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Send us a textWhat does one do when they lose their way? They refocus and center themselves. What do we do when we lose our way? We talk through it like adults. Ok, teenagers? Nah you're right, like children. This week we figure out what a show without new content does. We lay it all out on the table and figure out what we're going to do moving forward. We almost have a plan. You'll have to tune in to find out what that is! Don't stroke your kyber light too hard. Turn up your headphones, dial back your sensibilities, and join the wretched hive of scum and villainy as we take the low road to resistance on Season Six, Episode Eleven of Force Insensitive!Send Email/Voicemail: mailto:forceinsensitive@gmail.comDirect Voice Message: https://www.speakpipe.com/ForceInsensitiveStart your own podcast: https://www.buzzsprout.com/?referrer_id=386Use our Amazon link: http://amzn.to/2CTdZzKFB Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/ForceInsensitive/Twitter: http://twitter.com/ForceNSensitiveFacebook: http://facebook.com/ForceInsensitiveInstagram: http://instagram.com/ForceInsensitive
Boom shakalaka boom! You've just locked into the most explosive, unfiltered, reality-radio rollercoaster in the game – The Clay Edwards Show! Episode 1,021 blasts off on this glorious Hump Day, July 16, 2025, with your host Clay Edwards unleashing two hours of pure adrenaline-fueled truth bombs, cultural takedowns, and local lore that'll have you laughing, raging, and rethinking everything. If you're craving a show that shoots from the hip, dives down rabbit holes, and calls out the absurdities of modern life without a shred of apology, this is your jam. We're talking over-the-top rants, fresh segments, and stories so wild they'll make your head spin. Strap in, free-range humans – this ain't your grandma's talk radio; it's a cultural crusade for the soul of America! Kicking things off with Clay's signature flair, we dive straight into the evening vibes. Ever wondered why you're wasting nights on trash TV when you could be tuning into raw, interactive gold? Clay spills the beans on his nightly 8 PM live stream team-up with co-hosts Shawn and Lindsey – think uncensored debates, viewer-driven chaos, and yes, the occasional F-bomb (because real talk happens, folks). It's been pulling killer numbers, steering the ship with your comments, and hitting topics that daytime can't touch. No scripts, no filters – just pure engagement. If you've missed it, catch the replays on socials like @savejxn across platforms. Pro tip: It's fun, it's fiery, and it's way better than scripted drama. But hold up – Clay's shaking things up this week with structured segments to wrangle the chaos. Enter the Local Roundup, your daily dose of Mississippi madness, complete with the coveted FAFO Championship of the Day (that's "F'ed Around and Found Out" for the uninitiated). We're starting hot with Jackson's top cop, Chief Joseph Wade, dropping a bombshell proposal: a citywide ski mask ordinance! Picture this: young dudes cruising on bikes, shirtless in South Jackson heat, faces hidden behind "shystie masks." Clay breaks it down – it's terrifying for business owners, a nightmare for surveillance, and a direct counter to JPD's facial recognition tech. Wade's seen it firsthand: masked figures strolling into stores like it's no big deal. But Clay's all in – "I'm about this!" He circles back to the cultural roots: pre-COVID, masks meant robbery; post-COVID, criminals exploited the fear, turning face coverings into getaway gear. And don't get him started on the backlash – cries of "racism" or constitutional violations? Clay calls BS: "Screw your freedom of expression – you look like an idiot, and in a civilized society, masks scream trouble." He unpacks the hypocrisy: from early COVID myths (Black folks can't get it? Enter Idris Elba) to liberal overreactions, it's all Democrat "death culture" biting back. Honest take: When Clay sees a young Black guy in a mask indoors (and yeah, he notes it's rarely anyone else), his hand's on his gun – "You're not scared of COVID; you're up to no good." Outdoors in 90+ degree Mississippi heat? Same vibe. This segment's a masterclass in no-holds-barred observation, blending humor, frustration, and a plea for common sense. Segueing seamlessly, Clay ties in the hoodie epidemic – kids bundled up in summer swelter like it's a security blanket. "What is wrong with y'all?" he roars, sharing a social experiment from his Facebook post during last night's stream. Over 110 comments poured in: excuses from poor diets making kids "always cold" (nonsense, per Clay) to therapists claiming it feels "safe" amid absent parents (worst answer ever). Others nail it – concealed carry, weight loss attempts, or just hiding something shady. Clay's verdict: In 97-degree heat, a hoodie screams probable cause for a stop-and-frisk. "Sir, what are you trying to hide? Gun with a Glock switch? Pistol AR?" He contrasts it with cowboy boots and jeans – no threat there, no hand on the gun. Stereotypes? Earned, not given, shouts out to creator Antione Daniels for keeping it real. This rant spirals into personal quirks: Clay's a hot-natured beast, sleeping at 61 degrees with industrial fans blasting (DeWALT-level air movement, son!). It's hilarious, relatable, and a cultural gut-check on trends gone awry. Technical hiccups hit mid-show – signal issues force a switch to backup, but Clay keeps the energy high, appreciating texts from listeners. No downtime here; he resets and rolls on. Shoutout to the Rankin County Sheriff's Office for a heroic escort: rushing a young couple from Leake County to the hospital after her water broke near Madden. "Another good deed by our law enforcement community!" Clay stands firm on supporting good cops while calling out the bad – he's hammered the Goon Squad saga in 27+ episodes, interviewing journalist Jerry Mitchell who took it national. But balance? Nah: "I don't owe Jackson equality. I talk what I want – no pandering." It's a raw defense of his independence: exposing dope in Rankin to keep it safe, not to score points. In the FAFO spotlight, a massive drug bust crowns our champion: 42-year-old William Daniel Rogers from Brandon, nabbed in a multi-agency sting. Traffic stop uncovers 122 fentanyl pills; home raid reveals a narco treasure trove – 3.6 pounds of marijuana, 47 pounds of mushrooms, 152 M30 fentanyl pills, Oxy, Xanax, coke, heroin, meth, THC oils, vapes, gummies, jello shots, plus 19 firearms and 4 unregistered homemade suppressors. "You don't ride this dirty in Rankin and not win FAFO!" Clay quips, noting federal charges looming on those suppressors (echoing a recent guest chat). Bond at $100K, more charges pending – trace that fentanyl to deaths? Game over. It's a win for curbing overdose epidemics, with Clay warning: Fentanyl's this admin's hill to die on; Rankin ain't playing. Hour two ramps up with Around the State – wild tales from Mississippi's underbelly. First, a chaotic series in Adams County: Video surfaces of four white guys assaulting Black bicyclist Reginald Butler on a Deerfield Road bridge. It starts with a cigarette ask turning ugly (Clay questions motive – "Hard to believe it's that simple"). Butler flees, grabs a gun, returns; second clash ends with him shooting Cameron Talton (involved in the first fight), who gets airlifted. Butler bonds out; two others (including 21-year-old Houston Lee Priddy and a 16-year-old) face aggravated assault and conspiracy. Sheriff's probing hate crime angles with MBI/FBI. Clay unpacks: Self-defense? Nah – leaving and returning kills that claim. Race-baiting incoming (Ben Crump vibes), but questions abound: Why the bridge? Bathing suits? Motive? "Brace for impact – knowledge up!" Youth violence hits next: Columbia cops seize a Glock switch (turns semi-auto to full-auto) from an underage teen in a stolen-gun traffic stop. Chief Fortenberry laments: "We're losing our youth – kids have more firepower than us!" Illegal under new state law, it's a call to action against escalating threats. Wrapping with national intrigue: Epstein files drama. Clay dissects why Trump, Kash Patel, Dan Bongino, and Pam Bondi get heat – promises of declassification clash with hesitance over "phony stuff" from crooked intel (Russia hoax crew). Trump's point: Lists could ruin innocents. But Clay pushes: Release and investigate! Shoutouts to Marjorie Taylor Greene and Benny Johnson for demanding transparency despite risks. "Hold leaders accountable – that's America!" Episode 1,021 is Clay at his peak: Over 1,000 shows of chaos refined into segments, rants that assault sensibilities, and stories that demand action. From mask bans to massive busts, hoodies to hate crimes, it's a hump-day hurricane of honesty. Missed the live energy? Replay now – and join the 8 PM stream for more uncensored fire. Clay Edwards: Fighting cancel culture, one truth bomb at a time. Boom goes the dynamite!
Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Colorado, 2025: An IndyCar veteran enters a stanky old stock car in the world's most famous hillclimb. On his own dime, with his dad as crew. Because he wanted make a point.Also: Because fun.800 horses! An ex-Kyle Petty 1990s Winston Cup car! And JR Hildebrand, your 2011 Indy 500 rookie of the year. He finished fourth in class in Colorado, 16th overall. Later, Kurt Busch and Kyle Petty rang his phone. (Did Hildebrand know those legends? Nah. They just thought dude was cool.)Some folks think cars like that don't belong on the mountain. They don't have the brains God gave a goat.This show's format rotates weekly, because squirrel. We call this format “Guest Teaches Everybody.”**ONBOARD FOOTAGE — TURN IT UP LOUD: https://www.instagram.com/p/DLGEYHBSP-o/**RELATED TRIVIA: What would a ‘normal' podcast say here? Probably something like, “We talk about Pikes Peak itself, what makes the mountain special, and what it was like for an IndyCar vet to run as a grassroots club racer after years on the pro side of the sport.”(Boo hiss. Who wants to be normal?)This episode was produced by Sam Smith and Mike Perlman.**Who We Are + Spicy Merch:www.ItsNotTheCar.com**Support It's Not the Car:Contribute on Patreon www.patreon.com/notthecar**Topic suggestions, feedback, questions? Let us know what you think!INTCPod@gmail.com**Check out Sam's book!Smithology: Thoughts, Travels, and Semi-Plausible Car Writing, 2003–2023**Where to find us:https://www.instagram.com/intcpodhttps://www.instagram.com/thatsamsmith/https://www.instagram.com/j.v.braun/https://www.instagram.com/rossbentley/https://rossbentley.substack.com/https://speedsecrets.com/**ABOUT THE SHOW:It's Not the Car is a podcast about people and speed. We tell racing stories and leave out the boring parts.Ross Bentley is a former IndyCar driver, a bestselling author, and a world-renowned performance coach. Jeff Braun is a champion race engineer. Sam Smith is an award-winning writer and a former executive editor of Road & Track magazine.We don't love racing for the nuts and bolts—we love it for what it asks of the meatbag at the wheel.New episodes every Tuesday.
Analizamos el impactante incidente de la explosión de una Starship de SpaceX durante una prueba de encendido de motores, incluso con los depósitos solo al 10% de su capacidad. Abordamos el polémico acuerdo entre XAI (la compañía de inteligencia artificial de Elon Musk) y Telegram para la distribución de Grok a los mil millones de usuarios de la plataforma de mensajería. Tampoco nos olvidamos de la prueba de Tesla en Madrid con Full Self-Driving (FSD) supervisado en Madrid, analizando las quejas de la DGT y el Ayuntamiento por la falta de permisos y los desafíos regulatorios en Europa. También discutimos el despliegue de los robotaxis de Tesla en una zona limitada de Austin, Texas, un hito largamente prometido por Elon Musk. - El Ayuntamiento niega que el Tesla autónomo tuviera permiso para circular en Madrid | Motor - Después de tres fallos, SpaceX necesitaba que la nueva Starship saliera bien. Le esperaba la peor explosión de todas - YouTube - Debris From SpaceX Explosion, Landing in Mexico, Draws Investigation – The New York Times - SpaceX ha pedido a México que deje de invadir su propiedad y le devuelva los trozos de Starship que cayeron en el país - OpenAI está construyendo su propia red social, según The Verge: la startup de IA apunta a ir más allá de ChatGPT - xAI, de Elon Musk, firmó un acuerdo de USD 300 millones con Telegram para la integración de Grok ELON está presentado por Matías S. Zavia y Álex Barredo. Su tema original está compuesto por Nahúm García. — Alojado en Cuonda
Headlines and Husky One Series: SCOTT EKLUND (Dawgman.com) joins us to give the lowdown on the Dawgs this year, focusing on the Front 7. :30- ABCs of the Mariners - K is for the Kid- it was great to see Junior last night at the Derby, but the kid we are talking about is the kid in Cal who fulfilled his childhood dream last night. - L is for lessons- - M is for manipulation- is it possible baseball manipulated the numbers a little bit? Nah. :45- Let's go to Japan! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Whats up fools! We have been in the MF Lab ! New movies have hit streaming services EVERYWHERE! Does Squid Games Szn 3 redeem szn 2?? Nah sway. Ballerina picks up where John Wick left off and we have some massive respect. John Cena and Idris Elba in a buddy comedy!?! You HAVE to watch Heads of State! The Accountant 2 is a mandatory watch for everyone !!What we are watching now: 2:44Heads of State: 13:00Accountant 2: 19:35Ballerina: 27:19Squid Games: 36:46Instagram: @fool.fiction
SHOW TITLE: FR3AKY FRÏDAYS! with -Ū. IG HANDLE: @iamu.guru DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 002. LIVE Originally Aired May 30th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York Oh! Drew Barrymore! Duh! Oh–shit–I– What. You forgot? Nah–just… We had a deal. I don't know what kind of deal you think that– CUT TO: Flashback: Early 90's A YOUNG DREW BARRYMORE finds herself reflectively alone in a corner at a Hollywood party full of other starlett's and moguls–coincidentally, a full moon ritual is in full swing in a garden promenade nearby… White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
SHOW TITLE: FR3AKY FRÏDAYS! with -Ū. IG HANDLE: @iamu.guru DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 002. LIVE Originally Aired May 30th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York Oh! Drew Barrymore! Duh! Oh–shit–I– What. You forgot? Nah–just… We had a deal. I don't know what kind of deal you think that– CUT TO: Flashback: Early 90's A YOUNG DREW BARRYMORE finds herself reflectively alone in a corner at a Hollywood party full of other starlett's and moguls–coincidentally, a full moon ritual is in full swing in a garden promenade nearby… White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
SHOW TITLE: FR3AKY FRÏDAYS! with -Ū. IG HANDLE: @iamu.guru DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 002. LIVE Originally Aired May 30th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York Oh! Drew Barrymore! Duh! Oh–shit–I– What. You forgot? Nah–just… We had a deal. I don't know what kind of deal you think that– CUT TO: Flashback: Early 90's A YOUNG DREW BARRYMORE finds herself reflectively alone in a corner at a Hollywood party full of other starlett's and moguls–coincidentally, a full moon ritual is in full swing in a garden promenade nearby… White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.
Comedian Atsuko Okatsuka joins J&J this week for a hilarious and heartfelt deep dive into dating, breakups, and family drama. They kick things off with a wild listener email about a broken engagement, and whether you owe the entire ex-family an apology. Atsuko shares the story of a third date turned trauma bond after her now-husband paused foreplay to sing to his mom on the phone. The trio explores how vulnerability, cultural differences, and mental health shape our relationships. They also unpack a front-row breakup at Atsuko's comedy show and debate whether the full moon really messes with your mood (and your mom). It all wraps up with a petty game of “Apology or Nah?” that exposes just how messy post-breakup etiquette can be. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Nah. Not ok.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
In today's show Chas and David rally against the trend to optimize and advocate for the fatty middle, question Cole Houshmand's appetite, explain why you should never travel with Tom Hanks, identify cannabis as a gateway drug to murder, and a Fijian teen and a geriatric advance surfing's Core Score back into the black. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
How old ARE Romeo and Juliet? And Antony and Cleopatra?? And Rosalind and Orlando??? And King Lear????In this episode, we discuss not only how old the characters in the canon are (or in many cases, appear to be), but also, whether or not it makes a difference to the story. And on top of THAT, we also talk about how well known actors play characters VERY different from their own age when they play certain roles.Ageism, you say?? Nah.To send us an email - please do, we truly want to hear from you!!! - write us at: thebardcastyoudick@gmail.com To support us (by giving us money - we're a 501C3 Non-Profit - helllloooooo, tax deductible donation!!!) - per episode if you like! On Patreon, go here: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=35662364&fan_landing=trueOr on Paypal:https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=8KTK7CATJSRYJWe also take cash! ;DTo visit our website, go here:https://www.thebardcastyoudick.comTo donate to an awesome charity, go here:https://actorsfund.org/help-our-entertainment-communiity-covid-19-emergency-reliefLike us? Don't have any extra moolah? We get it! Still love us and want to support us?? Then leave us a five-star rating AND a review wherever you get your podcasts!!
The producers have taken over! Nah! We love these guys and thought that while we are off, you should give them a little listen too! You can hear them on Nova 8pm Sundays and they also have their own podcast too! Jess and Chae are unhinged in the best possible way. This week, they confess to mortifying moments they’ll never live down, including a Pilates class incident. Dive into what makes someone “cool” with help from Gen Z Producer Oli, and reveal the bizarre things they do when no one’s watching (like Chae’s chipmunk singing debut... Iconic!) Plus, they break down why a true crime podcast theme song made them want to call the police and someone spent over $6,000 on takeaway burritos! You can find the Jess and Chae podcast here and on your fav podcast app - Leave them 5 stars and a review and follow them on TikTok @jessandchaeSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Nah. It's a big big nah. Support the show and follow us here Twitter, Insta, Apple, Amazon, Spotify and the Edge! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Anak atau remaja banyak banget yang udah punya duit dari kecil, asalnya dari thr, hadiah, sisa uang jajan, daaan lain-lain.. Nah, disini, aku mau share obrolan aku sama Mami biar duitnya bisa ngasih cuan, cuan, dan cuan! Hope you guys like it!
How do you get AI overviews and AI mode to promote your content? Gyi and Conrad detail out all the current guidance for better content performance. ----- The way people use search is changing. You definitely want to make sure your content is getting to your audience, and AI search experiences like AI Overviews and AI Mode may require a change in your tactics. Gyi and Conrad talk through the current guidance from Google to help you stand out in your market. Finding ways to provide genuinely unique content and a great site experience are key! And, learn how to employ the E-E-A-T principles for even more good content boosts in search. Learn more about Google AI Content Guidelines: AI Features and Your Website | Google Search Central | Documentation Google Search's guidance on using generative AI content on your website The News: Fear, uncertainty, doubt? Nah, it's just the Google Core Update of June 2025. A recent bunch of Google LSA notifications caused confusion and delay. Sheesh. Ben Sessions's very public vendetta against the shady behavior of some folks operating in his local courts is a sight to behold! Check out Ben's Facebook page for more. Another acquisition! Clio buys vLex, and this could be an exciting game changer. Clio and Scorpion recently reached an exclusive partnership agreement for marketing services — More on this to come. In the wake of the tragic Texas Floods, there are ways you can help. The Texas Disaster Legal Help Group will need more volunteers for years to come. Suggested LHLM Episodes: Big Money — Who Owns the Future of Law? - Lunch Hour Legal Marketing Connect: The Bite - Lunch Hour Legal Marketing Newsletter! Leave Us an Apple Review Lunch Hour Legal Marketing on YouTube Lunch Hour Legal Marketing on TikTok
Need more reddit nice girls? https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLTz_vyR-zjcBNwAp2auWWsmje3m8_6umGIn this episode of r/NiceGirls we meet some nice girls. Nah, just kidding. They're horrible people to be around and they just seem to stick like nothing else can. How do you get rid of them? Simple. Starve them of what they crave. Don't give them even a drop of attention and your nice girl problem will solve itself seemingly magically overnight!YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/reddxyDiscord: https://discord.gg/Sju7YckUWuPayPal: https://www.paypal.me/daytondoesPatreon: http://patreon.com/daytondoesTwitter: http://www.twitter.com/daytondoesFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReddXD/Teespring: https://teespring.com/stores/reddx
Get ready for an episode of SUPER proportions! The Filmlosophers are flying into their discussion of James Gunn's highly anticipated 2025 film, "Superman." The crew dives deep into this unique portrayal of the Man of Steel, recognizing Gunn's masterful efforts in bringing the humanity of the Last Son of Krypton to the forefront, more so than just his incredible powers. From his nuanced characterization to the fresh take on his origin, they'll dissect what makes this iteration of Superman truly stand out on the big screen. Plus, Host Eddie brings another fun challenge to the table in a segment he's calling "Super or Nah!" Spencer and Amy will be put to the test, determining if the bizarre, incredible, or simply strange factoid presented to them is something Superman has actually experienced in his vast comic-book-tv-show-cartoon-film history, or just a clever fib. Join us for an insightful look at the newest chapter for the iconic hero and a game that will test even the most dedicated Superman fans! So pull up a chair, grab your popcorn, and tune in to this week's SUPER-SIZED episode of The Filmlosophers!
Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!WE ARE BACK! With another amazing episode of AYDTMOn this episode of AYDTM we start with talking about the whole B. Simone saga with her being a bad friend, then we ask would you rather find out your partner is cheating successfully or getting curved, being friends with someone you've had relations with, Nelly and Ashanti and more.Wanna know if you doing the most!!??Got a crazy “doing the most” story?Send in your voice notes and/or ask us for advice!Email us @ Ayeyoudoingthemost@gmail.com… put in the subject “Am I doing the Most or Nah!?”Or send it in the DM!!!Please comment, like & subscribe.. Share with your friends!!Now streaming on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and IHeart Radio!!!!!Follow us on IG @Ayeyoudoingthemost- @CinnamonJaye && @BraneeDianeProduced by @RemyTheBrain @ZoatShotMe
Guys...how do I stop Darrens ego going mental now he's big on Tiktok!He's turning!! Nah we had a buzz recording this and we're buzzing for whats coming up in the future with this, the stand up and other things...EnjoyNext Crowd Work Show -https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Glasgow/Blackfriars/Darren-Connell-Crowd-Work-Show/41182346/This Podcast is sponsored byQuick Stop NutritionYour One stop shop for everything sports nutrition and vitamins get 30% off with code: WHALE30https://quickstopnutrition.com/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
Sibling road trips never end well especially if you're Endless siblings. Dream joins Delirium to attempt to find their missing brother, Destruction. But are Dream's motives truly out of the goodness of his sibling heart? Nah...Follow all of the Stranded Panda network shows at strandedpanda.comFind Ashley on Bill and Ashley's Terror Theaterhttps://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/bill-ashleys-terror-theater/id1630376625Find Hayley at The Source Pages Podcast.https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/source-pages-a-reading-collective-andor/id1573495735
We finished Nier Automata. The credits rolled, so it's over. Right? Riiiiiight? Nah. We finished Route A and returning guest Sam Greer joins us to talk about Automata's first closing chapter. Enjoy the show! Become a Normandy FM patron: http://patreon.com/normandyfm Follow us on Bluesky Normandy FM: @normandyfm Eric: @seamoosi Ken: @shepardcdr Sam: @sammgreer
Dwight Howard is apparently getting a divorce. His wife posting she needs private time. I use to think people search for this stuff. Nah they put in people's faces now then when it goes sour they want privacy. Craziness. I discuss this on todays show and also I discuss men who have 100 kids by 100 women. Hint hint watch out for them.
Siapa yang menindas Ayub? Itu adalah iblis, bukan Tuhan! Dan sekali lagi Tuhan memperjelas siapa penjahat sebenarnya: "Nah, ia dalam kuasamu hanya sayangkan nyawanya, Ayub 1:6.
Cáel Defeats The Illuminati: Part 19The Great Hunt.Book 3 in 19 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.‘The Hunt is never an easy thing because in the Wild there are things which hunt the hunters'September 11th: First Day Of The Great HuntCentral ArgentinaFelix was still nursing his hurt hand when I came back from my Ishara-space."Well?" he smirked."Plenty of good news," I smirked right back from the place where I had dropped when Felix had cold-cocked me. "Suffice it to say the weather on the final day will be in our favor ~ no more precise answer than that from the goddess SzélAnya ~ plus our horses will not throw us, or give away our position. That's from the Goddess Epona by the way.""Finally, the Goddess Ishara will be watching over us and our travails... she will send omens to warn us of hunters closing in as well as talk to me in my dreams. Apparently she doesn't want me; us; to shame her in this contest so is taking this competition seriously. Mind you, this means the other goddesses will be taking this contest seriously as well, so we have our work cut out for us again.""What is Ishara the Goddess of again?" the teased me."Oaths, love and medicine," I repeated my answer."Fine," the grinned, "is there any goddess in my corner?""None that bothered talking to me," I snorted. "Want me to knock you out and see what you can see?""Nah... I'm Felix Melena. I work better alone.""You mean in alone in a team of two, right?""Yeah; a team of four actually, Nyilas. Don't forget our mounts," Felix motioned to our two horses.I was ecstatic because they had brought Peppermint down from 'Summer Camp' for this romp through the Pampas. To me she was the perfect mare for this endeavor.Felix had been gifted with a spirited gelding named 'Thunderbolt'; 'Rayo' in Spanish. He was a black haired beast with white sox and a white diamond on his forehead. Felix had wanted a stallion, but the Horse-mistresses of Epona had nixed that choice as highly impractical for a horse-virgin such as himself. I had to agree as stallions had far too much spirit and the likelihood of one making noise when it smelled an unknown mare was far too high... so a gelding it was.Not that an 'unknown' mare was that much of a possibility. See, we had been put down where the other thirty huntresses would also be starting from; a makeshift corral our host Freehold had put together as the entrance to some 'badlands' in which the hunt would be taking place. There ten Amazons; with their own mounts; manned the place, fed the horses and made sure no one cheated out of the starting gate.We had our 24 hours head start on our pursuers, but that didn't turn out to be the huge edge we thought it would be. We were given the first part of our map... which led to the area we would find our second part of our map... and so on until sometime late Saturday night, or Sunday morning, we would find the final part of our map which would direct us to where our extraction point would be.We were to be extracted at Noon; not sunset as we had originally been told; on Sunday. Actually, anytime between ten minutes before to ten minutes after... so fair this was not seeing as we were novice outdoorsmen. Still, those were the rules we were given so off we went early Thursday morning. In the truest Amazon fashion, this was to be a contest which required the utmost skill and endurance to win.Heading out, Felix and I were deciding on what the enemy strategy, or strategies, would be. We figured some would start by simply trailing us seeing as how they were better both at tracking as well as doing so from horseback. The second group would follow a different, but equally difficult 'Treasure Hunt' toward our final point of extraction and wait for us there.I reminded Felix that neither he nor I nor any of the Amazons would be riding our horses to death, or even injury, because that wasn't the Amazon way. Such callous disregard for one's mount wasn't in them and we had to follow that dictum, or suffer irreparable harm to our own 'honor' should we do so and somehow win. Doing so and losing... we decided to not even go there.This also meant we had to take time for our horses to graze and find water for them to drink along the way. After getting that lecture, Felix wondered out loud if it wouldn't be a better idea for us to let our horses loose and 'hoofing' it ourselves seeing as how the Amazons would also have to follow the same horse etiquette. I had to remind him reluctantly how much faster horses could travel. Horses were the way to go.The difference was there was no rapid charging across the landscape with the Sun at our backs as we headed out. No, we took it at a steady trot until we hit our first terrain feature; a steady gradient cut in the side of a canyon which had been created over the millennia by the forces of wind and rain. Down we went. Our horizon sunk down until all we had were the walls of the canyon.Our map directed us to take this route to the first 'treasure horde', whatever that was. By the way we were moving and how the Sun slowly crawled up above us; recall it was almost 'spring' down under; we figure we were making good progress toward our first target... which we located without too much hassle around noon.It was a Bonanza! Not for us, but for the horses. We had four bags of grain for our mounts. We humans received some sort of indescribable jerky (since it was probably not human we decided to eat it... later [it turned out to be the local flightless bird and it tasted like chicken jerk jerky too!]). There was also the second part of our map which led us farther out into the wilderness. Off we went.Third Treasure Trove.By evening we had found our third treasure trove. The second had contained two compasses and two hatchets (Yippee!). The third had contained two sections of twenty-five meter rope and some flint and tinder so we could start a fire. Felix was all for this as it was butt-numbing cold already and we were damn tired from a day full of riding.We compromised by creating a banked fire. We also decided to sleep instead of pushing on. It was pretty dark outside even with the three-quarters Moon above. We definitely didn't want to walk our mounts into something which could bring them up lame this early in the contest. I assured Felix we couldn't abandon them and leading them would be torture. Essentially we would be disqualified.I won the compass toss and got to sleep the first part of the night. Felix woke me around Moon-set and then I kept watch; there were predators about, or so we believed; until sunrise. Then we ate the last of the jerky, fed and watered our mounts then head out once more. This time our hearts began to hammer within their cages and every noise had sinister implications.See, the Amazons are cheating bitches of all cheating bitches and could have started after us at 12:01 last night and pushed on following our trail through the night. Being expert horsewomen and spectacular trackers they could do shit like that. We, their prey, had to be clever in other ways. What those ways were weren't relatively apparent though.Maybe Pamela could show up and, after slapping me upside my head, give me a clue. No Pamela arrived though so we were on our own. Shortly after the Sun crested the canyon walls; we kept to the canyons just in case; we came across the fourth 'trove'... and it was chilling. We received two binoculars and some more jerky (it was to be our lunch). The binoculars were the chilling part because if WE had some then most likely the Amazons behind us had some as well.Also, the way from our fourth treasure to out fifth put us in the horns of a dilemma. We could either cut over the sides of the canyon to where the fifth treasure trove/map was, or keep to the canyon and travel three times the distance. After a quick discussion followed by some 'rock-paper-scissors' (complete with a prayer to Dot Ishara), I won, so up and over the side we went.To reduce the size of our silhouette, we dismounted and led our horses across the... and stumbled across a herd of cattle; Sweet Mother Ishara! We moved through the herd, waved to the accompanying Amazon gaucho, and went on our way. Felix muttered something about my 'dumb' luck. He-he-he-he-he... We talked to the gaucho, turned on the charm and convinced her to not tell any of our pursuers we had come by this way.She was like nineteen years old and I could tell really took a shine to Felix... so he promised to come back and visit her the moment he won the contest. After we departed her and her track-erasing herd of cattle, I pulled him aside."You had better keep that promise to that girl. If you don't, she and her kinfolk will hunt your ass down and tag you like a mule deer in the Yellowstone," I cautioned him."I know. I know," he grinned. "These are some crazy ass bitches. Besides, being the lone male in a freehold of women has its own appeal."I thought we were in safe territory again when Felix finally asked that doom-laden question."Cáel , where have all their dudes gotten off to?"'Oh shit', I mused. How much of the truth could Felix handle?"I'm only telling you this because I like you," I said then took a deep breath. "They sold them to the Nine Clans... they are a bunch of assassins.""Really?" he studied me. Like he was going to catch me in a lie after four years of dating the most dangerous game on this Earth; girlfriends."Really. Where do you think they get those legion of ninja and combat fighters from? Sure their life expectancy isn't what we have, but it is much better than they would have if they stayed home." There was some part of the truth in that."That seems... short-sighted.""What do you think guys like us are for? Now they won't have to kidnap local passer-byers for weeklong orgies.""How come words has never gotten out about this?" Felix was relentless."It has from time to time, but Havenstone makes sure such reports are relegated to the realm of tabloids and UFO aficionados. If that doesn't work, they bribe some people to bury the story. If that doesn't work, they kill some people.""Now that I believe," Felix nodded."That they kill people to keep their secrets?""Absolutely. They look like the kind of girlfriend who wouldn't be happy unless she burns your balls before your eyes after you break up.""How succinct," I nodded back."So, are we ever going to see Khalid, Trent, or Brian again?""Sure... they are only being kept prisoners and milked of their seeds... but I can arrange for you go to go meet them if you really want to," I offered."No thanks," Felix shook his head then grinned. "They washed out while only you and I remain. Let me find them on my own and get some sort of permission from Ms. Love (Katrina) first. I thought Khalid was kind of cool and Trent was the kind of brother I could invite out for a beer, or ten.""Not Brian?""Brian was too invested in himself and his weevil-ing ways. I couldn't trust him at my back, or with my girl. Mind you, I wouldn't trust you with my girl either, but we are otherwise okay.""Smart move. I have exceedingly low impulse control around the ladies plus an over-developed libido.""Yeah," he smiled my way. "I'd trust you in a knife fight, but not with someone I loved. You are way too smooth, Nyilas. Way too smooth.""What brought that revelation on?""Ms. Lee (Brooke). Normally I can mend any fence with any girl I come across, but not with her after she'd been with you. I admire that," he studied me."So, are you and Gene going to be a regular thing?""Yeah. I think so. I still expect me to be getting plenty of tail at Havenstone once I win this thing, but having a less-lethal girl on the outside wouldn't suck either."So much like me... I admired that about the guy."Once we win, don't ya mean?""Sure thing, Nyilas," he chuckled. "I figure it helps me to help you across the finish line. The better standing you end up in the better an ally you make back at work.""That reminds me; Katrina told me they are going to spin this; your participation in this inaugural Great Hunt is that all sins are forgiven; yadda, yadda, yadda. Thus you still walking around Havenstone being the bad boy you are.""Clever lady and always thinking ahead. Is she seeing anybody?""No, and dude, you don't want to go there. She is far too clever by half to fall for any of our reindeer games. She scares me," I cautioned him."All the more reason to pursue her," he snorted."Go for it," I shrugged. Hey, I'd warned the guy."What about that blonde number I saw you with... Elsa was it?"Oh, he knew exactly who Elsa was, but he was acting all nonchalant about his treatment at her hands."Yeah. Elsa. What about her?""Is she in your stable?""Nope. Not really," I shrugged. "Going after her too?""Oh, definitely.""Good luck with that," I sighed. He'd learn the hard way."There is something you are not telling me.""Yeah. She has the hots for me. Wants to own me... and not in a good way.""Oh... is that your way of cautioning me to be wary of her?""Most definitely. Elsa is one scary lady and she already knows who and what we both are.""What are we?" he was eyeballing me again."Hunters on the prowl. Guys who like a challenge. In your case, the guy who only wants the best. I'm more of an omnivore.""You mean you are a man-slut," he snorted."Got me," I chuckled."So, you think she's out of my league?""No. I think she is Katrina's friend and Katrina sees right through both of us. Elsa might not have those interpersonal skills, but she's twice as lethal. Trust me on that; I've fought her.""How tough was she?""Beat me black and blue then choked me out because I wouldn't surrender.""Oh... I'd like to get her on the mats.""Good luck with that then. Become a 'Runner' and there is even more I can tell you about her. Right now it is all simply in-house stuff.""Corporate confidentiality details, eh? Executive Services purview and stuff like that. Man, I was wrong to look down on your branch of service. I apologize.""Why thank you. I honestly never thought I'd get a sincere apology from you.""I can be wrong once in your lifetime," Felix laughed, "and I'm man enough to admit it.""Oh... and thanks for the sim-cards. They helped me get off that deserted atoll.""No problem. That was Katrina's idea though.""Well, you got them to us so surreptitiously the Chinese suspected nothing.""Don't you mean those rogue Albanians?""Yeah... them too," I laughed along with him."I think we can be friends, Nyilas," he grinned."I think so too. I didn't think so originally. On the first day you and the others treated me like the country bumpkin, but now I think you see me as a survivor... just like you.""Precisely. You know I had the option of leaving Havenstone... no matter how this affair turns out.""And you didn't take it? Who offered you this opportunity anyway?""Katrina.""It might have been a ruse," I warned him. "These bitches don't play fair.""I took that into account... but I love the challenge of this place. It is like no other work environment on Earth. Challenges every day, hot women all around, and the chance to risk my life on a monthly basis. Screw regular corporate America. I've found the place where I belong."Felix sounded so enthusiastic. I hoped he understood the fate he was embracing. I also hoped he found a niche in Havenstone which allowed him to live out his life... hopefully a long, long life. Maybe I should warn him about the 'cliffs'? Perhaps once we had won and were safely back in Havenstone's motherly embrace.Hiding.Fortune favored us backtracking from our seventh treasure trove; our dinner and more grain for the horses. A few birds flew up out of the brush ahead of us. I took that as a sign from Ishara."Felix," I hissed. "Hide!"We looked around and found a draw away from the main canyon floor for us to slink into. I used some brush to cover our side tracks then ran back to cover.No sooner had I gotten there than two Amazons came trotting past us. The lead one was Svetlana Inara and she was tracking us from the saddle. The second one was Beatrice Astarte who was scanning the environment as they moved together following our trail up this vein of the canyon. As soon as they were around the next corner of the vein, Felix and I mounted up and raced down the other way.The sand floor covered our hoof-falls and we had to go that way anyway. We had barely covered the distance to the next draw when we spotted two more Amazons following our earlier trail this way. We had Two Amazon parties on our trail and it wasn't even Friday night yet! This group spotted us and gave chase. They must have ridden their horses hard to get this far because we quickly left them in our dust.This allowed us to slow down a bit and deviate over to where the eight 'treasure' was. Our map had us going back down his particular draw which I thought was most unwise, so we went over the lip of the draw dismounted and led our horses at a rapid run; for us humans; across the greater landscape. Thank SzélAnya, a late afternoon rainstorm fell upon us as we dropped down into the next vein of the canyon before the pursuing Amazons crested the draw we had exited.We walked through the rain until the sun set then debated what to do next. We were going to need light to figure out where the eighth treasure was at; they were all somewhat hidden. We had to keep moving no matter what because we doubted the Amazons on our asses were going to let up. We decided when we got close to the eighth treasure horde I would do the searching while Felix stood watch on the entrance to the draw.Using a hatchet I cut off a branch from a bush and set it alight so I could see what I was doing. It took me twenty long minutes to figure out where the treasure was hidden... night-vision goggles and the map to the ninth map piece. Gleefully, I went back down to where Felix was except... no Felix. Oh Shit! I slipped back and put on my night-vision goggles, got a hatchet at the ready and returned, scanning about.I spotted one Amazon... she was Carla Nemain... and I recalled her being teamed with Ella Mielikki. Anyway, I tried to sneak up on Carla and it almost worked. At the last moment the cloud cover cleared and the three-quarters Moon revealed me. She spun on me with twin fighting sticks while I tried to brain her with the flat side of my hatchet.Yours truly took two punishing blows to his ribs while only clipping her with my hatchet. Still, the blow appeared to cause her to stumble so I pressed my advantage. I knocked one of her two sticks out of her hand then missed twice. I thought I heard someone coming up hard behind me. Well... fuck!"What do you have?" Carla grumbled. "Are you trying to kill me?"I kept silent, pulling out my second hatchet and pressing my luck a little further. I disarmed her and then hammered her down with a hatchet to the top of her skull. Down she went. I spun around just in time to see Ella Mielikki coming at me with a lasso. She launched it a second too late and I was able to bat it aside. She drew her honor blade and kept coming though."Ella... I have two hatchets. This is not a fight you can win," I addressed her."You won't kill me," she kept advancing."Of course not. We are sisters, but I can do... this!" and I attacked her with the flat ends of my twin hatchets. I so had her too... or I would have had I had the extra moment to ensure Carla was unconscious.She wasn't. She jumped me from behind then Ella rushed in from the front and I went down in a tangle of arms, legs and torsos. I was doing surprisingly well wrestling them both despite the odds until Ella put her knife against my throat."Give up," she panted. "You have been captured. Admit it!""I surrender," I sighed then relaxed my body. My two hatchets dropped to the ground."Let's bind him up too," Carla grinned. They proceeded to tie my hands behind my back then my legs together. Then then gave each other a celebratory 'high-five'. Then came their pillaging of our loot. They especially loved our night vision goggles and the grain for 'their' horses. They abandoned our horses, put loose nooses around our necks and began riding off down the canyon, their horses feeding on the grain in feedbags... and there was a suitably humbled Felix...To do so they had to untie our legs, but they compensated for that by tying our elbows together behind our backs as well as our hands. It was a rather painful affair. All in all, our captors were quite triumphant. After a while, I decided to speak."So, how did you catch us so fast?" I asked Carla. She had my noose."I prayed to Nemain and then picked a compass point and rode that way. We came across your path and followed you here."So you weren't the group following us from the afternoon?""No... you were being followed?""Yes... by two groups... both of whom tracked us from the beginning," I sighed."Ella," Carla addressed her companion. "We had better get a move on. There are four others on our track.""Damn it," Ella grumbled. "You take both males. I'll double back and start masking our trail. You pick a different compass point and I'll catch up.""Okay. Come here," Carla accepted Felix's noose from Ella. "We are going... north by northwest."Ella doubled back and was soon out of sight. Carl took the next draw she came across and kept up a steady walking pace. As a matter of safety, she didn't wrap our tethers around her saddle horn on the off chance her horse took off. We could be dragged to death of we were attached to the horse. So, we had a momentary advantage... and took it.I spotted Felix counting down with his fingers behind his back. I spotted him at '4'. I rapidly signaled '3', he went to '2' and I finished up with '1' then we lunged backwards trying to pull her off her horse. With my luck, she tumbled down on Felix's side, horse rearing up. I ran for it, quickly pulling my noose along with me. I heard Carla and Felix cursing behind me.It was gut-check time. I could abandon Felix or attempt to double back and help him with only my legs because my hands were behind my back."Fuck it," I cursed silently as I doubled back. In the forefront of my mind was the notion Felix would come back for me if the roles were reversed. In I charged.Felix was standing, trying to use his martial arts kicks to keep her at bay.He was also absorbing the majority of her concentration because; again; she didn't notice me until I was right on top of her. I put a shoulder into her diaphragm, taking her down and knocking her knife out of her hands. Felix didn't waste a moment giving her as snap-kick to the cranium... knocking her out. I picked up the knife and backed up toward my partner.First I had to saw through his elbow bonds and then his bound hands to free him. This all took precious time. I had just freed him when Carla began moaning. Felix looked to me then to the horse."Go," I urged him on. "Go to the next site and then double back for me. You know which way they will be heading and it is you on horseback versus two of us who aren't."He gave me a quick nod of the head then jumped into the saddle... and almost spilled himself over the other side, but then was off like a flash. I ran off in the other direction. Of course with the minimal lighting and my arms tied behind my back I didn't expect to get too far, but what realistic choice did I have. I certainly wasn't going to give up, damn it.[The Politics Of Not Playing Fair]In hindsight, knowing the Amazons were cheating bitches of cheating bitches, I should have tried to cheat more, but I ended up thinking too much about the male version of honor and not enough about winning. Thankfully, others were much more invested in me winning than that. Add to this and I had family I really hadn't counted on seeing things that way.And then there was the Sanctity of the Contract to consider... which I clearly hadn't, though the opportunity to do so was right there all along.As I was fleeing for my life I caught sight of one person running past me to my right and another to my left as a third slammed into me and took me down. For an instance I was thinking 'now they are operating in groups of four!' then the clothing of the three entered my consciousness. They weren't dressed like Amazons. Their camouflage was all wrong unless you were deliberately trying to hide in this environment.The only people I knew who would do something like that without a plethora of modern weapons being evident; thus being the Seven Pillars; were the Ninja![in Japanese] "Hey there, are you looking for me?"[in Japanese] "Yes we are, Ishara-sama," a feminine voice answered. "Where is your companion? We are supposed to make a good faith effort to save them as well.""Wait... who hired you?""Well, it is supposed to be something of a secret so tell no one, but it was your brother," she replied in thickly accented English. With a few flashes of steel in the moonlight and I was a free Amazon once more."Were did the other two go?""Covering your tracks and laying out a few nuisance traps to confuse the two following you.""Your body feels... awfully familiar," I hazarded conversation of another sort."I am Miyako's older sister; and married. Happily so though I have been repeatedly reminded of your... horn-dog status. It is 'horn-dog' correct?""Yeah," I sighed. "That's me. Let's go find Felix before he gets hopelessly lost."By this time the other two had made it back to us, expertly covering my tracks; they were not leaving any; because, you know, they were ninjas. By the looks of things it must have seemed I flew away because I had simply vanished as well. I wish I could have hung around long enough to see the looks of consternation on the pursuing Amazons' faces, but I had real work to take care of."So basically, my Brother, the Great Khan, has hired three ninja to help me win," I whispered as we made our getaway into the moonlit darkness."Oh no," I could have sworn she smiled, "There are seven of us. We each have other tasks to perform, be it carry extra equipment, or scouting ahead to make sure we don't bump into any more of your girlfriends.""They are not my girlfriends... yet... maybe," I shrugged."Don't make me hit you," she whispered back. "I will hit you if you cheat too much on my little sister. She is so impressionable you know.""Oh... boy," I groaned. A protective older sister while I was on a time table. "Is all of your team female?" I asked instead."Yes. When dealing with our allies the Amazons it was considered the diplomatic thing to do. Now we most move like the autumn breeze over the grass, Ishara-sama.""Please, call me Cáel . What's your name?""Not something I can reveal while on a mission. My name in the team is 'First' as I am the team leader.""I could call you Hatsuyuki," I kept going. Hatsuyuki meant 'First Snow'. We were angling in a different direction suggesting to me we had come across Felix's path and were racing to catch him."I will help you out a bit," she chuckled ever so slightly. "Every woman on the team is a sister, or sister-in-law of Miyako, so we have all heard the tales of your exploits and been suitably warned by Grandmother to not fall for your... reindeer games.""Wow... cut off at the knees before even leaving the starting gate," I frowned."Please concentrate on the task at hand Ishara-sama," she whispered then, "Four more ahead of us. I swear they must have some sort of divine assistance as well.""Cheating bitches of all cheating bitches," I quietly cursed. Hatsuyuki put her hand over my mouth despite the low volume of my words.I risked a peek. It was fucking Elsa and Rachel and they were having a pow-wow with Tormé Maeve and Parul Nammu. By the rules of the Great Hunt, no Amazon could subdue, or otherwise hinder any other Amazon; as long as they didn't have a male. Then all bets were off. After a while the two teams flipped a coin and departed in different ways... which were eerily close to our actual track.The moment they were safely away, we took off once more at a steady jog. Mind you, I was in pretty damn good shape... and these little ninja babes were threatening to run me into the ground such was their stamina. The big thing was breath control. We had to be prepared to be utterly still at a moment's notice. Every Amazon around us was as hunter of some sort, be it of big game, or of humans.Even with their precautions we found ourselves being tracked by Daryna Šauška and Yatta Oxóssi within the hour. Exactly what they were tracking wasn't known to me and was a source of consternation to the Ninja. It was impossible to outrun horse-bound foes at our current pace and if we moved faster, the odds of our enchantment failing would drastically increase."Fuck!" I hissed."What?" Hatsuyuki made brief eye contact then scanned around for whatever threat I might have detected."They are tracking the magic of the enchantment," I enlightened her."Are you sure?""Alal; my Grandfather is," I held her eyes this time. "Honestly, I was going through the Rolodex of my mind when this thought occurred to me. I think it was a mystic rite the Egyptians invented millennia ago, but he knows it.""What is the counter?""I don't know," I sighed, "but I do know your movement is leaving a magical trail behind which glows like the failing light of a sunset to the searcher."Hatsuyuki whispered some arcane words which my ears failed to focus on while making several complicated hand gestures. She gave me one head nod then we took off, jogging in another direction though still angling to intercept Felix. I noticed the change immediately. Dry grass crackled beneath our feet and standing grass bent at our passage. I was the worst offender without a doubt.Later when we stopped for a break, 'Three' returned to tell us the followers had initially been confused by the loss of the spell energy betraying us, but then they dismounted and began tracking us on foot; slower yet still a persistent menace."New plan," I decided. "We set an ambush for them.""We can't do that, Cáel ," Hatsuyuki informed me. "We are forbidden to directly confront our foes."My mind barely hesitated in its skullduggery."But if I confront them, could you steal their horses?""Yes," she grinned once more, or so I thought. "Then set up a field of simple traps with a path I can maneuver through so I can lose them once I have their undivided attention. Can you do that?""Yes," and another smile."Let's get on it," I grinned back. I could tell she was warming up to me. After all, I wasn't pressuring her to save me, or violate her Contract. Instead I was thinking on my feet and utilizing what they were best at to avoid my enemies.[in Japanese] "Team, here is what we must do," Hatsuyuki gathered her girls together and laid out what they needed to accomplish.Twenty minutes later, the ambush was set and the two ladies walked right into it. Apparently the idea I would fight back so aggressively hadn't occurred to them. I smashed straight into Daryna first, knocking her down and running past her. Instinctively she jumped up, cursing me even as she gave chase. For an instance Yatta hesitated, considering mounting up and giving chase, or pursuing on foot. Rapidly riding a horse even in this partially moonlit night was risky so she decided to join Daryna on foot as I raced away. She did grab her lasso first though. Seeing as Daryna was following in my footsteps, it was Yatta who stumbled into the first series of traps, spraining her ankle in the process.Hearing that, I took a quick detour, allowing Daryna to catch up if she cut crossways in her pursuit. Predictably she did so and crashed into her own series of traps while I continued to beat feet out of there. As Daryna untangled herself from the 'spider web' trap; really just a tangle of silk strings; she heard the horses neigh and then take off. The ninja had exploded smoke bombs in the horses' faces to accomplish this feat.By the time Daryna stood up, I was long gone in the foot race. She carefully picked her way back to Yatta, helped her up and then worked her way back to find their saddles cut loose and packs set aside... and their horses long gone as well. From what 'Five' related to us later, Daryna elected to take after their lost steeds while Yatta treated her sore ankle. 'Five' didn't hang around to see how long it took Daryna to return with their mounts. The rest of us had successfully slipped away by that time.Reunited.By the time we had reunited with Felix he had already discovered our next Treasure Trove; more grain, a compass and a map of the whole region. Woot! We still only had one mount until an hour past sunrise when our two steeds came trotting into our brief camp. Now we had three horses. We elected to release Carla's mount to find its way back to her mistress... eventually, we hoped."Care to explain the entourage?" Felix joked."Somebody who is somebody loves me," I shrugged. "I can't tell you who though. I've been sworn to secrecy.""Damn... five female ninja. We have got to not waste this opportunity.""I am so onboard with that plan," I grinned, "but it going to be tough. Most of the only speak Japanese and they are all related to a girl I've already knocked up.""So they all know what a stud you are, Cáel ," Felix laughed. "Give it time and they'll be begging for it. I know the type. Fit, but silent with minimal social skills. They want to know all about how you seduced their sister, cousin, what have you.""God, I hope so," I groaned. "All this abstinence is driving me crazy.""Me too," he chuckled. "Me too."Oh, what we had planned was horribly irresponsible. We had the inaugural First Great Hunt to win for all Mankind after all. Still, it took only three elements to be effective; a stream, river, or lake of some kind to bathe in; to convince the ninja we had to take a bath to remove any scent the Amazons who captured us may have sprayed on us; and the ninjas' willingness to believe such an outlandish excuse to get naked. Once they saw us naked nature would take its course.Well, despite our awesome masculine arsenals... we got nowhere. The ninja babes didn't buy our excuses, blew away our pseudoscientific ramblings (pheromones don't work that way, they insisted) and seriously; we didn't really have the time. So while putting our shirts back on and then going for our boots, two more Amazons came our way. We barely had the warning time to seek cover when Elsa and Rachel came riding down the stream, looking each way for any signs of us.Thanks to our horses remaining perfectly still as well, they gradually moved past our hidey-holes and out of our view. The second the ninjas gave us the 'all clear' we hurriedly finished dressing then headed off in a different direction. The last two Amazons I wanted to confront were Elsa and Rachel. I liked Rachel too much and quite frankly was too afraid of Elsa.Once more we risked using some Ninja Magics to aid our passage through a light, early morning rain. This one put off a confusing area of tracks which were both difficult to follow; Amazons were no dummies; and included our chosen pathway to the next treasure trove. Shortly after an overcast noontime Sun, we hunkered down for a few hours and took a short nap.I would have liked to sleep longer, but according to the two ninja who had stood watch, the whole area appeared to be crawling with Amazons out and about, mounted and dismounted and following our misleading trails, but still being close enough around to make traveling above the canyons frankly impossible. Felix and I had a meeting of the minds with Hatsuyuki.Sending two Ninja off on our steeds wouldn't work because at least one group of the opposition had our binoculars and none of the Ninja could pass for us under such scrutiny. In fact, we couldn't come up with a single plan which guaranteed us a chance to move about unseen. So, we came up with a crazy plan instead. I would take off on Peppermint in an elliptical path meant to draw off as many Amazons as possible.It had to be me because a few of the Amazons might not pursue Felix if he tried the same stunt, focusing on capturing Ishara first... so Ishara had to be the one to play decoy. We shook hands, hugged then scouted around for the best opportunity for me to make a bolt for it... then off I went. What the Ninja planned to do wasn't revealed to us though I had a feeling they weren't enamored with my plan.Peppermint and I came out of the closest draw and set off with a meandering gate; we would need all the speed she could muster soon enough. Unthinkingly, I had also stumbled across an added bonus to my plan. Me and my dumb luck. See, all the Amazons anywhere close to me at the start had been pressing their mounts hard for a day and a half now plus hadn't spent any time last night sleeping whereas me and Peppermint were relatively well fed and watered as well as well rested.Still, my initial sense was that I was simply fucked. All across the plain, Amazons noted my presence within a minute and began moving to hem me in. I imagine once I was unmounted and bound, the grand melee to see who would claim me would begin. I counted twelve of the fine ladies and while none were directly ahead of the direction I was heading in, some were far too close for me to hold out much hope.I didn't give up though. I wasn't in me and apparently it wasn't in Peppermint either. She picked up the pace instinctively when I leaned forward and off we went. Incrementally, all thirteen steeds picked up their speeds. I wasn't going to make it... and then it got worse. Coming out of a draw to my front-right was none other than Ella Mielikki.See appeared as surprised to see me as I was to see her, but that didn't last. She whipped out her lasso and spurred her mount to go faster. She was going to cut me off. I had no out in any other direction. All I had was a plain full of grass and thunderclouds in the distance; just too far away to do me any good.'Remember who you were...' came unbidden to my mind.I leaned forward and began whispering in Peppermint's ear in a language I did not know... but three thousand years ago it had been the language of horse peoples like the Scythians who taught it to their noble young... and so had another people long forgotten by history... the Medians. The words spilled out of me until all that was left was the final benediction; words that would bind man and mount together.[Median] "For Aya," I whispered.Remember who you were; wasn't meant for me. It was for the hundreds of Median steeds my Grandfather had ridden into battle... with his comrades-in-arms for over a thousand years two thousand years ago.Ella was whirling the lasso over her head. We were so close I could read the prayer to Mielikki on her lips as she strove to close those last few hoof-falls. The lasso flew through the air...Peppermint took off in a burst of speed utterly unlooked for. Her ghostly white plume rose majestically over her head; Grandfather's symbol... and now mine. The thunder of a hundred such steeds filled my ears with their power as we pulled away from the falling lasso... now less than a foot... too short. She had missed us and with that throw, passed the last chance the Amazons had to catch me.Rachel would later tell me they were all completely aghast at the pace Peppermint set as we rode past Mielikki, easily outdistancing her thus everyone else. We had escaped them and they knew it. They didn't know how and the looks of utter disbelief the Amazons behind me exchanged left them no doubt I had led them a merry chase only to vanish in a whirlwind of dust as I raced all the way into the storm-burst. Gone, gone, gone.Rachel told me she had then turned to Elsa and laughed heartily."I should have given him my honor blade," she chuckled, "because unlike the rest of you, I knew better.""But, what did he do?" Elsa had asked, truly curious and a bit frustrated."Just being Cáel ," Rachel had shaken her head as she replied. "Just being Cáel ."[Sunday]It was a thick, pounding rain as promised. No one could ride in this. Visibility was down to a few yards and the ground had turned into a morass. Only the greyness of the clouds betrayed the coming of day to us while our final treasure trove; a compass, map and coordinates for the rescue; pointed us in the proper direction... us and thirty Amazons.In our favor, the Ninja threw up a marching cordon around us so we didn't walk into any ambushes, and any Amazons not already at least even with us in the distance separating us from our evacuation point had a chance of catching us. Again, no Amazon worthy of their name would ride in weather like this and in a foot race, we men actually finally had the advantage.I wish I knew who was closest so I could plan accordingly. In strictly hand to hand combat, Felix and I had the advantage on over half those we were confronting. While most excelled at being hunters, beating up their prey with hands and knives wasn't normally their second best feature. No, they were fine combatants, just not in Felix's, or my, league.But then there were the Amazons like Tormé Maeve and Elsa Zorja who could kick our asses without a doubt, and planning how to fight them required a completely different game plan."What's on your mind?" Felix leaned in and shouted into my ear."This ain't over. Not only do we have to reach the evacuation site within a twenty minute window, we have to hope a half-dozen Amazons aren't waiting there for us."Felix nodded."Who is going to be the worst team?""Elsa and Rachel. I'm not sure I can beat Rachel and I'm damn sure I can't beat Elsa," I answered."Leave Elsa to me then. While I've never fought her before, she's also never fought me," he reasoned. "My best bet is an all-out offense; holding nothing back and hope I can outmuscle her before she pulls some surprise on me.""That's about right," it was my turn to nod.One of the Ninja came running back to us."There are two Amazons ahead of us going in the same direction. What do you want to do?"I looked to Felix who cracked his knuckles. He was right too. We didn't have enough time left to race around them; not in this mud; so jumping them and putting them down was our best bet.Bleeding.Our fists were bleeding, I had a knife wound on my left thigh, and Felix's nose was most likely broken, but we had put down two pairs of Amazons in the closing hour of the Great Hunt... and we were still free. We had even recorded the coordinates of where we left the four bound Amazons because leaving them all tied up in these conditions didn't seem fair.So far we had put down Niranjana Ereshkigal and Anna Cybele whose strategy was to figure out where the evacuation point was and then set up an ambush close by, and our old buddies, Tormé Maeve and Parul Nammu, who had been racing up to the evacuation point after some piece of divine intervention. They stumbled into us as we were binding up the first two.Thanks to the Ninja we had a moment's warning before they jogged right into us. It was on! Felix immediately challenged Tormé while I circled Parul, each seeking an advantage. Unfortunately, Tormé began cleaning Felix's clock so spun around and we switched partners."I wanted it to be me and you," she snarled."I was hoping to miss you entirely," I replied. She laughed and closed... and then slipped in the mud and slid right into my knee strike. Before she could clean the cobwebs from her head, I had landed three solid fist strikes to her jaw, rendering her incapable of immediate resistance; one tough chick! I quick glance back to Felix showed me he had Parul well in hand, so I quickly bound Tormé up and took her honor blade so she wouldn't be cutting herself free too soon.After we had Parul secured, Felix slapped me on the back and laughed."You bastard, I saw that," he chuckled. "She slipped.""I'll take it," I was unapologetic. Explaining to Felix how she was Katrina's #1 assassin would take too long. I'd leave it to Katrina to warn him how dangerous dating her would be.And then we heard the helicopter... and looked at our watches. It Was 11:48! We raced up the last bit of the slope to see the helicopter finish its descent. We'd made it... and then we saw Elsa and Rachel climbing up the slope beside us, disguised as we were by the downpour."Cáel !" Elsa screamed out my name. Rachel simply charged Felix wordlessly.I drew Tormé's honor blade and faced Elsa down. "Do you honestly think you can defeat me?" Elsa laughed. "Because Cáel , you cannot. You are already beaten, bruised and bleeding. Surrender and I promise to be gentle.""On any other day, I would agree with you, but this is not like any other day," I held my captured small knife out in a fighting stance."Today... today I have my Grandfather's knowledge and my Father's boundless spirit, Elsa. Today; you cannot defeat me. Come at me and find out, if you must." My stance flowed into an alien design... which came from a time when knives were the only close combat weapon anyone was lucky enough to have. My knife raised up over my head yet still pointing at my opponent while my empty left hand pointed at my foe.Then it occurred to me... if I could withstand the pain, I could grab her blade and hold it in place while I slashed down with my own ceremonial weapon. I could regenerate the damage; that was my edge and this was a fighting stance my Grandfather had perfected with that knowledge when all blades were either sharp stones, or smelted copper.I could see Elsa studying me rapid-quick before she made her lunge. It was so On! The first series of slashing strikes saw me barely missing having my hand cut open. I wasn't so lucky my second time around. Elsa sliced my ring finger to the bone."Damnit, Cáel !" Elsa snapped. "If you are going to fight me, at least use the training Pamela gave you. I have no idea what this crazy stance is supposed to show, but I think it is nothing more than your made-up style again. This time I am going to really hurt you if you don't surrender... Right Now!"Yeah, Elsa was upset she had to actually hurt me. I sensed that in her. Still, the pain quickly receded and I continued to stalk her... silently and with great determination on my face. No response was necessary and I was sure my quietude was unsettling her even more. On the next exchange Elsa moved so fast I couldn't track her blade. Still, I moved my empty palm across to stop her most likely angle of attack.I was wrong. By shifting my entire body to stop her slash, I put myself in the wrong positon; closing the distance between us and intercepting her surprise backslash with my left side at the kidney level. Ouch! Motherfucker! I grunted but used my positioning disadvantage as an advantage. As Elsa's hand recoiled from the dire wound she had given me, I reached out with my left hand and grabbed her wrist.My right hand came down attempting to slash her wrist in this exchange. She caught my right wrist in her left hand. Our bodies collided then my forward momentum slammed into her form and we both fell over. She rolled so we ended up crashing down on our sides, but I refused to release my hold while driving my blade ever downward.I didn't have much advantage over Elsa, but I was superior in upper body strength. It was my old buddy except coming out in my favor today. Slowly my blade inched toward its target."How... can... you... still... be... fighting?" Elsa ground out between her teeth."I am Ishara," was my reply. "The power of the goddess runs through me," I added a lie meant to confuse and dishearten her.She tried to break away by rolling around. I wouldn't let her. I tangled my legs up with hers until we were one conjoined mess. Then she surprised me with a head-butt right as the option was just occurring to me. She smashed my nose. There was blood everywhere, but I wouldn't relent on my hold. Instead, I followed up her head-butt with one of my own.Elsa caught mine with the hardest part of her forehead instead. Our skulls collided. I refused to feel the pain so while she was still reeling from that contact I smashed forward once again; this time impacting her temple and really shocking her. I had to have seemed like a monster to Elsa by this point in our bout; I could feel no pain and no infirmary would hold me back.Lacking every other point of leverage, she went for the 'Tried and True'; her knee impacted my precious gonads and for just that instance, my hold on her weakened. She broke free then rolled away."Stay down," she almost screamed at me. I didn't, instead rising up and resuming my archaic stance once more."This is going to hurt you a whole lot more than me," she promised next. Just then we both heard a titanic scream to my left. By the sound of the grunt which followed, I realized Felix had connected with one of his powerful kicks to Rachel's ribs. I used the positional advantage to charge. We collided once more, each one's opposite hand clamping down on the other's knife hand.While standing, we pushed each other back and forth, attempting kicks and foot stomps all the while my knife approached Elsa's collarbone. We were both too on guard for head-butts to pull one off this grapple, but I didn't need it... because we were in fact, grappling and I had a whole martial art devoted to grappling; Brazilian Jujutsu!I dropped Tormé's honor blade and flipped us around so I landed on top of her. Her blade drew a bloody line along my hip, but not enough damage to cause me any consternation. I could see it in her eyes, the moment we landed in the mud. She realized her mistake by allowing me too close, but the last time she had let that happened she had succeeded in stabbing me in the kidney, so she was taken off-guard for just that instance."Yeah," I chortled, "Just recalling my Brazilian Jujutsu aren't ya?""I can beat it," she ground out."You and an MMA Army," I growled back. She was in danger of having me roll her over... then it would be light's out!Right then Rachel and Felix came crashing down on the two of us, breaking my concentration and my hold. The four of us rolled up and separated once more.Rachel moved to Elsa's side while Felix helped me stand."We are running out of time," Felix informed me. We were. That appeared to be Rachel and Elsa's strategy all along. Keep us occupied for the remaining... eighteen minutes... damn was I out of breath and hurting."Switch," Felix tapped me on the forearm. "I got this."He didn't and he knew he didn't. For some god damn unknown reason, Felix was doing a selfless act for the first time in his life and I couldn't comprehend why."She'll destroy you," I pointed out."You're bleeding; badly," he stated, "and failing fast.""Listen to your friend," Rachel interjected herself into the conversation. Worse, she stepped aside and clearly indicated she would let me pass."Rachel!" Elsa snapped."He's earned it. For the past eighty-four days and then some, Cáel has earned; our respect," Rachel reminded us."Okay," I acknowledged the act of kindness. I moved behind Felix so he could screen me from Elsa... then shoved him as hard as I could across the muddy surface toward freedom. The look he sent back my way was priceless. Reluctantly, he looked back once then jogged to the helicopter and the rewards he deserved for surviving against so many for so long; just like me, but without the Goddesses and my troop of ruthless Amazon allies..."Two on one," I joked."No. I've surrendered my trophy," Rachel smile to me was emotionally crushing."Fine," Elsa nodded then, "Let's continue." This time I didn't have a knife.When we collided this time, she didn't hesitate to stab me in the left pectoral; above the heart, but not by much. I failed to catch her wrist and realized I was all out of game. My regeneration couldn't tackle both bleeding wounds and I was beginning to feel woozy.Elsa fell back."Surrender, Cáel ," her own voice had softened."Never surrender," I laughed back then I began to sway.This time as Elsa closed, she went for the grapple as well. I countered as best I could, but my reflexes were slowing down too. I wasn't going to make it then something tackled us both, slamming Elsa into my chest, stunning her."Felix... you came back," I groggily mumbled as Felix hammered Elsa hard, twice in the temple."You would come back for me. I see that now," he confessed. He half pulled, half-dragged me to our waiting chariot. The clock was a 'ticking."Rachel," I looked over to the other combatant. She hadn't started advancing on us like she should have."Go," she waved us away. "Today... today you have won your freedoms. Now go."What honors Rachel had passed over for whatever reasons were unknown to me. I was terrified she had done it out of love for me. Terrified because I felt so unworthy of such devotion and affection.Yet, Felix and I had made it and as the helicopter took off, I could sense the tension leave my body. My wounds were indeed healing and my blood supply, so witlessly spent was returning to me. Felix leaned into me as the nice Epona medic aboard our ride began to administer her traumatic injury training. I winced because it felt appropriate, not because I was allowed to feel any of the passing pain."You are a Runner now," I looked over to Felix. "Welcome aboard.""Sure thing, Ishara.""Ha," I chuckled. "Call me Cáel . You have earned that right.""I imagine there is something to that," he nodded. "Tell me what it is when you get the chance.""I will," I promised. "That and a few thousand other critically important things none one else will bother to teach you. As the saying goes, 'you've earned it'."Thus Ends The First Great HuntNow onto the final chapter of the First Part of Cáel 's journey.By FinalStand for Literotica.
On this episode Vin and Justin try to get The Council of Nah to believe that the Jersey Devil is real! Enjoy.
The latest ‘Jurassic’ entry features Scarlett Johansson and cutting-edge CGI. But character development or big twists? Nah. Read the Plugged In Review If you've listened to any of our podcasts, please give us your feedback.
Thank you for listening today, friends. It's a different format for today's episode: I share my recent experience trusting my gut and healing my thumb Hey adventurers! Welcome back to The Evolving Adventure(r), where we hit the trails, face the wild, and grow through every challenge life throws at us. I'm gregii, your guide through the dirt, sweat, and soul of outdoor living. Imagine this: you're gearing up for a run, putting your shorts on, ready to crush today's training plan, and—boom—your thumb just says, “Nah, I'm out.” No fall, no injury, just a thumb that's gone rogue. That was me in September 2024, staring down a mystery that would test my grit and turn my life upside down. Today, I'm sharing how I told a surgeon's “no hope” verdict to take a hike, trusted my gut, and healed myself using tools you can tap into, too. From journaling in the desert to energy work that's straight-up magic, this is a story of taking charge, finding answers, and coming out stronger. So grab some trail mix, lace up, and let's dive into this adventure—because your body's got more wisdom than you might think.Links I mention in this episode:My websiteLinking AwarenessDon GriffisThe BodyTalk SystemMetaphysical AnatomyHi-Energy Wand 3Esther HicksKryon
In today's patriotic themed episode David quantifies modern surfing's core score while Chas celebrates the rusty plunger, then the boys discover Kanye's threat to Aussie surfing, North Korea's replication of Waikiki, the WSL's erasure of Israel's flag, and marvel and Griff's willingness to showcase his inability to rap. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!Tell us a time when "YOU' were doing the most !!WE ARE BACK! With another amazing episode of AYDTMOn this episode of AYDTM we update you on what's been going on with us the past few weeks. Then Branee gets into her story about her 24 hour trip to Houston for the Beyonce Cowboy Carter concert, and the difference in the club and party life between Dallas and Houston.Wanna know if you doing the most!!??Got a crazy “doing the most” story?Send in your voice notes and/or ask us for advice!Email us @ Ayeyoudoingthemost@gmail.com… put in the subject “Am I doing the Most or Nah!?”Or send it in the DM!!!Please comment, like & subscribe.. Share with your friends!!Now streaming on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and IHeart Radio!!!!!Follow us on IG @Ayeyoudoingthemost- @CinnamonJaye && @BraneeDianeProduced by @RemyTheBrain @ZoatShotMe
New look, new me? Nah, new look, more authentic me. I just rebranded my entire business. Head to toe, new everything. And why? Because I hit a point where my branding was holding me back. It was putting me in a box I didn't belong in, and it was time to get back to who I was truly made to be - personality flaws and all - and allow that authenticity to guide me forwards. In this episode, I'm sharing what's staying, what's going, and why I'm elevating my entire brand! Happy listening! Sarah Next Steps: Join the FREE Community: www.sarahbeisel.com/community Grab your FREE GUIDE: Pathway to $100k. How to scale your coaching program to 6-figures by building a profitable Facebook group: www.offers.sarahbeisel.com/pathwayto100k Contact me: info@sarahbeisel.com Work with Sarah: Ready to scale your coaching program to 6-figures by building a profitable Facebook group? Join the Profitable Facebook Group Program now! --> www.sarahbeisel.com/program
Nah, but it was actually pretty freakin' good and not just happenstantially. But it could have been better. Let's talk about how it could have risen above mediocracy. Instagram: @goodbadbettershow
In today's show Chas and David uncover Kelly Slater's secret society, Laird out-whips Hughie and Meola, Fruit Booters Pussy Foot around, Italo takes fashion advice from Julius Caesar, and the boys venture into the lawless landscape of female greeting rituals. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Gerry and Dave continue their Pro Tour coverage! Is Standard borked? Do we need rotation and/or bannings ASAP? Nah... *** NEW SPONSOR vaultgamestore.com Use code "GerryT" for 5% off your order or 5% bonus credit on trade-in! *** patreon.com/gerrytpodcast youtube.com/g3rryt twitter.com/g3rryt twitter.com/_DaveShiels twitch.tv/gerry_t Edited by: twitter.com/hereliesasianjon *** Music: Mega Man 2 "Ending theme" Remix by zookun | Music composed by Manami Matsumae & Takashi Tateishi
In this episode of Couch Coach Live, we break down where the Oklahoma City Thunder rank among the greatest teams in NBA history and whether they are already in that conversation. We also dive into the latest headlines around the league:Tyrese Haliburton's Achilles injury and what it means for the PacersKevin Durant's surprising trade to the Houston RocketsIs Jalen Green on the way out In our Big Deal, Deal or Nah? Segment, we react to:Rachel DeMita being let go from the Big 3 after tweeting praise for Caitlin Clark.Kelsey Plum's awkward fan interactionAce Bailey turning down pre-draft workouts with the Sixers and Jazz
While rewatching season 5 episode 6 of PLL “Run, Ali, Run”, Ashley renames the NAT Club to “Nah, Ali, Tststs!” and Hayley decides Tanner is the 9th Gurgle (for the complete list of The Gaggle of Gurgles, keep your ears wide open while listening to this one). They also ask where the HECK King Byrong is, as no parents are apparent, and ask you to measure your life in PLL anniversaries (HAPPY 15TH ANNIVERSARY, DOLLS!) You can also WATCH our regular fortnightly episodes on the Call An Adult YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/@CallAnAdult Want more Call An Adult? Come join our Dollhouse over on Patreon! patreon.com/callanadult
These WWE ripoffs were 100% better than what came before. Inspiration? Nah, IMPROVEMENT. Gareth Morgan presents 10 Wrestling Ripoffs Better Than The Original...ENJOY!Follow us on Twitter:@GMorgan04@WhatCultureWWEFor more awesome content, check out: whatculture.com/wwe Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
Plantin' your seed in good soil ain't just a spiritual principle—it's a wealth blueprint. Too many of us out here throwin' our time, energy, and money into dry ground, then wonderin' why we ain't growin'. Nah, King… Nah, Queen... every seed got potential, but it's the soil that determines the harvest. You could have million-dollar ideas, generational vision, even divine purpose—but if you plant it in the wrong place, around people who don't believe, in environments that don't nurture growth, that seed gon' die before it ever sees sunlight. Good soil is mentorship, it's discipline, it's financial literacy, it's a circle that challenges you and feeds your faith. Spiritually, that's stayin' aligned with God's vision over your life. Financially, that's makin' wise investments, learnin' the game, and plantin' in assets that appreciate. Inspiration? That's knowin' your struggle is part of the process, but your soil—your environment—gotta match your destiny. So if you serious about freedom, about buildin' legacy, about breakin' them generational curses—check your soil. 'Cause when you plant in good ground, you don't just grow—you multiply. That's how you go from survival to abundance. Planting your Seed in GOOD SOIL | Wallstreet Trapper (Episode 148) Trappin Tuesday's