoramic width and sharp detail of the sound-view could best be captured wasn't as risky as it might seem in total darkness, but positioning the box on a tree that felt like it was aware of us did somewhat heighten our own sense of self. Of course we needn't have worried about any of this.  After we left, the tree and the sea, weren't worried. They accepted the Lento box for what it was. A non-human aural witness. And so were content to carry on as they always have. For all of time. A tree just being a tree. The ocean waves just being ocean waves. Lapping with patience and grace, against the rocky shore. Such slow waves, alone, in the night quiet. 

Hello, hello! Mark Lapping is the CEO of Aquapak, a leading specialty polymers business. Mark's career has taken him through a stint in the army, a trek through Africa, into the packaging industry - to where he is now at Aquapak. Mark often talks about always wanting to climb the mountain, and the challenge that he embraced most recently, was seeing Aquapak and following them until he decided he wanted to work there. Ved and him bond over there mutual love for taking on challenges, packaging and leaving the planet cleaner! Never miss an episode by following us on LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter! Don't forget to turn on notifications and leave us a review! Good Garbage Episode 37 Presented by Pakka

audio from Tim Frickenschmidt on August 27, 2023

https://www.solgood.org - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of audiobooks, podcasts, short stories, & 10 hour sounds for sleep and relaxation at our website thunderstorm, nature sounds, ambient sounds, relaxation, sleep, meditation, white noise, calming, peaceful, atmospheric, weather, rain, lightning, stormy, dark skies, soothing, natural, environment, ASMR, podcastThis show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/5008457/advertisement

https://www.solgood.org - Check out our Streaming Service for our full collection of audiobooks, podcasts, short stories, & 10 hour sounds for sleep and relaxation at our website thunderstorm, nature sounds, ambient sounds, relaxation, sleep, meditation, white noise, calming, peaceful, atmospheric, weather, rain, lightning, stormy, dark skies, soothing, natural, environment, ASMR, podcastThis show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/5965102/advertisement

TOPICS: Kern update, it is running! Planned downtime Lost packages in shipping Lapping and flatness Saunders air conditioner fix Fixturing Ideas Haas purple grease Link: https://saundersmachineworks.com/products/smw-zero-point-system  

Topics: Willemin updates! Cutting wood in Grimsmo's router to clean endmills Lasers!!!   Saunders had a huge win on the Horizontal Cast Iron lapping plates Visit to Borne and Co

You need to stop slowing down when you're beating someone and start lapping motherfuckers.  In martial arts, they teach you how to punch through your target.  The same goes for work.  It's not enough to win.  Winning is not enough.  You've got to be willing to go the distance to the knockout.  Many of us are going through life living in our comfort zones.  We're winning, but we're not championship winners.  We're not here to win the race.  We're here to lap the competition.  Work harder, smarter, meaner, and leaner.  You have to keep up with technology.  Wake up early.  Work later.  Do whatever it takes to put in the work, and lap everyone until you leave them in the dust.  #RiseAbove    HOW TO GET INVOLVED:  This planet is based on an algorithm and with every positive action, there is an adverse reaction.  Ryan Stewman rose and overcame a life of addiction, imprisonment, divorce, and circumstances that would break the spirit of the average human being.  He went on to create a powerful network of winners and champions in life and business creating a movement that quickly changed lives one day at a time.  Learn more at: www.JoinTheApex.com   Check out this show and previous killer episodes of the ReWire Podcast in Apple Podcasts.

Topics:   "the world is not perfect".  Making parts to tolerance. cutting foam Insurance claims Lasers! making small parts with vacuum Lapping parts to ultimate flatness Willemin install at SMW

Joined by "The Fort" Michael McKenry to discuss the World Series through 4 games. Chad discusses his recent OutKick article on why college football is lapping the NFL in entertainment value. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices