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Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

In today's show Chas and David offer suitable insults for children, advise on how to keep a second marriage thriving while avoiding a third, wonder if the WSL lost it's internet connection in Hawaii, learn when it's appropriate to ask another surfer on a date, and determine the precise moment you should quit surfing. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare or sociopolitical targeting) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by a targeted individual. As it stands, It has become a modern sequel which adequately and astonishingly mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants for financial and political gain. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic tactical violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

"Da hørte jeg en høy røst fra tempelet, som sa til de sju englene: 'Gå og tøm skålene med Guds vrede ut over jorden!'" (Åp. 16:1)Dette er ikke det letteste verset, og ikke det letteste kapittelet i Bibelen. Men for den som har lidd under andres synd og ondskap og overlatt straffen til Gud, er det et godt vers. For Gud har lovet å hevne det onde, og her ser vi løftet bli oppfylt (v. 6; Nah.1:2; Rom.12:19).I kapittelet nevner Johannes sju ulike utbrudd for vrede. De som rammes er de som har dyrets merke og tilber hans bilde. Men vet du, selv nå er der rom for omvendelse (v. 9)! Sørgelig nok velger de i stedet å spotte Gud (v. 11, 21).Rekkefølgen på disse utbruddene kan være kronologisk nevnt, men det kan også bety utbrudd av ulikt slag som kommer om hverandre, og som forsterkes i hyppighet og omfang etter hvert, litt slik som riene før en fødsel (se v. 17-18). Der er ting av dette som skjer i våre dager. Men jeg tror oppfyllelsen skjer både i det åndelige og i det naturlige.Kapittelet er fullt av bilder, og vi kan tolke mye nå, og kanskje har vi rett og kanskje ikke. Det er bare oppfyllelsen som vil åpenbare sannheten bak (Joh.14:29). Og uavhengig av hvilken tolkning vi tror på eller ikke, så er min konklusjon at Gud holder det Han har lovet og Hans plan skjer!Så hva kan vi ta med oss fra dette litt dystre budskapet i dag? Jo, at uansett hvor tragisk det ser ut rundt oss, hvor mørkt det er, så er der fremdeles rom for omvendelse, og Gud har fortsatt kontrollen. Han har fortsatt all makt. Og så dette da, at Han skal hevne det onde som er gjort mot oss. Derfor kan vi la hevnen ligge, for den er det Han som skal ta seg av. Og da blir hevnen rettferdig!Skrevet og lest av Eli Fuglestad for Norea Håpets Kvinner.

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare or sociopolitical targeting) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by a targeted individual. As it stands, It has become a modern sequel which adequately and astonishingly mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants for financial and political gain. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic tactical violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare or sociopolitical targeting) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by a targeted individual. As it stands, It has become a modern sequel which adequately and astonishingly mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants for financial and political gain. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic tactical violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

In this week's episode, Lo is joined by actress, singer, producer and Dallas Texas native Hayley Orrantia. They take the Lo Lifers deep into their Texas takeover — from Dallas culture shocks to full-blown southern awakenings. Lo enjoyed his first-ever cattle walk, discovered the chaotic glory of Buc-ee's, and had a spiritual experience with Whataburger (jury's still out).The duo breaks down the unhinged magic of garters and mums, the Texan traditions that left Lo questioning every California school dance he ever attended. They spill on the restaurants that were overhyped, the spots that earned the official Lo Life Stamp of Approval, and Lo's favorite neighborhood in Dallas that low-key feels like its own world.Hayley also dishes on performing at a massive LGBTQ+ gala — yes, 2,000 gays turning up in the middle of conservative Texas — complete with a charity auction, drag-level energy, and enough sequins to blind a longhorn.Then it's time for their new game “Texas or NAH?”, where Lo tests Hayley's Lone Star patriotism and exposes just how seriously Texans take… being Texan.It's an easy, hilarious, comfort-listen with tons of culture, chaos, and cowboy energy. A perfect escape episode.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Matt Gottesman is a 3x founder, podcaster and writer... and has successfully intertwined his life's work with his passions, purpose and interests. He is the creator of The Niche is You podcast, and is currently ranked #25 in Philosophy for his Substack of the same name. His publishing and production company Nah, Bigger Media, has emerged as a platform (1B+ impressions, 500M+ video views & 300K+ social media followers) for emerging voices who share his vision of purpose-driven entrepreneurship.  With an extensive background, an MBA in International Business and over 20+ years in tech & media, he's worked and partnered with some of the most iconic brands such as Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy. His prolific writing style has become instantly recognisable through his ability to make profound concepts feel accessible and actionable have become a compass for millions seeking clarity in an increasingly complex world. ​ Links: Writing: mattgottesman.substack.com Podcast: The Niche Is You Website: mattgottesman.com Instagram: @mattgottesman Apparel: The Niche Is You Twitter: @matt_gottesman Linkedin: /in/mattgottesman Connect with Ruby: Connect with Ruby: https://www.instagram.com/rubykmarsh/ Creator Club Business Coaching

The Time Riders: Part 10 Egyptian Acheology, In Real Time. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Mark felt a cold chill, but also was strangely assured that she didn't begin screaming. If anything, she sounded vaguely amused. He didn't come out, but he pushed one of his hands through the linens and waved at her. "Silly," she giggled, still smirking. "You might as well come out, because all I have to do is scream if I want help. I'm not afraid of anyone stupid enough to break into the personal chambers of a devotee of the goddess." Mark took a deep breath and walked out from beneath the linens, stopping and looking down at her, blushing at getting caught. She looked up him curiously, although she was still clearly amused, and made no attempt to cover her nudity. "You're a slave," she remarked, noting his attire. "What compelled you to hide in my room?" What was the point in lying? "I was hoping to fuck a Vestal," he confessed, shrugging and turning his palms to her in a gesture of honesty. "That's the simple truth." She raised an eyebrow. "That's brazen of you. You know we're all virgins on purpose, right? We took a sacred vow." Mark shrugged again. "Everyone has needs and urges, even sacred virgins." Aemelia giggled. "I suppose that's true. But why would; excuse me, I don't know your name, slave." "Bonosus." "Well, then, Bonosus," she intoned, setting her arm on the edge of the basin and then resting her head against two fingers while she observed him, more than a little intrigued. "What makes you think a sacred virgin of mighty Rome would want to fuck a slave, if she were indeed subject to such base desires as you describe?" "Well, you wouldn't need to take a vow if you weren't subject to them, would you?" he reasoned. "And as to why;” He slowly slipped off his ragged tunic, leaving him naked. Aemelia's eyes widened slightly as his cock came into view. "Woof," she muttered to herself as she fixated on his limp cock. "Your father, is he Bacchus, or a satyr? Because only a god or a creature of sin should be lavished with a prong like that." "Interested?" he asked, smirking back at her. "Because if you're not, maybe Marcia or Licinia would be willing to make use of me if you're not' "Hold on, now," the blonde interrupted in a quiet but calm voice, holding up her hand. "I didn't say that. All I asked was what you had to offer that a sacred virgin would be willing to compromise her vows for. And that thing makes up for a lot of sacred vows;” She rose slowly, the water cascading down her body. Not surprisingly, as a sacred virgin, her cunt was unshaved, but her wet hairs were rather light and sparse, the same color as her honey hair. "Um, you're eighteen, right?" Mark asked, wondering for a moment. Aemelia gave him a wry look, her hands moving up to her tits. "I am. A little more, in fact. Is that a problem? Am I too old for you to want to fuck me?" "No, I'm perfectly okay with you being eighteen," he assured her. "Kinda counting on it, in fact." "Well, that is good to hear," she said, allowing her hands to fall away from her tits and exposing herself again. She seemed strangely shameless, which was no doubt quite a trick to hide in these environs. "It'd be one thing for me to reject you, but it would be unthinkable for me to be rejected by a mere slave. And if you were indeed intent on someone younger, I would have to summon Lucia or Domi' "Nope, I'm intent on you, if you're willing," Mark said firmly, smiling as she watched his cock swelling slowly. He wasn't getting hard, but he was getting aroused, and it had the desired effect on his potential partner. Aemelia bit her lip as she watched his cock grow. "Normally, I just pleasure myself in the bathing basin, since it is easy to hide," she said as she stepped out of the water and walked over toward the linens he was standing in front of, drawing close to him and smiling rather saucily. "But to be fucked in the bathing basin would create too much noise, I fear. No, base slave, if you intend to have your way with me, it must be quick and dirty, and allow me to conceal any evidence after. You do not want to know what happens to a sacred virgin who has broken her vows of chastity." "I can only imagine," Mark said as he took one of the linens hanging on a peg and knelt down on one knee, beginning to dry her off. She seemed amused by his attentiveness, and put one foot on his thigh, allowing him to continue. "So, what, I should probably fuck you somewhere in here, since it's farthest from the door and least chance to be heard, right?" Aemelia nodded and pointed at the bed. "But you cannot have me on my bed either, slave, as there will be evidence of my activities. No, I fear you will simply have to push me up against a wall and fuck me, like a common whore." "Probably all we have time for," he pointed out, leering as he stood, towering over her and pulling her body to his and beginning to fondle her. She closed her eyes and sighed as he groped her tit and ran his other hand down her back to caress her ass. "Uh, my first man," she whispered, not at all flinching from his touch. If anything, she parted her legs slightly, which she reached down to stroke his hardening cock with one hand. "Not only breaking my vows to my goddess, but the sheer indignity of losing my chastity to a lowly slave;” He could tell she was getting really turned on. His hand found her cunt and he slipped two fingers inside, making Aemelia moan. She was already very wet, and he couldn't find a hymen, so he would have no problem fucking her. "You are feeling around; for my chastity," she breathed, opening her hazel eyes and looking up at him while he fingered her. "It was broken many years ago, while I was riding atop of a horse to a ceremony. It was determined to be an accident, and not a symbol of the goddess' disfavor, so I was permitted to continue serving her. Now, my chaste cunt will serve you, slave. You may fuck me. But first;” She pulled away from him and went over to the far wall, then took hold of a small wooden peg and tapped on the wall three times in a certain rhythm, then three more. She put the peg down and then walked back to him, her eyes glinting with excitement. "You may fuck me against the wall right there, slave;” she whispered breathily, clearly getting eager. She stopped in front of him and waited for something. Then he heard three faint taps in a certain rhythm, which seemed to come from the wall she'd just tapped on. Without any further hesitation, she led him over to the wall she'd indicated and bent forward, exposing her ass to him while steadying herself against the wall. Mark didn't wait, but simply placed his hands on her ass cheeks while standing behind her. He teased his hard cock against her wet twat before sliding the head inside. He felt her stiffen, her back arching, and then she was murmuring to herself. "I am disgraced; I am disgraced;” Mark smiled evilly and pushed deep inside her with one long, slow stroke. Aemelia shuddered and choked, fighting the urge to cry out as he violated her. She hissed as he bottomed out in her, pushing back on her hands to take him in further. She was silent now, just trembling as she felt his cock pinning her to him. Mark then began to stroke back and forth slowly, letting her adjust to the sensation. She was indeed tight, and he was inclined to believe her claim that she was still a virgin, even if she had no hymen. "Bonosus;” she said in a quiet voice somewhere between a gasp and a whisper. She pushed back against him again, starting to grind her ass in circles, reveling in the sensation of a man deep inside her, committing such an extreme blasphemy against Mother Rome. The two were thinking the same thing: Fuck Mother Rome. Mark started moving faster, knowing they didn't have a lot of time. His hips began smacking against her ass, and he watched as his cock glistened, sliding back and forth in her slippery cunt. "Uh, less noise, less noise!" she rasped, waving almost frantically with one hand, her eyes squeezed shut. "Do you want us to both be executed?" Mark kept pumping back and forth strongly, but refrained from slamming against her. He was still more than deep enough to send her into convulsions, though, and the priestess hissed lustily, looking back at him with glazed hazel eyes. "Make me cum," she panted, working herself against him rather inexpertly, but with amazing enthusiasm. "Disgrace my body, my temple, with your cum, slave!" Mark moved faster, and felt her cunt rippling and contracting around him greedily, indicating she was not far off from orgasm. His hands pulled her ass cheeks apart, stretching her and she bit her knuckle and keened. Covered in sweat, her arm flashed out to the side, pointing at the linens hanging next to them. "A linen!" she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. "Give me a linen before I scream!" Mark reached out and grabbed one of the long linen swaths off a peg and handed it to Aemelia, who hastily shoved as much as she could into her mouth, right before her body contorted and was wracked by orgasm. She screamed in ecstasy, the linen muffling the otherwise piercing sound magnificently. Her cunt clutched his cock fiendishly, and Mark stifled a loud groan as he began to cum deep inside her. They ground and squirmed against one another heatedly as he filled her with his pearly essence, and he could feel her cum slathering his thighs. Finally, she sagged, leaning against the wall to keep herself up while removing the linen from her mouth so she could breathe heavily. Some moments later, she eased herself forward, off his throbbing cock, gasping as it popped out of her. She turned around, leaning back against the wall and pulled Mark to her, pressing her mouth against his and kissing him deeply. She may have been a virgin, but she certainly knew how to kiss. Then again, if it was just her and a few other young women living here, that was probably to be expected. "This, slave," she whispered breathily, looking up into his eyes while she reached down and massaged his sticky, still oozing cock. "This has now been in the most sacred of cunts, a sacred temple, defiled by your base desires. Do you know what an honor you've had?" "I can guess," Mark replied, using his body to pin her to the wall and pushing back inside her again. Aemelia shuddered and groaned, going up on her toes and clasping him. "You glad I defiled your temple?" "Yes, but we need to get you out of here," she managed to say, gently pushing him back so that he fell out of her. She knelt and kissed his cock while picking up the linen she'd stuffed into her mouth, and cleaned him off with it. She then hurried over to the pegs on another wall and slipped on a simple white robe, tying it shut. She was flushed, but obviously jubilant. She helped him get back into his slave tunic. "Well, I can strike that off my bucket list," Mark mused to himself in English, smirking. "What did you say?" Aemelia asked, looking up at him as she tied the cord around his waist. "Oh, I was just thinking that at least I can count on you to not brag about this," he said somewhat hastily. "Probably not many people you wanna tell." "True, there's really only Licinia and Marcia I would tell, because they are like-minded to myself. I would tell Domitia, since I suspect she has at least as licentious a heart as any of us, but dare not, because she is impulsive, and not prone to subtlety." "No shit;” Mark muttered as she finished helping him dress. "So now what? How do we get me out of here?" "There's a secret passage you can use at the end of this hallway. It'll take you down to the basement level again, and out though a garden. Be vigilant, but you should be safe. Take a sack of supplies out into the streets, so that it looks like you're on an errand. It'll help you avoid scrutiny." She led him through her apartment and opened the door to poke her head out into the hall, looking both ways. She then took his hand and pulled him out, hurrying down to the end of the hall and then pointing at a large plaster lavabo that dominated the wall. He used his fingers to pry it open like a door, which led into a dark stairwell. He was about to step into the stairwell when she took him by the hem of his tunic and pulled him back to her, kissing him deeply and passionately for several seconds before pushing him back through the aperture and then closing the door behind him. Aemelia leaned back against the ornate plaster lavabo and sighed, looking at the ceiling. She laid and hand on her tit, stood up, straightened her robe out, and then walked down the hall, attempting to look dignified. Thankfully, servants and the priestess' minders rarely came to this floor except at designated hours. She stopped in front of the door of the apartment next to hers, which had a plaque that red 'Licinia' and rapped on the door softly. The door opened and she was pulled inside by her wrist. The door had barely closed before she and another, younger priestess were kissing one another feverishly, hands wandering over each other's bodies. "Thank you for letting me watch," Licinia murmured as her tongue tangled with Aemelia's. "I am so jealous that you got to fuck first, even if it was just a slave. But what a cock he had on him." "I know, and it was everything we had hoped it would be, sister," Aemelia breathed, breaking the kiss and pulling her sister-priestess' bedchamber robe off. "If only it could have lasted longer. But for now;” She shed her own robe and leaned back against the wall, tilting her hips forward and using two fingers to spread her thick cuntlips wide. "You need to suck his cum out of my cunt while you can;” Mark's back was getting slightly sore from carting around sacks in order to get places without being stopped and questioned. He humped several cords of wood into the rear entrance of the Trajan Baths, sighing heavily as he dumped them down near other piles meant to heat the pools, and then went in search of Becky and Nanu. He heard them before he saw them, not surprisingly; he followed the telltale noises toward a smaller, more private bath chamber away from the main rooms. He paused in the door of the room, grinning and leaning against the entranceway while he just watched. In the shallow water, Becky and Nanu were sitting facing into one another, legs scissored and pussies pressed together. They panted and moaned as they slithered and ground against each other, resting back on one hand in the cool water, and gripping each other's arms with the second. They strained against one another, backs arching and their behinds out of the water, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. They both keened loudly before the dam broke. Sighing and moaning shamelessly, they squirmed and writhed, bathing each other's cunt in frothy cum. They girl-fucked one another hard, cumming for a long period before finally relaxing and settling into a squishy embrace, tits and pussies pressed together as they kissed lovingly. Mark finally came into the room, noticing that two young attendants were waiting in corners, linens ready. He shed his tunic and stepped down into the shallow pool, joining them. Becky broke the kiss to smile at him lewdly. "Well, hey, handsome," she purred, reaching over to stroke his cock, noticing it was recently used. "What did you get up to while Nanu and I were enjoying ourselves?" He was kneeling next to them, rotating his neck. "Might've used our loop to get revenge on the city for trying to kill me next week," he mentioned. "Found a certain temple, might've fucked a priestess;” Becky shook her head. "I swear, you're terrible at time theory, unless it involves doing something heinous, Mark. You are a menace." "Yeah, but you love it," he pointed out, grinning and reaching into caress one of her tits, his other hand fondling Nanu's. "Admit it." "I admit to nothing, young man," she purred, loving how his hand felt on her while she continued to stroke his cock. "Nanu asked if we could visit her family, see if they're okay. She hasn't seen them for a decade now." "I'm all right with that," Mark answered, shrugging. "We should give 'em money, too, improve their lot in life. Sounds like Egyptian peasants in the Roman era don't have a lot goin' for 'em." Becky smiled slyly. "Now that you mention it;” Akhmim, in a corner of the former Lower Kingdom. It was the time of year where the mighty Iteru was to have overflowed its banks and then receded, leaving the land gloriously fertile, and ready for the people to grow their crops and sell their goods to the merchants in the cities. But this year, the great god Hap'i had withheld his bounty, and the river had barely breached its banks. The land was dry, and crops scarce. People had been bringing muddy water from the edges of the river in buckets in a desperate attempt to fertilize their fields. Kiya sighed glumly as she tilled a shallow trench in the woefully dry soil on their farm. A wind blew across the field, and she was depressed to see that it carried reddish dust with it. She was the youngest remaining child, and she did the least skilled work as a result. She despaired of ever being married, since her parents could not afford to lose her. Years ago, they had sold their youngest daughter, in the hopes of getting enough money to improve the farm, with new tools and maybe some irrigation equipment, but they'd been had, and the materials and tools they'd bought were junk. It had cost them all the money they'd made in selling their child, and now they had less than ever. They barely subsisted even in the bountiful years, and during droughts like this, it could be deadly. Other farms were empty, due to death or abandonment. She stopped for a moment and leaned on the rickety hoe she was using, squeezing her eyes shut and stifling a sob. She missed her little sister. Yes, Nanu had only been a year younger than her, but she'd been a joy in Kiya's young life, and they were very close to one another. Kiya loved little Nanu, and then one day, she was gone. As she opened her eyes and looked out over the dusty field at the long, thin rows of trenches, she wondered if Hap'i was punishing them for selling her little sister. Kiya wouldn't have blamed the god; she remembered being angry too, and she hadn't talked to her parents for days. Her older siblings, especially Aneksi and Joba, her eldest sister and brother, had loudly declared that it was a good thing to do, since it was one less mouth to feed, and Nanu had been useless for chores anyway. She was six years old when we sold her! Kiya thought angrily to herself as she glared at the barren field. What did you think she was going to be able to do? She heard a horn call and looked down at the distant river dully; she could see an ornate boat sailing downstream, being punted by dark-skinned Nubian slaves, the huffer standing at the bow waving for less important ships to move aside. Nobles, she grumbled to herself sourly. Probably on their way to Memphis to eat splendid food, and meet with their Roman friends. Splendid food. She'd almost forgotten what anything other than bread or little bits of fish tasted like. And the drought made even bread scarce, while fish were dangerous to try to catch, because of the hippos and crocodiles that crowded the river. In years like this, the crocodile demons were especially aggressive. Movement caught her eye, and she saw a palanquin coming up the banks on the small, dusty road. It wasn't even a road, really, so much as a failed ditch that had been meant for irrigation of the nearby farms. Slaves carried the palanquin on their shoulders, and diaphanous curtains concealed who sat within. A tall, light-skinned slave walking with a tall stick led the way. Just behind him came a woman riding a mule, a cloak wrapped around her upper body to protect her from the dusty wind. They seemed to be coming this way. Why are they headed this way? Kiya wondered with a frown. What could they possibly want here in dusty little Akhmim? She stood up and began walking toward the palanquin as it drew closer, her hoe held casually in her right hand: unthreatening, but ready in case their intentions were malign. She could see now that the male slave leading the way was rugged and handsome, with brown hair and deep eyes. Behind him, she woman on the horse, whom she assumed was still a slave, seemed rather pretty beneath her swathes of dark grey linen and fabrics. Were her eyes; blue? She glanced over at her ramshackle house that she, her siblings, her parents and grandparents lived in. No one else seemed to have noticed yet, or were too far away to see. Clearly this would be up to Kiya for now. So how should she react? She played it safe and got down on both knees, bowing her head and looking at the reddish-brown ground beneath her. It was hot on her knees. She hoped this wouldn't take long, for she had to get back to the trenches, so that the other could pour their meagre water and begin to plant seeds. Kiya waited quietly. "I always did like seeing you on your knees, Ki;” she heard a sweet, girly voice say. Her head flicked up and she looked at the source of the voice; she could see a beautiful face leaning out between the curtains of the palanquin and smirking at her. Kiya's eyes widened and her jaw opened as the young woman slid down out of the palanquin and began walking toward her. She was wearing shimmering white clothes that hugged her lovely figure, and her hazel eyes danced in excitement. She was wearing gleaming gold jewelry, adorned with lapis and other gems. She was radiant, like a goddess. "N; Nanu?" Kiya asked in a tiny, incredulous voice. The vision of her long-lost sister nodded, still smiling. "NANU!!!" shrieked the older girl, dropping the hoe and launching herself forward into a crushing hug with her sister. She'd burst into tears by the time she reached Nanu, and the younger sister was crying as well while they embraced. Mark and Becky looked on, smiling as the sisters were reunited, crying together. True, Nanu's sister (the one named Kiya, they assumed) was getting dust all over Nanu's immaculate clothing, but it didn't matter. There were plenty of new outfits for her anyway. Kiya began planting tear-wet kisses all over Nanu's face, almost as if they were a method of making sure she was real. The weeping Nanu returned the kisses. Mark's head began tilting slowly on an angle as he watched, because the kisses were becoming slower, and seemingly more meaningful and; affectionate. "Well, now;” Becky said as she watched intently. "Hello, ancient Egypt." Nanu and Kiya were now absorbed in a very deep kiss, holding one another tight. Mark could see their tongues rolling around the insides of their cheeks. The whimpers of crying had given way to muffled moans while their hands wandered up each other's backs and came to rest on their ass cheeks. Still they kissed one another almost hungrily. Mark leaned in closer to Becky and whispered to her. "I get the feeling they really missed each other." The sisters finally broke the kiss, more for needing oxygen than any other consideration. They pressed their foreheads together, panting heavily as they stared into one another's eyes. Their lips were still glistening from the kiss they'd shared. Nearly a minute had passed before Kiya pulled her head back and looked at her little sister in renewed wonderment. "Nanu;” she managed to say. "How; what are you;” "Do you like it?" chimed Nanu, stepping back just far enough to do a twirl and display her raiment. The gold she wore on her neck, arms and ankles tinkled almost musically. "I have lots more." "We; mom and dad sold you;” Kiya said, still gaping. "They; they sold you as a slave. What miracle of the gods is this?" "Oh, the best kind," the younger girl quipped, giggling. "But I don't wanna explain this ten times, so why don't you get everyone over here? I'll have my slaves set up a shelter for us all to sit under." Kiya will still bordering on confused, but she nodded and turned to race back toward the hut, calling out loudly for people. Nanu watched her for a few moments before turning to look at Mark and Becky and smiling. "You two sure missed each other," Mark observed, grinning, while Becky fanned herself. Nanu gave Mark a snarky look and stuck out her tongue. "We were best friends, Kiya and I, we only had each other, really. And then I was gone for ten years. Is it really so surprising that we can pick up where we left off?" "Nah, just some culture shock is all," Mark chuckled as he laid down the packs he was carrying and then began unslinging others from the side of the mule Becky sat on, and the palanquin. "Shall I set up the shelter, your majesty?" Nanu giggled. "I could get used to that. Please!" The porters placed the palanquin on the ground, and began helping Mark set up the shelter. Along with their pay, they'd been promised good food and wine, so they were more than willing to put in great effort. Mere minutes had passed before a shelter was set up on sturdy poles, with curtains that could be fastened to the sides to keep out the dust and wind. Nanu crawled back inside the palanquin while Becky waited just outside. Before long, a group of people was approaching, being led by an eager Kiya. She kept badgering everyone to hurry up, and several seemed more than a little annoyed at her harrying them. They were of various ages, and all dressed similarly to Kiya, in the common wear of Egypt's teeming peasantry. Becky glanced subtly to the side, to look at Nanu. The young Egyptian woman was staring at the approaching throng, her eyes glassy, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. She didn't want to be crying when her family saw her again. Becky drew the curtains closed to give her some time to compose herself. She then stood and waited patiently while everyone approached. They were a rough lot, clearly hardened by a life of toil on one of the endless farms that lined the Nile. There were young men and women, some children who belonged to what she assumed were couples, and some elders laboring to bring up the rear. The crowd stopped near the shelter, and looked at the visitors silently. Becky nodded to them all said then spoke in a clear voice. "Do any of you speak the tongue of Rome?" Silence and blank stares greeted her. Unimpressed, she turned and called back. "Mark, none of them speak Latin, I need you." "Not the last time I'll ever hear you say that," he chuckled as he joined her. She gave him a sour look and swatted his arm. He ignored the assault and called out to everyone. "Has Kiya told you what we're doing here?" Many of the people shook their heads, but still didn't say anything. Mark gave Becky a sidelong glance, and the blonde woman went back to the palanquin, knelt, and pulled aside the curtain. She helped an elegant woman in white out of the vehicle, and she walked forward, holding a gauzy white veil over her head to conceal her features. She approached the group, and an older man finally pushed to the front and addressed her humbly. "How can this humble family serve you, mistress?" he asked. Nanu now pulled the veil over her head, letting them take a good look at her. Kiya looked like she was almost ready to burst. Several faces remained blank for quite some time, but others began to express shock as recognition set in. "Nanu?" asked the man in a quavering voice. "Yeah, it's me, dad," she said, her eyes shining again. "I'm home for a visit." "NANU!" an older woman blurted as she forced her way through the crowd and dashed forward. Nanu quit trying not to cry as she embraced her mother for the first time in more than a decade. Becky pressed her fingers to her lips as she watched and tried not to tear up. Mark just grinned. "Mommy," Nanu choked as she held the other woman tight. "I've missed you so much!" "How is this possible?" her father asked, sinking to his knees. "We; I had to sell you, to those Romans, in order to make enough money to' "The Flavians in Clysma, yes," Nanu affirmed, looking over her mother's shoulder and nodding while the elder woman wept. "And they sent me to Rome, once they discovered I could dance." "You always were a good little dancer!" Kiya gushed, almost bouncing up and down on the spot. Many of the other members of the family were drawing closer now, still gazing in wonder. Her father seemed to be going pale and trembling, though. "Are; are you sent back as a glorious spirit, to punish me for selling my beautiful daughter? Have mercy on me, I' "Dad, stop being so dramatic," Nanu almost complained as she let go of her mother and walked toward him. She hauled him to his feet and placed her tiny hands in his, letting him feel them. "See? I'm still flesh and blood, not a stupid spirit. I'm not a Flavian slave anymore, either. I'm wealthy and I have my own slaves." They all looked at Mark and Becky now. Becky pulled down the fabric around her head, and many of them gasped as her golden blonde hair and sea-blue eyes came into full view. They'd never seen anyone like her before. These were Nanu's slaves? Her father shook his head slowly. "I still do not understand. How did this happen?" "Who cares?" someone groused from the back of the crowd in a gruff, male voice. Nanu knew it right away, and looked up sourly. The crowd parted to let the speaker come forward. It was her eldest brother, Bata, and he was the second eldest of the siblings after Meritites, Nanu's big sister. He'd always been something of a bully toward her. More than something, actually. Nanu and Kiya both had unpleasant memories of the older boy. "We sold you for money, and what good did it do us?" the young man sneered, moving forward now. Nanu took half a step back, clearly intimidated. "The tools we bought were shit, and we're struggling harder than ever. You can't even be sold without fucking things up for your fa' Mark had lunged in and slammed his fist across Bata's jaw, sending him spinning to the ground. Everyone except Becky gasped, and one sister cried out in fright. Mark stood over the downed boy, glowering at him. Bata was holding his jaw, his eyes wide in shock. He could taste blood. "Got anything else to say about my mistress, shitbag?" Mark challenged. Bata glared at Mark before his gaze flicked over to the axe he'd dropped when he got punched. "Oh, please try that, I dare you,", Mark growled, unmoved by the perceived threat. "I'll shove that axe handle so far up your ass that you'll have splinters in your tongue for a month." Bata looked away, unable to endure Mark's glare. The younger man stepped back and let Nanu's brother get to his feet. Bata grabbed a woman by the wrist and stomped off, dragging her behind. Several of Nanu's siblings sighed and were visibly relieved. Mark then stepped back and let Nanu take over again. The Egyptian girl, still a little rattled, took a deep breath, composing herself. She then spoke to her family again. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd never see you again. I thought I'd die, far from home, never to return. I; I want to make sure that mom and dad never have to do anything like that again for our family's survival." Nanu brought her mother back to the family and helped her father stand. They were murmuring to one another and hugged, while people began crying. Several men and women watched on, some passively, some with curiosity. Mark assumed these were spouses who had married into the family since Nanu's departure some ten years ago. Nanu was hugging her oldest sister, Meritites, and sharing kisses with her, although not quite as affectionate as those she'd shared with Kiya. She then hugged and kissed her other siblings; Djoser, Ameny, Khafra, Nefer, Tiaa, Horemheb, Jobra, Anpu, and Senet. Jeebus, Becky thought, trying not to frown as she looked at the mother, whose name was apparently Pypuy. Twelve kids? How did her uterus not just fall right out? Nanu's father, Akhom, still seemed overwhelmed, but maybe that was understandable. He had, after all, clearly made an agonizing decision and it seemed to be revisiting him, even if the circumstances were joyous for everyone else. Nanu had explained to Mark and Becky that selling children into slavery in order for a poor family to survive was not uncommon in Egypt, but clearly it was still painful for all involved. Finally, the greetings ended, and Nanu, with her eyes still glistening, smiled at her family. "Let's eat, I brought lots of food." The shelter Mark and the slaves had erected was large enough to conceal everyone from the sun. They ate bread, figs, fish, and wine. Kiya excused herself and ran back to the house. Even Nanu's father seemed to have adjusted and was now enjoying himself. More than anything, though, there were endless questions. "I got lucky," Nanu said simply. "I know it seems impossible, but look at me. What more proof do you need? I am wealthy now, and not a slave. I came home to let you know, and also to give you money, so that you no longer need to struggle. You will live very comfortably. You could probably even retire from the farm and move into a town or city if you wanted to." "You're not coming with us?" her sister Tiaa asked, looking rather upset. "We just got you back, and you've been gone so long." Nanu looked down at the ground, going silent, wondering what to say. She felt very torn. Here she was, back with the family she'd missed her entire life, and giving them money, but beyond that, she had nothing to back it up; Mistress Aurora and Bonosus, or whatever their real names happened to be, were not her slaves. She had no talents that made her a patrician. She could barely read. She'd come here, so secure in her plan to see her family, alleviate any suffering they were enduring, and then go off on this grand adventure with her new beloved associates. They'd even told her she might be able to see her family again. But now, in this dingy but so comforting environment. She looked up and saw Kiya approaching again, carrying something in her arms. Everyone let her through, and she knelt next to Nanu, smiling. Nanu's eyes went wide. Kiya gently passed her the baby. It couldn't have been more than a year old. "Her name is Nanu," Kiya said softly, her brown eyes shining. "Named after the little sister I thought I'd lost forever." Nanu looked up and her eyes were glassy with wonder. "Who is her father?" Kiya smiled sadly. "The river took him earlier this year, during Akhet. I'm sorry you never met him." "She's beautiful," Nanu murmured, caressing the tiny cheek with her thumb, and feeling her heart thrum in her chest. "So beautiful." "There's all the time in the world now, for you to raise her and love her," her sister said, putting a hand on Nanu's arm. "I know you'll love her as much as I do. We can raise her together, just like we always talked about when we were younger. And I; what's wrong, Nanu?" Tears were now streaming down the younger girl's face as she tried to keep from bursting out crying. Becky found herself trying not to cry as well, even if she didn't understand the language. "I'm; I'm sorry, Kiya," she managed to say, while her sister's eyes teared up, knowing what was coming. "I can't stay, I now have a different life I must get back to. And it's not here in Akhmim, or even Keme itself." "I understand," Kiya rasped, her eyes red as she tried to hold it together. She loved Nanu so much. "Can't take us with you?" "No, I can't," Nanu said sadly, shaking her head slowly as she squeezed her eyes shut, crystalline tears falling onto the linen the baby in her arms was wrapped in. "I don't know how that would work." "Will we ever see you again?" her sister Ameny almost pleaded. "I want to say yes," Nanu replied, her eyes still closed. "But even visiting now was very difficult to arrange. But I promise you, I will try. And if I ever find a way to take you all away from here, then I will. And we'll all live in splendor together forever." Most of the girls were crying at this point, and even a few of her brothers were sniffling. Her mother and father just knelt quietly, looking very forlorn and lost. Nanu handed the baby back to Kiya and hugged her parents tight. "But even if I can't be here, I'm still looking after you, like I promised," she said in an earnest tone. She glanced over at Mark, who nodded and rose, using two of the porters to unfasten sacks from the mule and also the palanquin. When he brought them over, he laid them in front of Nanu, who opened them to display the contents. Her family members gaped in awe. More gold coins than they could have imagined glittered within. "You'll need to be quiet for some time about where it all came from, and not just spread it around, but this'll give even my niece's great-grandchildren a very comfy life if you're not stupid with it," she announced, running her hands through the coinage so they could hear the sound of it. "Like I said, you could become the wealthiest farmers in the region, or become traders in a nearby city. As long as you look after one another, always. Even Bata." "Don't worry about Bata, sis," grunted the second eldest brother, Anpu, looking at Meritites and smiling. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "We'll make Bata behave." "I know," sniffled Nanu, smiling and wiping at her eye. She'd always liked her big brother Anpu. He wasn't a jerk like Bata. "Just protect my sisters, Anpu, and my niece." He nodded, looking proud, since she'd assigned him this task. "Do you really need to leave already, Tahemet?" Djoser asked, calling Nanu by her childhood nickname of 'Queenie'. When they'd all been younger, Nanu, as the youngest, usually got the short end of the stick about everything. So she made up for it by having an active pretend life, where she was a queen, regal and worshipped by all. Meri, the eldest, had given her the nickname, but not in a mocking way, even if Bata used it as such. Nanu considered. Mark turned around and whispered to the porters. "Stay with us another night, and we'll triple your pay and give you all the remaining food." The men nodded readily. Nanu wanted to ask Mark and Becky, but they were supposed to be her slaves for this visit, so she couldn't be asking them. The decision was hers. She opened her eyes and smiled. "I'll stay until tomorrow." Everyone seemed relieved at her proclamation, and they continued eating and drinking merrily. Becky had to admit, they were taking this all in good stride. Then again, when all your deities had bird or reptile heads, there probably wasn't a lot you couldn't take on faith anyway. Mark now conversed with the family (with Nanu's permission), about how Nanu had come into wealth and escaped slavery, not to mention acquiring two exceptional specimens such as himself and Becky for slaves. Mark did something he was becoming distressingly good at and lied. It saved Nanu the hassle, which was just as well, since she spent much of her time holding Kiya's baby and talking quietly with her sister. Clearly they'd been attached at the hip when they were younger, and there was much about one another they were keen to rediscover. Watching them subtly touch each other and hold hands, thumbs gently caressing, brought a smile to Becky's face. She resolved to make sure Nanu got to see her family again. The day had worn on, and Nanu had to remind everyone repeatedly that there was no immediate need to get back to toiling over the barren landscape, since she had come with plenty of money. Evening was upon them, and the family began returning to the dwelling that served as their home. Mark added treated skins around the shelter, converting it into a tent, while Nanu begged Kiya to stay with her for the night, to which the older sister agreed readily. Last of all, she hugged her father and mother, promising to see them in the morning. They took little Nanu with them, leaving Mark, Becky, Nanu, and Kiya alone in the tent. The porters had returned to the boat and would sleep there. Once the flaps were all fastened shut, Nanu and Kiya had almost attacked one another, kissing feverishly, and tearing one another's clothes off. Alex smiled and watched while they took their own clothes off. They lay on a blanket together on their sides, with Mark spooning her. He caressed and fondled her gently while she squirmed her ass back against him and they watched the sisters, small sturdy covered lamps in the corners providing dim illumination. Naked and wrapped up in a tangle of writhing limbs, Nanu and Kiya were continuing to kiss hungrily, moaning the entire time. Hands wandered over forms they hadn't touched in over ten years, and those had probably changed considerably in the interim. They murmured and whispered to one another through the kissing, words Mark didn't try all that hard to make out. Let them have their fun. "Umm, there you are," Becky purred as she felt Mark get nice and hard while watching the show. She reached behind herself and took hold of his hard cock, guiding it to her cunt. She teased it up and down the slippery nether lips before letting Mark press home, and sinking deep inside her. They both moaned with relief at the coupling. Mark kissed Becky's neck and fondled her opulent tits as he began pushing his cock in and out of her slowly. They slowly made love while watching the sisters just to their side rediscover one another, after over a decade apart. Becky smiled as Nanu kissed Kiya deeply, expressing her innermost longings and desires. The younger sister lay on top of the older one, holding one another tight and kissing, their nubile bodies squirming together. "I love watching family reunions," Becky sighed quietly as she flexed her fingers on Mark's hip while he slid in and out of her, still massaging her opulent tits. "Look at them, Mark, they're so in love, and so happy to see one another." "It's certainly a feel good moment," he agreed, loving how she flexed her cunt muscles around him as he pushed him himself back and forth. "Mind you, just about everything involving you is, I find." Becky smiled and reached up to caress his cheek before turning her face to kiss him. While they were engaged in a tongue-lock, Nanu began kissing and nibbling her way slowly down Kiya's soft, responsive body, thrilling to hear the murmurs and whimpers of her sister again. She kissed her tan tits, swirling her tongue around the hard brown nipple, before biting and tugging on it, then giggling. "You can't imagine how long I've yearned to see you with tits, Ki," she said quietly, smirking up at the older girl. "They're everything I've ever hoped for and dreamed of." "Just wait until you see my cunt, then," Kiya replied, shivering beneath her sister's kisses. How she'd missed them! "And let me see if yours has become everything I've ever dreamed of." Nanu nodded and then wiggled around until her hips were over Kiya's face. In the dim light, the older sister could see the tempting twat, glistening with arousal and shaved curiously smooth. It must have been how they did things in distant Rome, of which her little sister was now apparently queen or some such thing. Without a moment's hesitation, she craned her head up and began kissing, sending shudders through Nanu and making her moan. The sisters kissed and lapped at one another, lovers reunited after agonizing years apart. They fell into it naturally, remembering what the other loved and craved, even if their bodies had changed in the interim. Nanu sighed in bliss at the taste of her sister, cloying and sweet on her tongue. She felt Kiya go rigid as one of her fingers slipped inside her twat. They rolled slowly onto their sides, legs locked around each other's head as they sucked on one another's cunt hungrily, lost in mutual pleasure. Mark and Becky kept watching, undulating and squirming as quietly as they could, letting the sisters rediscover their lost love. Nanu and Kiya were moaning into one another's pussies now, little gasps escaping them. They could see Nanu's ass cheeks clenching and pushing forward against her sister's face, even while Kiya slithered her tongue around inside her. They were both trembling and sweating now, bodies shining in the dim, flickering orange light inside the tent. "Ooh, here we go," Becky whispered, her hand reaching back to rest on Mark's neck and help keep her braced against him. "Let's see how long this has been pent up;” Both sisters were shaking now, but still lapping and sucking on each other relentlessly, squeaking and whimpering as they tried to hold out. But their lust would not be denied, and they both keened and strained, finally cumming. Mark and Becky watched in fascinated delight as Nanu bathed her sister's face in her glistening cum, and heard her moaning as Kiya reciprocated. Becky shivered and pressed her ass back against Mark, hard, sighing as she began to cum as well. Mark pressed forward with his hips, pushing his cock as far inside her as he could, pumping his cum deep into her greedy cunt. They squirmed and ground against each other, with Mark biting Becky's neck and her fingers running through his hair. "Umm, Mark;” she cooed, nuzzling against him, loving the feel of his molten cum inside her. "You have no idea how good this feels." "If it's one tenth as good as that, then pretty damn incredible," Mark said, nodding at Nanu and Kiya, who were still kissing one another's pussies, murmuring quietly and caressing. Nanu disengaged her mouth from Kiya's snatch and turned around again, lying on top of her sister as they began kissing again, tasting themselves on each other's lips. Kiya moved her right leg and Nanu her left, shifting around until their gooey pussies were squashed together, which they both obviously found immensely comforting. They ended their kiss, and Nanu looked over at Mark and Becky dreamily, her face shining with cum. "I would like to let Kiya taste you both;” Mark and Becky nodded, remembering that they were still pretending Nanu was noble and they were mere slaves. Mark slowly pulled his cock out of Becky and rolled onto his back. He pulled his teacher on top of him, facing up, with his cock poking up between her legs. The sisters crawled over, with Kiya looking rather hesitant, but trusting her little sister. She gazed at Mark's erect cock and Becky's twat in wonder. "He's huge," she breathed, unconsciously licking her lips. "You're lucky to have such a big cock at your disposal whenever you like, Nanu." "Don't I know it," giggled the younger sister, taking hold of Mark's tool and holding it up for Kiya, while she began kissing Becky's cunt, shivering as she tasted Mark's cum dribbling out of her mistress. "You'll love the taste of this cunt, too." Kiya began experimenting with kissing Mark's cock, which was glistening with his and Becky's mingled cum. The Egyptian girl seemed intimidated by its size initially, but remembered that Nanu clearly loved it, so there must be nothing to fear. Her hand joined Nanu's around the base of the shaft and soon she was sliding her tongue up and down his length, much like Nanu was doing to Becky's sweet twat. The sisters paused to kiss, tongues tangling as they shared the cum they'd both lapped up, humming contentedly into one another's mouth. To watch them, Mark would have sworn they'd done this before. They both stroked his shaft, while Nanu caressed Becky's cunt. The two girls pressed their foreheads together, giggling at some secret between them. Nanu looked at Becky and Mark warmly. "We should sleep, my family will not leave us alone for long. And I want my sister to try fucking you both before we must leave." "I do not want you to go," Kiya sighed. "I just got you back, Tahamet, it breaks my heart that you intend to leave again. Couldn't; couldn't you and your servants stay with us? You could even lead our family, since you are the one with the wealth. We could live wherever we wanted. I wanted to raise my daughter with you, my other half, missing for so long." Nanu's eyes glistened as she looked over at Mark and Becky. The blonde woman smiled lovingly. "Nanu," she said gently in Latin, which Kiya didn't speak. "This is your decision. If you want to stay with your sister and your family, Mark and I will understand. We'll leave the money with you, and even come and visit you when we can." The tear on her cheek was proof of how torn the young woman was by this decision. And it was one she had to make alone, possibly for the first time in her entire life. It had to be terrible for her. Finally, she hung her head for several moments, and when she looked back up, she was smiling. "Ki, I must go back to my life,", she sighed, her mind made up. "Trust me, I really want to stay, or to take you with me, especially you and little Nanu, but it must be this way. I can promise to visit, and that will have to do." "I understand," the older sister choked, nodding as her eyes welled over with tears. "I do. It's just hard. I'm so glad that you're alive and happy. It means so much to me. If the price is sending you away again, I can endure it. For you. For us. You know how in love with you I am." "Same as I am with you," Nanu said, her voice cracking and tears flowing. "Just remember that I'll keep my promise and visit whenever I can." The sisters grappled onto one another and began kissing feverishly, lying on their sides while their hands wandered freely. Mark chuckled and allowed Becky to clamber off him. She went to lie on the far side, spooning into Nanu and making sure she stayed pressed to her sister. Mark, meanwhile, spooned into Kiya, holding her in place against Nanu, while the two girls continued kissing and whimpering into one another's mouths. The two time travelers reached across and rested a hand on each other, smiling and relaxing, waiting for the Egyptian girls to nod off, their lips still pressed together in a forever-kiss. It was a long-overdue night of safety and contentment for the two. It was just dawn now, and Kiya looked like she was going into convulsions as she rocked up and down on top of Mark's cock. It was far the largest she'd ever had inside her, and it felt like it was splitting her open, like a wedge split wood. She could feel crackling and popping in her hips. How did Nanu, who was even smaller than her, endure it? Becky was kneeling right behind Kiya over Mark's thighs, pressed into the smaller girl and smiling wickedly while she molested her tits. Meanwhile, Nanu was kneeling over Mark's mouth, letting him lash her cunt with his tongue, while she faced into her older sister, loving the look on Kiya's face as she was almost fucked in half. Kiya squirmed and writhed, gasping like she was being choked, her eyes rolling up into her head. It wasn't long before her cunt clenched Mark ferociously, and Nanu had to lean forward and kiss her sister before Kiya shrieked in unreal ecstasy and woke up the entire family over and over, three hundred meh-ta away. Mark ground into Nanu's cunt as he arched his hips, pushing up somehow deeper inside Kiya and then cumming, filling her so profusely that she was once again shaking like she was having a seizure. The squishy noises of his cum bubbling out of her filled the tiny tent. Nanu shivered and came on his mouth seconds later. Becky hauled the nearly unconscious Kiya off of Mark's pole, while Nanu leaned down and sucked it clean quickly. She then moved forward quickly to lie between her sister's legs, sucking Mark's cum out of her cunt with a fiendish eagerness. Becky crawled over to join Mark and they watched the sisters quietly. Nanu finished draining Kiya of cum, finally, and crawled over her, nestling down onto her body. Not surprisingly, they were kissing again. "Jeez, you ever seen too people more in love?" he mused, smirking as he lazily caressed her tits while she sat in front of him. "I ain't complaining about the show," Becky replied, nodding and grazing her fingernails along his forearm. "She must really believe in our promise to her if she's willing to leave her sister and niece behind to come with us. I feel slightly bad about it." Mark shrugged. "She wouldn't have even had this choice without us, Becks," he pointed out. "Clearly our offer means a lot to her. 'sides, she knows she can always visit them now, just like we promised. And if the Holmes Field Device won't bring her forward, we can leave her here with them, right?" "I guess that's true," Becky agreed, nodding and just watching. "What is that language they speak to one another when they don't want anyone to understand them?" Kiya asked in a whisper, looking just past her sister's shoulder at Mark and Becky suspiciously. "I don't even know," Nanu confessed. "I've never heard it before. Anywhere." Kiya gazed up into her younger sister's eyes, giving her a skeptical look. "They're not your slaves, are they? There's no damn way two people as magnificent as that are slaves to anybody, forget a dopey little slut of a girl from Akhmim." Nanu sighed. "Fine, you got me," she whispered, pretending to kiss her sister's ear, while Kiya squirmed and held her close. They made a show of grinding their pussies together, giving Mark and Becky something to look at. "They're not my slaves. I was hers, for a little bit. But what they really are is adventurers, from very far away. And they're taking me with them, to share their adventures. Not as a slave, but as one of them." Kiya assessed what her sister was saying for some time, trying to parse it out. It sounded absurd, but then, so was Nanu

What do you get when you cross a couple of crazy guys, one crazy website, and the crazy news in the world today? Well, let's just say this…it makes for one crazy show. And YOU get to listen to it. Right here, right now. The only problem? At some point it will be over. But then? There's always more YKS…not to mention YKS Premium! It's an embarrassment of riches, and NOT just a regular embarrassment. And best of all, you can check it out right here, right now. The Donut Rebellion starts here…so tap to unlock calm. The Play Now button that, is! Right here, right now. Music for YKS is courtesy of Howell Dawdy, Craig Dickman, Mr. Baloney, and Mark Brendle. Additional research by Zeke Golvin. YKS is edited by Producer Dan. Social Media by Maddalena Alvarez.Executive Producer Tim Faust (@crulge)Miketober has ended…and Mikevember now begins! Nah. It's normal stuff. But it's pretty good I think. Laugh with us as we catch up on the StandUpShots Top 10! Only on YKS Premium.Follow us on Instagram: @YKSPod, TikTok: YourKickstarterSucks and subscribe to our YouTube channel for more video stuff! Wow, 2025 is lit!! Gift subscriptions to YKS Premium are now available at Patreon.com/yourkickstartersucks/giftSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

"Nah, We Good"

Die neueste Folge von "Nah am Wasser - ein Rügen-Reisepodcast” beschäftigt sich mit dem Ende der Urlaubssaison 2025 auf der Insel. Im Mittelpunkt steht ein Interview mit Jörn Gemeinhardt, dem Leiter der Museumsgesellschaft Mönchgut Granitz, über die Sonderausstellung "Sonne, Strand und Sozialismus" im Heimatmuseum in Göhren, die sich mit dem Urlaub zu DDR-Zeiten auf Rügen beschäftigt. Jörn Gemeinhardt erörtert die positive Resonanz und das interaktive Konzept der Ausstellung, die Besucher ermutigt, ihre eigenen Erinnerungen zu teilen. Abschließend gibt er Empfehlungen für Besucher des Museums und teilt seine persönlichen Eindrücke und Lieblingsorte auf Rügen, wobei er die schnelle Entwicklung und die Natur der Insel hervorhebt.

Selamat datang kembali di Teman Malam Audio, podcast santai ala tongkrongan anak Kuningan yang siap nemenin kamu malam ini. Di episode ini, kita kupas tuntas segala hal tentang Kota Kuningan, kota berhawa sejuk yang penuh talenta kreatif dan jadi rumah bagi banyak kreator lokal, videografer, content creator, UMKM digital, dan pemuda yang lagi ngejar mimpi besar.

In today's show, while Luke Cederman snores in the background, Chas and David predict that the next Matt Hoy will come from a wave pool, make predictions about Carissa Moore's return to Tour, a long time listener gets regulated from a La Jolla reef, and another gets emasculated by both Coco Ho and then Billy Kemper, and we all get reminded why opting not to regulate females in the line-up is sexist. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If the only time you email your list is when you're running a sale, what do you think happens? Your customers start waiting for the sales. They see your regular-priced products and think, "Nah, I'll wait. They'll have a sale in a couple of weeks." And then you're stuck in this cycle where you have to keep discounting to generate revenue, which destroys your profit margins and devalues your brand. But here's the part that most brands don't actually sit down and calculate: the math of discounting is absolutely brutal, especially when you factor in the high ad costs we're dealing with right now. Let's say you discount your products by just 10% – which seems pretty modest, right? – you need to sell 25% more volume just to make the same net profit. Now, let's add in the reality of paid advertising to drive traffic and win new customers. So now you're discounting by 10%, which means you need 25% more volume. But to get that volume, you're paying on average $50 ad spend per purchase (even more during peak promotional periods). Do the math. The amount of extra sales you need to generate just to maintain your profit margin increases drastically. You could need to sell 40%, 50%, even 60% more just to end up in the same place profit-wise. And for what? So you can say you had a good Black Friday? So you can compete with every other brand throwing discounts around? It's exhausting. And frankly, it's not a sustainable way to run a business. But here's where the strategy we've been talking about – using your email database smartly, building customer loyalty, focusing on repeat purchases – completely changes this equation. In this episode, we discuss the practical steps you can take to lift your return on ad spend by 300-400%.   Links mentioned in this episode: If you'd like help to achieve your goals, I invite you to have a chat to find out how we can make that happen together HERE By booking a Free Growth Strategy https://productpreneurmarketing.com/lets-talk   Other Ways To Enjoy This Episode: Listen on Apple Podcasts Listen on Spotify Youtube  

El pasado 25 de octubre grabamos un episodio en directo durante las jornadas del podcasting de 2025 en Terrasa, Barcelona Fue un episodio especial con público, y crossover con el podcast Supersónicos Anónimos, así que tanto Matias como Alex estuvieron acompañados por Sergio Hidalgo y Josep Calatayud. estuvimos hablando de los planes para nuevas misiones tripuladas a la luna, y de lo que Elon estaba haciendo o dejando de hacer. Sin mas dilación, os dejo con este episodio fascinante, no sin antes agradecer a Sergio y Josep participar con sus grandes conocimientos, también a toda la organización de las JPOD por habernos invitado. - Supersónicos Anónimos - Supersónicos Anónimos en YouTube - Supersónicos Anónimos en Spotify - Sergio Hidaldo es @SergioHidalAERO - Josep Calatayud es @ControlDeMision ELON está presentado por Matías S. Zavia y Álex Barredo. Su tema original está compuesto por Nahúm García. — Alojado en Cuonda

Banyak yang bilang, kalo Ibu itu harus olahraga, biar kurus dan langsing. Padahal, sekarang tuh trennya justru Ibu-Ibu yang berolahraga biar kuat. Istilahnya, lagi “rise of the strong mom era.”Tapi, banyak juga di antara Ibu yang sering kejebak toxic positivity ketika olahraga. Karena, olahraga tuh gak harus tiap hari banget lho Bu. Konsisten itu, tetep ngelakuin olahraga, tapi intensitasnya ngikutin kondisi tubuh saat itu lagi gimana. Juga, istirahat itu bagian dari journey berolahraga. Jadi jangan lupa rest!Nah, episode ini ngulik banyak hal terkait olahraga buat Ibu.. Mulai dari mental Ibu yang juga akan kuat dengan olahraga, pentingnya ambil jeda di tengah hiruk pikuk pekerjaan, tips olahraga untuk kaum mager, gimana memulai olahraga.Timestamp:00:00 Opening2:12 Tujuan olahraga tiap orang gak bisa disamaratakan6:54 Konsisten kadang bisa toxic12:09 Yoga bisa jadi sarana berhenti sejenak15:13 Kalau mau mulai olahraga, caranya banyak17:40 Gym khusus perempuan20:28 Persepsi orang tentang yoga24:55 Olahraga buat Ibu itu kayak gimana sih?31:07 Tips buat ibu-ibu untuk mulai olahraga tanpa FOMO36:24 Cerita Salsa dan Amanda nemuin motivasi olahraga41:57 Experience Amanda ikut silent meditation

The Father Hoods tap back in with another throwback, and this one's got that creator-energy meets dad-energy vibe all the way through. DJ EFN, Manny Digital, and KGB kick it with Derek Lane, the mind behind “AJ From Oudder Space Town” - a kid's book turned podcast, Audible series, AND animation. Derek breaks down how the project came to life, the grind behind getting it published, and how turning imagination into content became a dope family mission. His son AJ shining with pride? That's that real fatherhood flex. Summer project turned legacy moment. The crew also digs into love languages with kids, breaking the old “dads don't show emotion” stereotype, and how culture shapes the way we raise our kids. And when Manny tries to see if Derek's going for kid number four? Nah! Family team is SET and the roster is locked! Real fatherhood. Real creativity. Real love for the kids. This one hits. What You'll Hear in This Episode: [00:02:50] AJ From Oudder Space Town [00:07:13] The Hustle Behind the Vision [00:17:11] Father-Son Creative Time [00:20:27] Raising Boys With Heart [00:28:33] Tradition vs. Modern Dad Life What It Hits Everytime: Three dads, one mission: raise strong kids and stay solid while doing it, sharing wisdom and real talk that plays back forever like a classic Hip Hop record. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Kurt Sloane must learn the ancient kick boxing art of Muay Thai in order to avenge his brother.This week we watch a classic movie, did we pick this because of the classic martial arts showdown? Nah, we absolutely picked it because of the Jean Claude Van Damme dance scene. We're easily entertained.https://linktr.ee/iseebadmoviesMusic by ZakharValaha from Pixabay Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Zen of Owning Your BullshitThere's a question I think everyone should ask themselves from time to time:Am I the asshole?If you've never asked that question — not once, not even a whisper of it — then odds are, yeah… you probably are.We've all met assholes. You've probably encountered one today. Hell, in the last 48 hours, you've likely seen someone cut in line, ghost a friend, act superior at work, or just let a door slam in your face. And if you can't think of anyone? Congratulations, it's you.But here's the thing: being an asshole isn't always evil. It's often a side effect of honesty, frustration, or just being human.My father had a saying — “Con la verdad no se juega.”You don't play around with the truth.It sounds simple, but it's one of those phrases that sticks with you your whole life — like a pebble in your shoe, reminding you to walk carefully.Because the truth is tricky.The truth doesn't always make you popular.Sometimes it makes you the asshole in the room.You tell someone, “It's not the pants that make your ass look big — it's your ass,” and suddenly you're the bad guy.But if we're supposed to be chasing truth, shouldn't we welcome it?Nah. Most people want comfort, not clarity. They want a version of truth that flatters them.My dad's point wasn't about being cruel — it was about being responsible with honesty. The truth isn't a weapon. It's a tool.You don't swing it to hurt people. You use it to build something better.A few days ago, I went to pick up some pizzas from a local joint — JV's. Great food, not fancy, but solid. I've got my hands full, trying to get out the door, and there's a guy right in front of me. Makes full eye contact — like predator-level eye contact — then lets the door close right in my face.Okay. Fine. I back up, nudge it open with my shoulder, whatever.Then his wife (or girlfriend) comes out behind me.So, me being me, I hold the door open for her.She smiles and says, “Thank you.”And this dude — the same one who let it slam on me — turns around and glares at me like I just insulted his ancestors.Now, I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I knew in that tiny, perfect moment that he'd spend the rest of the car ride home wondering what the hell I meant by that “thank you.”That's the good kind of assholeness — the surgical strike.Because yeah, sometimes you have to be an asshole to make a point. But do it with purpose, not pettiness.There are levels to this.At one end, you've got the cruel assholes — the bullies, the trolls, the people who sprinkle shit on everyone's ice cream just to feel tall.At the other end, you've got the honest assholes — the ones who tell you the truth, even when it hurts, because it needs to be said.The goal is to live somewhere in between — the Zen of Assholeness.Right on that razor's edge between brutal honesty and empathy.Because someone's gotta say it, but someone's also gotta care how it lands.The truth is messy.Sometimes you're right but still come off like a jerk.Sometimes you're wrong and look like a saint.But if you can pause — just for a second — and ask yourself, “Am I the asshole right now?”That's when you start leveling up.That's when you stop reacting and start reflecting.We live in a world where everyone's ready to pile on, to shout, to dunk, to “gotcha.”Being thoughtful, self-aware, and honest without being cruel — that's rebellion now.So, be brave enough to tell the truth.Be kind enough to own it when it hurts someone.And if you have to be an asshole, at least be one with purpose.Because the truth matters — and as my father said, con la verdad no se juega.You don't play around with it.And if you hold onto that, even just a little — you might actually make the world one asshole lighter.You can't escape being an asshole sometimes. But you can choose why and how you do it.Be the honest one, not the cruel one.And as always — be good.

The post-story Q&A & A episodes are here! This is the first of two Q&A episodes, and co-author Rob Otto joins Scott to answer your queries about all things SLAY. Created by Scott Sigler and Rob Otto Written and performed by Scott Sigler Production Assistance by Allie Press Copyright 2025 by Empty Set Entertainment  Theme music is the song “They're Watching Me” by SUPERWEAPON. Questions? We talking about questions? Nah, questions aren't going to give you a 99% discount on a new dot-com domain like our GoDaddy Promo Code CJCFOSSIG3 does. Talking about questions. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jon Hanson from Hanson's Vanilla stops by The Wake Up Call with Scotch, Tank & Mandy to play a sweet twist on one of Tank’s signature games: North Dakota or Nah? But this time, it’s all about the flavor—Vanilla or Nah? Can Jon tell the real vanilla facts from the fakes? The crew has a blast mixing trivia, laughs, and a little local flavor in this can't-miss segment. https://hansonvanilla.com

Christian College Sex Comedy: Part 30 Time For Celebrating! In 30 parts, By FinalStand. Listen to the podcast at Explicit Novels.   When I fell to Earth I realized perfection; Earth has everything while Heaven has no Evil. "Ask Belle," I replied. "This fight was for me being allowed on the bed. You still need to pay for breaking into her room." "What?" Leigh squeaked. "Come here, Slut," Belle laughed. She hooked an arm around Leigh's waist from behind and began dragging her back into the house. "Zane?" Leigh called out fearfully. "Coming, coming," I groaned. "I feel like someone dropped a cinderblock on my head, and my ribs." I staggered for the door only to be intercepted by Willa. "You are one freaking weird dude," she whispered. "You have no idea," I responded softly. As she came alongside, I put my arm around her waist, then down inside her panties, and cupped her right ass cheek. I gave it a good squeeze. I figure Willa could pull away or punch me in my sore ribs. Instead, she bumped my hip and put her head on my shoulder. "Have you ever been with another woman?" I asked. "No," she regarded me. "Willing to experiment?" I teased her. She smiled, snaked a hand along my back to my neck and finally grabbed a handful of hair. She pulled me down into a kiss and finished with her own devilish grin. I took that to be a yes. We made our way back to Belle's room, where Belle and I stripped out of our wet clothes. "You don't have to handcuff me," Leigh begged of Belle. "I'll behave." "I know you'll be a good girl, but I don't care. I'll do it because I want to," Belle taunted her. Leigh pouted and looked my way. I shrugged helplessly in response. She stripped, crawled to the middle of the bed, rolled onto her back, and put her wrists together just below her breasts. "I'd rather fight than be a victim," Belle mocked her as the bindings clicked shut. "No, that's some cock, you skank," Leigh wound up her courage. Belle's response was to retrieve the vibrator and turn it on. "Calling me a skank makes you feel tough, eh?" Belle closed in. The vibrator began rubbing against Leigh's thighs as I settled into the bed behind Belle. Willa resumed her position on the far side after she stripped down. Belle gave me a curious look over her shoulder before turning back to Leigh. I snuggled into Belle before nibbling and sucking on her neck and shoulder. As Belle pushed the vibrator between Leigh's labia, I ran my left arm down Belle's back and parted her ass cheeks. I could feel Belle look over her shoulder again, my lips were sucking on her shoulder at that moment, and visually question what I thought I was doing. I could sense a struggle going through her mind by the increased tenseness of her shoulders. She had to be deciding if she would let me distract her or not. A moment later she made up her mind; she bent her leg and pulled her knee toward her chest to make my access to her easier. I scooted farther down so I could move my hand below her ass and begin stroking her cunt, back to front. Belle wiggled the vibrator inside Leigh's cunt as my fingers worked her over. She kept it going until she felt my cock pushing past her ass cheeks. Belle didn't caution me about her anus; she didn't have to. When my cockhead touched her cunt, Belle responded by looking back at me, daring me to stick it in. "Do you want me to stop, Belle?" I gazed into her eyes. Belle's response was to suddenly push down on my cock, pushing it half way in with one thrust. "Fuck," she hissed. I grabbed her hip and finished driving my rod all the way in. I quickly withdrew, then slammed it home again. At the same time, I moved my right hand, pinned underneath me, under Belle's body, until I burrowed to her pelvis. Belle began humming as my hand reached her slender landing strip. I also noticed that her activity with Leigh had lightened up. Her cunt walls strongly massaged my cock's passage and the stimulation was soaking up more and more of Belle's attention. The vibrator cut off. Belle had dropped it so she could start pulling and pinching her breasts as my four fingers began to vigorously rub her clit. For five minutes I kept going at her sideways until she grabbed the sheets so she could shove her body into mine and almost pushed me off the bed. Her climax seized her, her breath came in short gasps and tremors passed from her body to mine. "Damn it," Belle cursed. It took me a moment to figure out what she was pissed about. She began thrusting back against me. "Still hard, huh?" she growled. Why, yes I was, but I wasn't going to tease her about it. I missed the visual exchange between Willa and Belle but the end result was Belle giving in, letting Leigh off the hook. "I'm getting on top, Zane," Belle demanded. What proceeded was a bit of bedroom acrobatics but I kept my cock inside as I moved towards the bed's center while Belle swung up to a reverse cowgirl position. I pushed up, palms on the bed behind me, and watched her ass begin to bounce on my lap. At first, Belle rested her hands on my shins and used that to balance her rocking and thrusting of the hips. "Don't, Zane," Belle panted as I pressed my chest against her back. When I wrapped my arms around her, she made one last protest. "Oh, damn you." I hugged Belle tight, my left arm around her stomach and the right around her chest. She slowed down for a few seconds before turning her upper body so that we could kiss. Our tongues flickered against each other, then slowly danced back and forth between our mouths. "I really should bite you right now," Belle sighed. "What the hell for?" I muttered. "I'm going to have to look across the room now and find a reason for not jumping your bones, you idiot," she breathed in short bursts. "Someone likes being 'Zaned'," Leigh teased. Willa slapped her somewhere; I couldn't see where. "Shut up unless you want to be tied up all night," Willa whispered. I was busy letting my hands migrate over Belle's tight body now that I had 'permission' to sex her up. I let Belle lean into me. Her hands cupped her breasts while my hands went from her shoulders to the top of the tits but avoided the nipples. I skated around her upper chest, linking my hands over her pulsing abdomen then lightly traveling down to her thighs. "You are not in a hurry," Belle observed breathlessly. "It is our first time," I reminded her. "Oh," was all she had to say. Her body rubbing against me was her real reply. It was with gradual ease that we upped our tempo until Belle finally 'gave it up' again. This time I came with her, and I completely spaced about a condom, again. Belle writhed her body against mine for almost a minute as we regained our composure and our breaths. "You came in me, didn't you?" Belle said seriously. "Yeah, I screwed up. I'm sorry," I groaned. "What are we going to name our kid?" Belle showed a tiny bit of mirth. "I'm partial to Beausephus if it is a boy," I told her as I kissed her neck, "and Andromeda if it is a girl." "Our kid is going to kick ass," Belle laughed. "Aren't you on the pill?" Leigh wondered. "Listen, you stupid Cunt," Belle twisted on my semi-rigid cock so she could lock eyes with Leigh, "do I look like I can afford Healthcare?" "Answer me, Bitch," Belle began wiggling off my lap and out of my arms. "Let it go," I begged Belle. "Don't think that just because you have my cock in my cunt, that makes me your bitch," Belle growled to me. "As your friend, I'm asking you to drop, 'my cock'?" I hesitated. "Just because MY cock is in your cunt doesn't make it your cock," I teased. "Crap, slip of the tongue," Belle mumbled. "It's okay," both Leigh and I said. "Several of our girls feel that way," Leigh added. "We feel possessive about that cock." "What she said," I finished. "That's why when it is not attached, I keep it in a locked box." Belle snorted and Willa and Leigh laughed. "You went with the detachable cock?" Belle stared at me. "That's so sad." "Hey, now," I blushed. "I have a horny naked biker babe sitting in my lap, with my cock in her cunt. I'm a little shaken up right now." "You can be real trying at times," Belle leaned into me compassionately. "What? You said you wanted me to try your ass?" I joked. "Okay." Belle's vaginal muscles constricted around my cock, exciting me to hardness again. "You rip up my ass and I'm going to rip off your balls," Belle grinned shark-like. "Your? No, I meant Willa's ass," I verbally back-pedaled. "Look, she's sitting there, ass up looking all inviting, lush, and full-formed." "You wouldn't dare," Willa smirked at me. By her own accounts, Willa loved anal sex, but apparently it wasn't something she normally shared. Belle's instincts were leading her past the deception. "Are you freaky, Willa?" Belle mocked her friend. "Hey," Leigh piped up. "Barbie Lynn likes it and she's no freak." I rolled onto my side, trying to let Belle slide off my shaft. "Am I going somewhere?" Belle turned and joked with me. I shrugged, put my left hand on her shoulder and pumped into her hard several times. "Okay, okay," Belle panted. "Go bang Willa. My cunt is still tingling from the last orgasm, Stud." Belle twisted onto her stomach which allowed my cock to pop free. Belle moaned sensually and lay there for a minute with her eyes closed. Dangerously, Leigh crawled over Belle's still form, retrieved something from Belle's nightstand, and handed it to me, lube. Leigh must have seen Belle pull it out and lube up the vibrator before shoving it in. Belle wasn't a total sadist. I slipped beside Willa who kept drinking me in with her eyes. "Where do you think you are going with that?" she said. Willa remained on her stomach, her ass proudly pointing up and proffered. "Would you like to try anal?" I winked. "I'm sure if you try it, you'll like it." "This won't make me your Old Lady," Willa teased back. "I'll try it. Let's see what you've got." "I only want to make you happy," I breathed into her ear. Willa shivered in anticipation. I brushed her hair to the far side of her head then kissed the top of her neck. Willa began to murmur pleasurably as I trailed butterfly kisses down her spine to her tailbone. A single finger stroked farther down to her cunt and down to her pubic mound. Willa was only lightly shaved, keeping her bush full. The return trip lingered around her anus, pushing slightly and making Willa moan. She opened her legs farther and farther apart as I continued to rub her gently. With my free hand, I opened the tube of lubricant and let it pour down her ass cheeks. I teased her sphincter twice but abandoned it to rub the thick liquid all over her cunt and perineum. Recall that Willa was going through a long, dry spell -- being an undercover officer in an outlaw biker gang, so she was bursting at the seams for sexual contact. "Damn it, Zane," she pleaded. "Willa, you are a freak," Belle chuckled. "Watching him work has gotten me so horny," Leigh whined. I ignored the peanut gallery; I was dripping oil on my three middle fingers, pushing my forefinger against Willa's sphincter. Willa must have really liked her experiences with anal sex because she relaxed her sphincter on contact and let me in. Man, her asshole felt hot compared to the slight chill of the room. My finger corkscrewed past the second knuckle when Willa let out another heartfelt moan. I pushed in a little farther while resuming my kisses on her back. Inside a minute, Leigh had sidled up to Willa and me. Belle had propped herself up with her pillow on the headboard but was studying the three of us intently. "You are acting like you've never seen a three-way before," I commented to Belle. "Not from the outside looking in," Belle shrugged. I had no immediate comeback to that. Saying something like 'maybe next time,' or 'enjoy the show' felt inappropriate. I devoted my attentions to Willa once more instead. Speaking of Willa, she was now relaxed enough for me to stick my ring finger into her anus. I noticed Leigh getting terribly interested in Willa's arousal. "Willa, rise up. Push up off the mattress for me, Babe," I coaxed Willa. She looked back at me, smiled lustfully, and began raising her ass. A few more twist and turns with my fingers and Willa was up on all fours, head down, and her face screened from view by her long, black hair. I was about to encourage Leigh but she was already slipping under Willa and putting her lips to Willa's closest tit. Willa's grunt rose over the sound of Leigh's suckling noise. I had to move completely to Willa's rear to allow Leigh more room to maneuver beneath Willa. Leigh's right hand quickly sought out Willa's cunt while her left began caressing Willa's right breast. I had to admire Leigh's enthusiasm as well as her willingness to not hold Belle's rough treatment against Willa. Belle began to rub her cunny as she watched us play. I also caught Willa shake her head ecstatically when I wormed my third finger into her butthole. "Someone's all excited," Leigh giggled, as she lifted up her fingers that had been in Willa's cunt for me to inspect. They weren't just slick; they dripped with her juices. Finally, Willa had enough. "Enough foreplay, Zane," she gasped. "Put that big cock in me. Stick it to me now." "Ask and you shall receive," I replied. With one hand on her hip and the other one on my rod I placed my throbbing cockhead against her mildly gaping sphincter. I could literally feel the breath slowly exhale from Willa's body as my cock first slipped inside her anal cavity. "Zane, Zane, Zane," she exulted softly as I inched my way inside her rectum. I had been wrong all this time; I had thought I'd never find someone who liked anal sex as much as Barbie Lynn, but here she was. She was tight, hot, and damp. By the snug fit I could tell she had abstained for some time but her reactions were pure pleasure, to me and her. I could also feel Leigh's fingers vibrating rapidly within Willa's cunt as well as her vaginal muscles squeezing them back. I let my penis sit there for a moment before withdrawing all but the head. I repeated this three times, with Willa moaning louder each time I thrust my deepest. "Hammer her," Belle demanded. "Her ass, her rules," I chastised the head Warlord Babe. "Hammer me, Zane," Willa virtually screamed. O-kay then, a hammering I will go. I plunged in without mercy. The first thrust nearly toppled her over but on the second one, I held her hips tightly and she pushed back to meet my attack. The loud smacking of skin began to echo throughout the room. "Don't, stop, un, til, you, fill, me, up," Willa gasped between lighting swift penetrations. I felt like my hips were moving in a blur. Willa's whole body was a mass of spasms beneath me. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Willa gasped, then she squealed. Yes, squealed like a little school girl. I didn't relent, though. She had told me to keep going, so 'hi-ho, hi-ho, it was off to fuck I go'. I caught sight of an exhausted Willa turning her head sideways and mouthing something to Belle through her mass of hair. Belle tilted her head, then shook it in the negative. "No, you can't keep him," she explained to Willa but for my benefit. "Too many people know he's here. Wait until you get Zane alone before you take him." "Hey! That's our line," Leigh spoke up indignantly. "Kappa Sig property." "You had better put those lips back to work on Willa before I put this vibrator back to work on you," Belle threatened. Leigh huffed, then went back to lip-smacking Willa's tit. "Shit, shit, shit," then a squeal from Willa once more. Damn, that had been a fast one. After that, Willa went down to her elbows, smothering Leigh with her tit. Leigh responded by going hog-wild on the whole breast biting and chewing on the whole damn thing. "Jesus Christ!" Willa howled, followed quickly by the loudest squeal of them all. Her body contractions dissipated what remained of my self-control. I began ejaculating, grinding my hips hard into her ass and plunging to the farthest depths yet. Willa collapsed in a state of perpetual groaning. Belle was kind enough to pull Leigh free before I collapsed on Willa. I barely had the strength to prop myself up on my elbows so as not to crush Willa beneath me. "Willa," Belle mused, "you really are full of surprises." If only she knew, or maybe it was better that she didn't know. It took a physically devastated Willa several seconds to reply. "You aren't going to give me shit about this in front of the other girls, are you?" she asked. Willa was a probationary Warlord so her reputation was incredibly vulnerable. "Yeah; let me see," Belle ticked off events; while massaging Leigh's half-raised leg from knee to inner thigh, "From the sounds of it he nailed Fontana Palmer thrice; before coming up here, kicking my ass, then fucking me so good all the lights came on. Then he rolled you over and plowed your ass through three orgasms, no." "They'll strap Zane down to the pool table for one hell of a weekend," Belle pointed out. "All the guys will resent him for that, so they'll bust him up and put him in the hospital where he can't perform for a month. Then the female riot ensues. I don't need that kind of hassle." "Thanks for looking out for me," I mocked. "Eh, you are almost a friend," Belle smiled. "Okay, on that note I'm going to take Leigh and leave," I began getting out of bed. Leigh had enough common sense to look to Belle for permission before climbing over Belle's legs and hopping free. "Try to keep the noise down," Belle teased as I opened the door. "I think Leigh's cunt has been abused enough for one night," I shook my head. "We are going downstairs to cuddle." "Nah-uh," Leigh said as she grabbed my hand. "Penetration, orgasm, cuddle; that's the way it's going to go." "No, wait," Leigh corrected herself. "Penetration, orgasm, orgasm, cuddle is how it's going to go." I'm sure Willa and Belle heard my groan of despair as I shut their door. "Leigh, your cunt looks much abused," I told her. "How about we not have sex tonight?" "After all I went through, please," she begged. "How about we have a sex-date later this week," I suggested. "I want to spend some time with you," Leigh pouted. "Leigh, I have Fall Break this week," I informed her. "We can have as much time as you like." "You do?" Leigh visibly perked up. "Oh, thank God," she then moaned. "I can barely walk, I'm so sore." "Do you still want to cuddle?" I asked. "I'd love to, Zane," she sighed, as she put her arm around my waist. "I want you to know that if it wasn't for Tawny, we really would keep you as our sex slave," she added lovingly. Yay me. "That's it," I snarled. "I'm going to go over there one night, tie all of you up, and butt-fuck the lot of you." "Oh, that sounds like fun," Leigh giggled. "Would we be tied up side by side so we could watch you do it to the sister next to us?" "Are you taking freak lessons from Rio?" I wondered. "Because you are starting to scare me." "Nope. Frankly, with the way she wields that strap-on, she kind of scares us," Leigh confessed. Ah, an unlooked for benefit of my Direct-to-Video lifestyle; I have provided the World with a warning label for Rio. Speaking of Rio, when we arrived at the sofa we discovered that she'd crawled up on it and was fast asleep again. I draped my blanket over her then curled up with Leigh in the quilt I had originally taken out for Rio. I lay down on my back and Leigh curled up on top of me. She started to say something to me but was overtaken by a yawn. She put her ear to my chest, yawned again then started snoring. I must have nodded off right after that because the next thing I knew Jill was shaking us awake gently. "Leigh," she inquired, "are you staying for breakfast?" "Sure, Aunt Jill," she yawned. "Let me get cleaned up and I'll help out in the kitchen." "Thank you, dear," Jill grinned. Leigh scampered off to the bathroom while Jill went to the kitchen. Rio was blissfully asleep still. I followed Jill into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while she soaked a paper towel under the faucet. "Did you sleep well last night?" I questioned. "Oh, Zane," Jill smiled serenely, "I learned to sleep through your antics several weeks ago." She dabbed my cheek, the one Belle had popped last night. It stung but I manned-up and took my mothering like a big boy. I made sure the ladies upstairs were awake before doubling back on my room to get dressed for Church. Fontana and Valarie propped themselves up and took in the show. As I was making sure my tie looked good in the mirror, I caught Fontana smacking her daughter in the forehead. "Sleep with that young man, damn it," she advised forcefully. "Subtle, Mom," Valarie groused back. "I mean, he's standing right there." "What do you think, Zane?" Fontana chuckled. "Do you mind me giving my daughter some helpful advice?" "I'm not going to step into that conversation, Fontana," I evaded, "and Val, that was a mean thing you did to Leigh. Belle was unforgiving." "She should learn to use a door like a normal person," Valarie smirked. "I am just warning you that Belle is particular about her private space," I cautioned her. "Valarie, you should clear the air with Belle," Fontana advised her daughter. "This is her home too and her territory." "I'll take care of it," Valarie yawned then shrugged. I had the feeling she wasn't taking this seriously. "Let's get some food, Mom. I still need to get dressed for Church too." Oh, Valarie didn't know the half of it, but I managed to keep Rio and her from ragging on Belle when they learned that Belle had lost a 'bet' with me and had to wear a dress to church along with the rest of them. Rio turned out to be hangover proof. Jill cooked up a wonderful breakfast and Leigh received her measure of revenge when she, Belle, and I had to go over to the Kappa Sigma house to find a dress that fit. Oh, those sorority girls were walking a thin line between cordiality and an ass-whooping because Belle wasn't in the mood to take shit from anyone. Tawny was a big help and Jersey provided the acceptable black dress for Belle to wear. Ricky provided the stockings and shoes. "The first one to say a damn thing dies," Belle glared at the assembly back at my house when she walked in the door. Jill must have missed that. When she came downstairs and saw Belle, she walked up and hugged her. "You look beautiful, Belle," Jill said while examining her. "Ah, thanks, Jill," Belle looked around evasively. Had anyone else said or done that, we would have died. Jill received a weak smile instead. Belle ended up in Sunday school class with Jill, who introduced her as Belle Kennan -- and no one made the connection despite Belle's constant scowl. Rio bringing Belle around to the Masters clan did something to ameliorate the situation. Suddenly having the young unattached males of the church pay attention to her was something Belle found downright darkly amusing. Rio was running around, introducing Belle as her Aunt from Michigan -- very single and clearly well-connected. Rochelle Wellington was the only one to figure out the ruse and she said nothing. Once we got home, Belle couldn't wait to be shed of those clothes. I took them back to the Kappa Sigmas with my gratitude for helping out yet again. When I came back I found Belle standing alone on the back porch. "Penny for your thoughts," I said. "I really ought to punch your lights out for putting me through that," she opened up. "I fucked three of those guys in high school and they didn't even recognize me now. I was in a pretty dress, a touch of make-up, and hung around with rich friends and; BANG; suddenly I wasn't the poor, dirty tramp in their eyes anymore." "Who gives a crap what they think or remember?" I countered. "You are still the same unique you no matter how you dress." Calling Belle beautiful was pointless, true but pointless, because she would have read that as me trying to get back into her pants. "You've never wanted for anything in your life," she mused. "What the fuck?" I rounded on her. "Bitch, for two years I only got to take showers when it rained; forget having any deodorant, and for amusement we played tag with pythons because we only had electricity when someone was pedaling the bicycle." She rounded on me with an angry rebuttal but immediately burst out laughing. "Yeah," she snickered, "and I finally got it out of Jill what a bad little monkey you were too. She told me you had 30 girlfriends and would screw around behind Tim's back all the time. You were a slut too." "Where? Belle, look around you," I grinned. "I am still a slut and proud of it." "Fuck you," she smiled. "Here I was getting worked up into a true fury and you come along and cheer me up." "That's what friends are for," I quipped. "I should have shoved Rio's head down that toilet," Belle teased. "You really complicate my life. Let's go in and grab a bite before we get all mushy." That First Time Fontana wasn't leaving until the morning so Valarie decided to spend another night at my place. I didn't want another night on the sofa so I opted for Rio and me to crash out in my dorm for the night. Vivian would be gone for the week; I hoped she would be spending quality time with her boyfriend Thomas. Barbie Lynn would be around once she saw her family off, but Opal, Brandi, and Paige, plus Christina and company, were gone for the week. They were all due back Saturday afternoon. The dark lining to this silver cloud was that both Paige and Heaven were; 'needy', and that didn't bode well for my Saturday night upon their return. That left us with twelve other girls on my floor tonight, one of which was Iona. She had decided that her time was better spent keeping Rio and me in line than being bored out of her skull back in her hometown. I was sure the fact that we would have a good deal of unobstructed time together had nothing to do with it. Iona was cuddled up with me on my right side on the large sofa closest to my bedroom screens. On my left, Rio was slouched down, channel surfing. She never stayed on any program long enough to see if it was any good. She was bored and angry. I was peripherally aware of someone activating the door and coming up but I wasn't paying too much attention until I noticed someone standing there and looking around for somebody. It was Mercy. I could hardly believe it. Our eyes met and she shrugged in confusion. She couldn't see Rio because my buddy's head was below the top of the back of the sofa. I surreptitiously moved my left arm over the top and then pointed down to where she was. Mercy's eyes lit up and she skipped on over, her bouncing proving to me she was braless. Rio was in such a foul mood, she didn't notice, so Mercy began leaning over until her shadow interfered with the suspended lighting. Finally, Rio rotated her face up to see what the problem was and looked right into Mercy's eyes. "Hey, you," Rio sounded remarkably nonchalant. "Hello, Rio," Mercy grinned hopefully. "I convinced my parents that I had to stay." "That's nice," Rio shrugged. Considering all the hell Rio had put me through during Homecoming and this weekend about Mercy being gone, I wanted to start punching her. "I wore my collar all weekend," she indicated the collar Rio (me, really) got her that had the school colors but Rio's initials on it. "I expressly forbid you from doing anything that might tip your parents off," Rio shook her head. "Simple fucking instructions and you manage to screw that up," she sighed. "I'm going to have to spank that kitty, aren't I?" Mercy's smile grew absolutely wanton. "I bet you are not wearing underwear, you tramp," Rio looked put out. "I seem to have lost them on the way over here," Mercy beamed. "Really? 'I lost them' is the best you can come up with? Give me some nipple-age, damn it," Rio insisted. Mercy bent over farther while Rio unbuttoned Mercy's shirt. "Remember, I'm only biting and sucking on these bad babies because you've been naughty, not because I enjoy it," Rio informed Mercy as she wiggled up to meet those naked breasts half way. "Okay," Mercy sighed happily as the first dangling breast went into Rio's mouth and her lips sucked the nipple in so her tongue could abuse it. Rio alternated between Mercy's tits, slurping and nibbling but not really biting down, as promised. She also reached up and grabbed her lover's shoulders, pulling her farther and farther. I was sure Mercy's feet had come off the ground. I would have looked but Iona took that moment to begin massaging my thigh. I looked to her; she was looking over at Rio and Mercy when Mercy started tumbling head first onto the sofa. Rio rolled Mercy onto her back, her skirt bunching up around her waist to reveal her baby-smooth cunt. "You are my bitch, Bitch," Rio growled as she pressed down on Mercy and tried to kiss her. "No, no," Mercy giggled as she kicked her heels, shook her head from side to side in an effort to avoid the kiss. "Please, let me go. I don't want to be kissed, or licked, or spanked, or have my body abused all week long. No, that would be horrible. Please, please, please, release me. I'll be good. I won't tell a soul about the terrible things you have planned for me." Rio hovered there, clearly in shock. "Why you rebellious little slut," Rio gasped. "Oh, I'm going to ream your ass for that little outburst." "Eeep!" Mercy squeaked. "Move that butt to the boudoir, you skanky whore," Rio pulled Mercy off the sofa, then spanked her bottom. Mercy looked over her shoulder fearfully and hurried that way with Rio in hot pursuit. Iona stood up, pulled on my arm and led my gaze to their retreating forms. "You want to join them?" I questioned. "I want to watch," Iona clarified. "They are so much in love; it is a beautiful thing to witness." "That it is," I agreed as I stood up as well. I led her toward my bedroom, Iona squeezing my hand tightly. "Also, getting naked under the covers with you has its own appeal," Iona gave me a cute, hopeful look. "What makes you think I'll get naked?" I teased. "Well, Zane, you are my friend, and you're easy," she teased right back. Ouch! "I prefer easily accessible, thank you very much," I stated indignantly. "Have you been taking etiquette lessons from Rio?" "Zane," Iona pouted. "That was unfair. I'd never abuse you the way Rio does, or Barbie Lynn, or Paige, or Heaven." As we rounded the last turn in the Chinese screen maze that separated my sleeping quarters from the rest of the floor, Rio was pushing Mercy face-first onto her (Rio's) side of the bed. Rio squatted behind Mercy. Mercy's torso was on the bed but her legs were still splayed over the edge. Rio probed forward, took a lick of that cunt, then another, before spanking Mercy's right cheek. "Has anybody else been using what is mine?" Rio inquired threateningly. Mercy shook her head violently in the negative. "Are you sure?" Rio persisted. "You are pretty clueless. Someone might have sexed you up while telling you they were doing your taxes, or something stupid like that. Did you let someone do your taxes?" Again Mercy shook her head 'no'. "Well ,  I don't trust you," Rio mused. "Zane, come over here." By this time, I was naked, I take off my clothes really fast because I hang around with some impatient women, and Iona was down to her socks and panties. "Sure," I responded. I walked around the bed until I was looking over Rio's shoulder. "Does this cunt and asshole look used to you?" Rio asked me. I reached out and with my forefinger, rubbed along Mercy's slit, starting with her clit. It was still a small nub but a few circles by my finger brought her out to play. Mercy moaned, wiggling her hips as she did. I scooped up from there, dipping between her labia until her fluids coated my fingers. I brought the finger up for a taste. "Yum," I grinned at Rio, who double-pumped her eyebrows and smiled like the madwoman she was. I stuck my finger back in Mercy's cunt to get it nice and wet again, causing Mercy to moan repeatedly. This time, I placed my finger against her anus. I rubbed it around but didn't try to press it in. The moment Mercy decided I wasn't going to give it to her, she thrust back, trying to drive my probing digit inside of her anyway. Rio smacked Mercy's ass to make her stop. "No, you don't, Wench," Rio threatened. "Rio, your baby-girl is pristine, she's nice and tight," I informed my buddy. "Thanks, Zane," Rio snickered. "I can never tell with this slut, she's always so horny. Or maybe I'm always so horny for her, I get those confused." "How about option three: you both are hot, horny babes addicted to each other's bodies?" I offered. "I really don't care what Mercy feels," Rio lied. "She's only serves as a vessel for my lusts. Don't you exist to be solely a receptacle for my lusts, Slut-Bunny?" Mercy slid down the bed until her knees touched the ground. She turned around to the less than amused Rio, waddled up to her lover and wrapped her arms around Rio's waist, hugging her tight. "Yes, yes, yes," Mercy murmured contentedly. "What the, listen, you sk- --" Rio started out angrily. She never finished calling Mercy a 'skank'. She hesitantly, then gently, ran her fingers through Mercy's hair. "I missed you so much, I was going nuts without you; just ask Zane," Rio gave her heartfelt confession. "Rio," Mercy looked up as Rio petted her head, "I've given this a lot of thought and I want you to be my first, tonight, right now," Mercy pleaded. Rio's eyes shot a panicked look in my direction. 'You can handle this,' I mouthed my assurance to my Best Buddy. Rio returned her gaze to Mercy and tilted her lover's head up until their eyes met. "You know there is no coming back from this," Rio stated. Mercy nodded. "This will make you mine forever," Rio said next. Mercy nodded with greater vigor. "You know I am a complete fucking train-wreck and am more likely to ruin your whole damn life than make you happy." "I am yours and you are mine," Mercy whispered, mimicking the tattoo Rio had placed on Mercy's back. "I can't do this," Rio stroked Mercy's cheek. Mercy looked devastated. "We are both wearing clothes, how can we properly make love if we are both still wearing clothes?" Mercy gawked, then shoved her face into Rio's stomach and bit down, hard, it appeared. "Ow, Bitch!" Rio screamed. "That hurt." "Rio, you nearly scared me to death." Mercy sounded so pitiful as she looked back up at Rio. I really had no idea how Rio's twisted, crazy mind would take that. For a second, I thought she'd explode, Rio didn't take pain like a rational person. "I apologize, Love. I have no excuse," Rio responded softly. She even used the 'L' word. "Really?" Mercy whispered. Rio nodded. "Will you do me one favor?" "Okay," Rio replied cautiously. "Please never apologize to me again, my Love," Mercy pleaded. "It scares me nearly as much as you being mean to me a moment ago." Rio studied Mercy for a few seconds. "Did you use the 'L' word?" Rio glared at Mercy. Mercy's eyes grew wide; she then buried her face back into Rio's stomach and began kissing away. "No, you don't, Wench. I will not be mollified by your sloppy, wet kisses. Strip your ass down and get into bed. Mom is going to go primeval on every inch of your smoking hot Temple of Babylon." Mercy smiled, spun around, and quick-stepped as fast as she could back to the bed while still on her knees. Rio flashed me a look that spoke of a happiness I had never seen in her before. She was slipping out of her skirt as she hopped her way to her dresser, undoubtedly to get some toys. As for me, I crawled past Mercy and slipped under the covers held open by Iona. "Should we leave?" Iona whispered to me. "Mercy is somewhat of an exhibitionist and I doubt Rio cares," I answered quietly. "In that case, let me get close to Mercy in case she needs some comforting," Iona told me under her breath. Before I could reason that out, she snuck her naked, tight little body over mine and slid under the covers to be close to Mercy. Iona reached out a hand tentatively toward Mercy. Mercy regarded it, gave Iona a warm smile, and placed her fingers in Iona's palm. Rio affixed her modest-sized strap-on and lubed it up before walking over to Mercy. Her lover seemed entranced with the way the false phallus bobbed about as it approached her. Rio threw back the blanket roughly so she could gaze down at Mercy's beautiful naked form. Instinctively, Mercy began to move her knees up to her chest. "What's that?" Rio pointed to Mercy's hand being held by Iona. Mercy started to withdraw it when, "Did I tell you to move it?" Mercy stopped. "Put that hand back and put those legs down, you insipid cow." Down came Mercy's legs with a muffled thud. "Now I'm going to fuck you like I own you," Rio growled. "You do own me," Mercy chirped. "I'm yours." "Are you ready for me to pound that cunt?" Rio glared. "Yes," Mercy moaned softly. "Well, tough," Rio smirked. "You don't tell me what to do. I'm going to do this at my own pace, damn it." She sidled down to the foot of the bed while still facing Mercy. With delicate ease, Rio lowered her lips to Mercy's right big toe, kissed it then began sucking on it. Mercy had raised her chin to her chest so she could meet Rio's steady gaze. As Rio began playing with her toes, Mercy shivered and groaned. When Rio switched to the left foot, Mercy whimpered. "Please, Rio," she moaned. "Hush, you," Rio mumbled around the current toe she was sucking on. "You are my plaything and I'll do what I want with you." Mercy's head fell back on the pillow as she clutched Iona's hand tightly. Iona seemed totally taken with events. She had rolled on her side so I cuddled behind her, my cock pressing against the small of her back, and began kissing her shoulder. Iona pushed back into me and wiggled her ass against my thighs. She also reached back, took my free hand in her own then placed them together on her stomach. She matched me as I traced small circles over her torso. "I hope I find someone who makes me that happy," Iona murmured. "You'll find someone worthy of you, Iona," I replied quietly. She tilted her head to give me better access to her neck. "I believe I will, Zane," Iona purred. "Now I know what to look for." Rio was taking her sweet time with Mercy, torturing the poor girl with lust. Iona actually scooted over and gave Mercy a quick peck on the cheek to comfort her. She was back in my arms before Mercy could decide to take shelter in Iona's innocent sexuality. This was Rio and Mercy's moment and we knew she shouldn't forget that. When Rio got to the knees, she pressed Mercy's legs farther apart and rotated the hips so she could access the back of Mercy's knees. She was running the tip of her tongue along the inner joint, driving Mercy nuts. The girl was humping her crotch up in the air and began pinching her right nipple. "None of that, you cougar-wannabe," Rio snapped. "You can't toy with my playground. It's mine." Mercy's face scrunched up in frustration as a single tear escaped her left eye. Mercy's free right arm began to flail about as Rio reluctantly stopped teasing the knees and began nibbling her way up Mercy's thigh. Iona felt the sympathetic energy and began massaging her left breast. "Please don't," she gulped as I moved my hand to her right breast. "I'll lose it and this should be their time, not mine." "Yes, Mistress Iona," I teased quietly. "Whatever you desire." Iona pummeled me with her ass against my thighs. "Behave," she sighed. Rio kept pushing Mercy's legs to the side until she was face (and lips) to Mercy's smooth cunt, letting the breath from her nostrils tickle the surface. "Something's been drooling, all," was all Rio got out before Mercy exploded into orgasm. "MotherfuckingChristGoddamn!" Mercy howled. Her whole body shook like an epileptic seizure had taken over. "Cunt-muncher," Rio sputtered. "Did you just squirt in my face?" Mercy was in no shape for an immediate reply. I didn't help matters when I snickered at Rio as her face rose above Mercy's thighs. Syrupy vaginal fluid was dripping off her nose and chin. Rio glared at me. I had a sinking feeling she was about to exile me from my room. "I'm, I'm sorry," Mercy groaned. "I was thinking weak, pathetic, or nasty," Rio grumbled. She began stalking up Mercy's body on all fours until she was face-to-face with her toy. "Was that the extent of your apology?" Mercy propped herself up feebly and began to lick Rio's face clean. "If I'm not satisfied, no fucking for you tonight," Rio taunted her. That spurred Mercy on. She was sucking Rio's eyelids and eyebrows, licking her cheeks, jaw and neck as if her life depended on it. Mercy ended up trying to French kiss Rio but she was having none of that. "Do you think I've got some of your cunt juice hiding under my tongue?" Rio quizzed her. Mercy gave a short, energetic nod. Rio cracked a smile and her lips and Mercy dove up to literally tongue-fuck Rio's mouth until she was thoroughly satisfied she'd gotten every drop. "No, you don't," Rio chastised her. "I know what you are doing and it is not going to work. I'm going to spank that sopping wet kitty and there's nothing you can do to distract me." "Have mercy," Mercy pleaded convincingly. "Oh, I am going to have Mercy again and again and again," Rio mocked her lover. Rio retreated down Mercy until her false cock slipped past her pubic mound. Rio used her right hand to guide the dildo up and down between her labia. The response was tiny simpering noises from Mercy. When Rio let the tip enter her cunt, Mercy became very still. "Relax, Babe," Rio urged her gently. "It will make it less uncomfortable." Rio avoided using the word pain. "Deep breaths, Babe," Rio soothed her. "Think about how much pleasure you feel when I shove this cock up your ass. It will be the same way with your cunt, but better." I could tell Mercy was really trying and that was the problem; she was trying too hard. Rio had an answer for that though. "I've got a better idea," Rio grinned wickedly. She pulled out of Mercy and waggled her phallus at her mate. "I'm not going to do all the damn work, you perverted minx. Hike up those legs and spread them wide, none of this folding at the knees crap. I'm going to mount you like John Smith ambushed Pocahontas, leaving you stupefied and wondering who the fuck just hammered you through the New World." "I'm going to fuck you harder than the Pilgrims screwed over the Wampanoag, you are going to ride my cock 'til dawn." I image the rest of us clearly showed our amazement that Rio knew so much, well, of anything, much less American History. "What the fuck?" Rio took in our gawking. "I read, things, occasionally. Don't look so shocked." "Iona," Rio added, as she went back to looking down on her woman, "get my camera phone. I want to record this moment for posterity." "Zane?" Iona whispered to me. She didn't want to put either Rio or Mercy at risk of exposure. "Its fine," I petted her shoulder. "You can make sure the file is secure." "I'm okay with it," Mercy assured Iona. "I trust Rio." "Be quiet, Pumpkin," Rio sneered. "This is going up on YouTube fifteen minutes after we are done. I'm going to title it: Lush Virgin Innocent plundered by Psycho Mistress." I groaned as Iona slipped off the bed to get the phone. "What; not descriptive enough?" "Plunder me! Plunder me!" Mercy meeped. Rio slapped both of Mercy's nipples. "Hush, you," Rio glared at Mercy. "The only thing I want coming out of that mouth had better be your tongue in my cunt." Iona walked up and handed the phone to Rio. "You keep it, Iona," Rio told her. "You'll get a girl's point of view. With Zane, it will be nothing but tits and ass." We both knew that wouldn't be the case, most likely wouldn't be the case. Iona returned to my side but was sitting up on her knees. She looked at the image in the phone and edged forward. I moved in behind her so that my stomach was against her buttocks. I remained reclining. Iona reached out and took Mercy's hand once more. "I'm ready," Iona said softly. Mercy paled, biting her lip over her dual anxieties. Rio had let slip a serious yet compassionate facial expression which reaffirmed that her Mistress was about to take her. The other was the originally unlooked for trait of Mercy the Exhibitionist. Oh, it terrified her that her sexuality would be discovered, but that thrill only made her actions that much more vibrant and alive. Rio positioned her fake phallus at the gateway to Mercy's virginity again. She leaned over Mercy, her arms resting on her fists to either side of Mercy's breasts, but her lady was taller and Rio couldn't quite span the gap between their faces. "Get up here and kiss me, Mercy," Rio said, choked with emotion. "Kiss me one more time as my fuck toy. Next time we kiss, you'll be my girlfriend." Mercy used her right elbow to prop herself up until her lips met with Rio's. "Are you going to own me, use me, and protect me forever and ever?" Mercy pleaded. "Baby-cakes, I own you for all time, I am never going to become tired of using you, and if anyone except me lays a finger on you, I'll wipe out their whole fucking family," Rio recited her twisted version of a marital vow with the tenderness of a child addressing a kitten. "Thank you for choosing me," Mercy fought back tears. The kiss she gave Rio was long, passionate, and steeped in familiarity. Mercy was still enraptured with the declaration and kiss when Rio pushed forward. Mercy's hymen tore, completing her evolution from the blindly obedient school girl that had come to my room as one of the Chancellor's enforcers so few weeks ago into the woman who dared to experiment with her deepest erotic desires. Mercy's eyes welled up with tears due to the pain. She trembled and her lips quivered. Rio didn't relent despite her lover's pain. She drove the dildo in relentlessly to the hilt. She ground the strap-on's base against Mercy's clit, withdrew a half inch, then slammed down hard. At the same time, she moved her left hand around to the back of Mercy's head, grabbed a handful of hair and forced Mercy into another kiss. "What are you, my little Orgasmic Bombshell?" Rio demanded. "I'm your girlfriend," Mercy sobbed through the renewing pain. "You don't sound very convinced," Rio insisted. "Am I going to have to put a ring on that clit?" she bumped Mercy's clit again, causing Mercy to gulp and whimper. "Not enough to teach your confused, simple mind who the boss is? Nipple rings it is, then," Rio taunted with all apparent seriousness. "You still don't get it?" Mercy shook her head, tears starting to seep down her cheeks as Rio kept fucking her. "Nose ring?" That suggestion seemed to scare the girl, probably because hiding such a piercing would be difficult. "Oh, sigh," Rio exaggerated. "I guess nothing but putting a ring on that finger will beat the point home." Mercy's eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped open. "Of course, that makes me your husband and Master, none of this wife-shit for me. You'll have to do double duty as wife and sexual gratification machine, available for sex on demand." "Okay," Mercy wept joyously. "I am so annoyed with you right now, Annoyer." Annoy equals love; that pretty much symbolized those two. "Mercy, if you fail me this time, I'm going to clone fifty of me and fuck you until you explode," Rio threated. Damn, Rio was so often unhinged from reality and common sense. I figured the only reason Mercy didn't rebel right then and there was that she knew Rio couldn't really clone herself. Otherwise, death by multiple orgasm was exactly how Mercy would chose to exit her mortal coil, and Rio knew it. She also knew she was hammering Mercy into another orgasm quickly. "Christ-fuck-shit-hell!" Mercy screamed. Her legs vibrated then fell to either side of Rio. She wept, screamed, and convulsed on the bed but her Mistress held her firm by the hips and head. When Mercy finally collapsed, boneless from the exertion, Rio gently withdrew her cock from Mercy's cunt and settled on Mercy's right side, studying her intently. Mercy's chest rose in ragged pulses for over a minute. Her first act was to release Iona's hand and carefully place it on her labia, dabbed it gently, then drew the results up to her face. Vaginal fluid mixed with a trace of blood was what she saw. Mercy's smile returned then. She rolled facing Rio and curled submissively into Rio's body, her head resting between Rio's breasts. The four of us were quiet for some time. It was Mercy who broke the silence. "I'm okay," she murmured into Rio's chest. It took Rio nearly half a minute to respond. "You talk too much," Rio whispered to Mercy as she stroked her hair. "I think you can find something better to do with that mouth, so get to it." Mercy began suckling. "Good girl." By FinalStand for Literotica.

Alonso IS BACK to review Mistletoe Murders: Death of a Humbug, which we originally covered back in January after its debut on Hallmark+. Now that it's finally aired on the Hallmark Channel, we're re-releasing our full review for everyone to enjoy! Season 2 kicks off next week! ABOUT MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGA murder leads Emily and Sam to a scavenger hunt orchestrated by the victim.AIR DATE & NETWORK FOR MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGNovember 28 & December 5 2024 on Hallmark+, October 31 2025 on Hallmark ChannelCAST & CREW OF MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGSarah Drew as Emily LanePeter Mooney as Sam WilnerBRAN'S MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUG SYNOPSISThe Fletchers Grove real estate party is FINALLY HERE!!! A guy dressed as Santa comes in and kills the vibe. It's Glen. He owns the bookstore, and he's very passive-aggressive about how no one in this town comes to his bookstore. Glen has a past. He's banned from the diner, and everyone seems to hate him. He gives presents to everyone and tells Emily that he picked this one specially for her—it's rare he finds a fellow mystery lover.The night continues, and Emily sees Glen in his Santa suit scurrying quickly outside. She goes to follow him, finds his hat on the floor, and then sees a car speed off. Just as that happens, she hears a scream. She runs inside and sees Sue, who was throwing the party. She's crying as she looks at Glen, who has been stabbed in the heart.When Emily gets home, she opens the gift. It's a special green edition of A Christmas Carol. We get a flashback of Emily visiting the bookstore and meeting Glen. She tells him about this edition of A Christmas Carol that her parents used to read to her. He remembered and tracked the book down. As she opens it, a letter falls out, inviting her to a very special event at the law offices tomorrow at 8 p.m. What is Glen up to?!So, she goes to tell Sam, and he says, “How would you feel about me being a plus-one so I can take a gander?”They show up, and the video plays—it's Glen, predicting his own death and setting up a treasure hunt. Sam tries to get everyone to give him their books so he can search for clues. They're like, “Nah. There's treasure to find!”It doesn't take Emily long to find the first clue using a UV light on her book. She thinks the other books have clues too and that they all need to work together on it. She gets two others on board—a hot dog stand owner named Harry and Brooke Carmichael. But Glen's nephew, Fred, says he and his wife don't want to participate (mainly Fred's wife—she didn't like Glen).To make matters worse, there's one book still missing. She thinks maybe he gave it to the diner owner, Sue, but Sue says she threw the book out.Sam finds out that Glen had Huntington's disease. After Fred finds this out, he decides that they want to participate. Even though they're missing one book, they decide to put all the clues together and try to figure out what they're pointing to. It has something to do with a precious memory. Fred says, “The only memory I can think of with Glen is him reading Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Emily says, “Go see if he has that book in the bookstore. Maybe there's a clue.”As they're walking towards the store, Emily sees the car that sped off and notices a letter that clearly came from Glen in the front seat. Just then, Fred realizes the bookstore is unlocked. Sam goes in first and finds a guy there.It's Fred's brother Noah. They haven't seen each other in a long time. Apparently, when their mom got sick, Noah left. Sam takes Noah in for questioning and presents him with some pretty tough evidence—they found Glen's Santa suit in the trunk and the USB drive with Glen's video on it from the lawyer's office, which was stolen. He gives reasons for all of it, but it's not looking great.Fred tells Emily that he did finally go find the book and found a USB drive! They agree to all get together tomorrow to watch what's on it.As Emily's going home, an SUV speeds at her, and she has to tuck-and-roll out of the way.The next day, they all get together, and it's another video with a very cryptic clue. We find out that someone is sitting in a car, listening in on their conversation.Later, the group gets back together, but Fred is nowhere to be found. Turns out he was attacked from behind. He says he doesn't know who did it. Sam gets a call—they found Fred's wife's DNA on the Santa suit. She says she found out that the first editions were missing and went to talk to Glen. She found him dead and knew it wouldn't look good that she found him, so she put the suit on and ran out.Emily finds Noah in the diner—he's been released. She convinces him to join the group in solving the mystery. He comes to her store and sees there's a hole in the wall—she has a leak. He says he thought maybe it was one of the secret compartments these old buildings have. That gives them the idea to look for one in the bookstore, and they find it! Inside is a suitcase—a go-bag, if you will. They discover a folder with a plane ticket to Switzerland for the day of the party and a brochure for a place in Switzerland for end-of-life care. He was planning to leave and die in Switzerland. Emily recalls that the tape says, “If you're seeing this, that means I'm gone.” He didn't know he was going to be murdered. He was just planning on disappearing.They find the final clue and watch the video. Suddenly, Harry, the hot dog guy, is gone, and so are all the books. Emily puts it together—he killed Glen and was just trying to solve the mystery. She goes to confront him in the cemetery where the final clue leads to. We find out that he showed up to steal the first edition A Christmas Carol and threatened to kill Glen to get it. Glen laughed in his face, knowing he was dying. That offended Harry, so he stabbed him.Emily then fights him, takes him down, and puts him in plastic cuffs to get the treasure! She figures out it was the lawyer who hired this guy, and he gets arrested.She gets the group back together and hands out what Glen left for everyone. It's very sweet.The movie ends with Emily coming down to her store and seeing Sam fixing her wall. They end up making out HARD!!! She says, “Let's go for a walk in the snow.” She has to go change, and that's when he gets a phone call—he's been investigating Emily and noticed some discrepancies in her story. He got a call from his higher-up to drop any and all research into her. So, clearly, she isn't who she says she is. The episode ends with him asking her, “Who are you really?” Fade to black. Watch the show on Youtube - www.deckthehallmark.com/youtubeInterested in advertising on the show? Email bran@deckthehallmark.com Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Wanna rock the ReddX merch? https://teespring.com/stores/r... Got a story? I got a subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/ReddX... In this episode of r/NiceGuys we encounter some of the most jovial and fun nice guys around! Nah, just kidding. They're a bunch of sad sacks that think women are attracted to men who are utterly helpless. It's either that or go all Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Nice guys really only have like 2 or 3 different strategies that they follow, and you'll learn all about em here! It doesn't matter what your background is, you always need to treat people like people and not use them simply to get off. Neckbeards seem to learn this lesson particularly slow and it really does make my blood boil... So we must bring it to light so others don't suffer alone. For your fill of neckbeard stories we've got you covered with the freshest weeaboo, niceguy, and neckbeard happenings on reddit. Stick with ReddX for your daily dose of cringe with a side-dish of relatability. You might even feel good for dessert... But who can say? #sadboi #niceguys #emo Join me on Discord dude: https://discord.gg/fmfCdmP One-time PayPal donation: https://www.paypal.me/daytondo... Support this channel on Patreon: http://patreon.com/daytondoes Stalk me on the Twitter! http://www.twitter.com/daytond... Visit me over on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReddX... Check out my other channel: https://www.youtube.com/dayton... Wifey's channel is right over here: https://www.youtube.com/channe... Have you ever met a nice guy? They are frustrating to deal with, but luckily you aren't alone! These r/nice guy stories from Reddit are among the top posts of all time and include some of the funniest Reddit stories ever posted on the entitled parents subreddit! rSlash Nice Guys stories have all kinds of funny nice guys in them, but especially the beta male. Listening to ReddX's nice guys playlist is a great experience! These NiceGuys Top Posts of All Time from Reddit are made for you to enjoy any time you feel like it, so be sure to save my rSlash niceguys playlist to your favorites! While there are many rslash channels that read r/nice guys stories and r/prorevenge from reddit, each channel has their own way of performing them. Some of the top rSlash niceguys channels I recommend checking out are the original rSlash, Redditor, fresh, r/Bumfries, VoiceyHere, Mr Reddit, Storytime and Darkfluff. These Reddit story channels inspired me to start my own Reddit story channel, with a focus on nice guys stories and at times going into the r/pettyrevenge and r/choosingbeggars subreddit as well. Because most of my audience prefers nice guys stories of Reddit, I tend to just stick with reading the r/niceguys Top Posts of All Time. Subscribe to ReddX for the freshest daily Reddit content. I post relatable readings of Reddit posts and Reddit stories every single day! Journey with me as I relate these amazing Reddit stories to my personal life journey. I'm greatly inspired by the top reddit posts of all time videos and reddit stories on YouTube which is why I started doing them myself. YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channe... Discord: https://discord.gg/Sju7YckUWu Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/daytondo... PayPal: https://www.paypal.me/daytondo... Patreon: http://patreon.com/daytondoes Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/daytond... Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReddX... Merch: https://reddx-shop.fourthwall....

On this episode the Vin brings some deep conspiracies for to light and tries to get the Council of Nah on board. Enjoy.

In today's absurdist themed show longboarders take center stage as youngest WSL champ ever wins her third title while Stab buries the lede, Joel Tudor wins over corporate airlines and then takes them to court, Moana Jones Wong joins OnlyFans, and the boys discover the perfect projectile to reintroduce regulation in your local line up. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“You either retire an Angel or you live long enough to become the villain.” - Shohei Ohtani's biographer, probably. Nah, he rocks. But fr, the Dodgers suck and no amount of World Series rings can change that. This week: Fixer Upper Marin, max contracts, and two middle aged dudes kinda sorta embrace AI.

Agradece a este podcast tantas horas de entretenimiento y disfruta de episodios exclusivos como éste. ¡Apóyale en iVoox! Nah, en realidad son gente maja y querida por todos. Escucha este episodio completo y accede a todo el contenido exclusivo de Sexo y lo que surja. Descubre antes que nadie los nuevos episodios, y participa en la comunidad exclusiva de oyentes en https://go.ivoox.com/sq/583679

Elsie thought it unlikely Leo would tell her the truth about the unregistered secondhand car he'd asked family friend Bernie to tow to the abandoned quarry. But she still pressed her sixteen-year-old great-nephew about it over breakfast at the kitchen table. "Are you planning to drive it around the quarry, dear?" "Nah, I wouldn't do that, Aunty."The Nine Lives of Leo Roberts — Two: A Fast Car — Part One is a short story by Robert Fairhead from the Tall And True writers' website.Read Robert's writing on Tall And True: https://www.tallandtrue.com.auListen to podcast episodes on Tall And True Short Reads: https://www.tallandtrueshortreads.comListen to the Season Five Trailer: https://www.tallandtrueshortreads.com/introducing-season-five/Support the podcast: https://supporter.acast.com/tall-and-true-short-readsBuy Robert's short story and microfiction collections online:• Amazon Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Robert-Fairhead/e/B086HZ36NM• Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/author/robert-fairhead/id1436773436• Rakuten Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/au/en/author/robert-fairheadPodcast Theme and Sound EffectsRoyalty-free music from Pixabay.com: Beethoven Piano Sonata No. 15 in D major, Op. 28 'Pastorale' – IV. Rondo. Allegro ma non-Troppo, performed by Karine Gilanyan.Sound effects licensed under Creative Commons 0 from FreeSound.org:• Car Engine Revving: https://freesound.org/people/overmedium/sounds/651534/• Eating Cereal from Bowl: https://freesound.org/people/diniunicorn/sounds/330300/• Chair Scraping on Floor: https://freesound.org/people/moxobna/sounds/35033/• Kettle Switch: https://freesound.org/people/EricsSoundschmiede/sounds/457410/• Kettle Boiling: https://freesound.org/people/cupido-1/sounds/433538/• Kettle Whistling: https://freesound.org/people/keweldog/sounds/181718/• Clock Tick-Tocking: https://freesound.org/people/Richard1052/sounds/585774/• Typewriter and Bell: https://freesound.org/people/supersupernator/sounds/519622/Production NotesTall And True Short Reads is produced using Audacity.Episodes are recorded in Sydney, Australia, on the traditional lands of the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation.Acast Podcast Supporter PageSupport this show http://supporter.acast.com/tall-and-true-short-reads. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Now that we're settled into our new lives as thief kings, maybe we should look into what that means. One big heist is left, and it might be useful to understand if we already won the campaign, you know? Nah. Into the mudhole we go! For 3 bonus episodes a month and more, subscribe to our Patreon at patreon.com/nerdpoker. For merch, social media, and more be sure to head to nerdpokerpod.com.

This ain't your regular game night.Nah, today we are diving into the unholy carnival of bullets, banter, and broken sanity known as Borderlands 4 — yeah, the long-awaited, loot-heavy, loud-as-hell sequel from the twisted geniuses at Gearbox Software and 2K Games, officially released in 2025 for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

Garth Heckman The David Alliance TDAgiantSlayer@Gmail.com      THERE IS AN AURORA AROUND PEOPLE WHO HAVE LEARNED TO LIVE IN BIG OBEDIENCE!  BUT HOW DID THEY LEARN IT?  How did they learn BIG obedience?  Ok, seems simple enough but it is through little obedience… small steps of obedience, wether we are talking about witnessing on campus in front a few hundred students or giving up our boyfriend or even stepping away from our beloved career… how did the small steps lead up to that?      Question? Can you give .10 out of a dollar? Lets say you walk into Church and the pastor challenges you… hey you got a dollar? You do! Great… can you give put .10 into the offering today from that dollar… is that a challenge?    Nah!!!  Can you give $100,000.00 out of a million?    IM NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY OR PROSPERITY!   Does God want you prosperous? -… I have a problem with that prosperity gospel.    Ok, does God want you generous?  How you gonna be generous with what you don't have?   Generosity does not come from you having excess.. it comes from what you currently have. Remember the widows mite? The 2 pennies. That is all she had…not wealthy at all - But God called her incredibly generous.    GOD WANTS YOU OBEDIENT GOD WANTS YOU GENEROUS GOD WANTS YOU!    AOC Alexandria Ocasia Cortez the US representative for NY said recently - that the millennial generation is the first generation to not experience the American dream, the prosperity or wealth that their parents experienced… WHUH?  That is what entitlement will do to you. Actually the most recent statistics that have come out is that these last two generations have more wealth than their parents or their grandparents or their great grandparents had? They just don't see it because they are spoiled… entitled. Its not their fault - it is the parents who raised them. And yes some of it is the society in which we live in. So when God asks you to give 10% it seems like an astronomical undertaking to big to even believe.  Now this podcast is not about giving, prosperity or even generosity… it is about taking small steps of obedience. You know what makes 10% seem impossible to give? Selfishness. You might say oh yea, wow Garth news flash… we know that. But you miss the point. Its not selfishness from the stand point of not having enough… it is selfishness while standing in excess, the ruins of spoil… overflow upon overflow…and you are still selfish… that is why it seems to hard to understand - at least for me and maybe a few more who have some history under their belt.  God is not asking us to obey in war, oppression, poverty, under persecution (at least not in the US - I know I have listeners all over the world…so I will be careful) God is asking most of us to be obedient in the best time of the world and in the smallest of ways… and yet we our so blind or Blond - we don't get how easy it should be. But again - entitlement is poison. Much like exposure to chlorine or formaldehyde are so strong and pungent but over time you get used to them and then at some point you can't smell anything. They have destroyed your olfactory system. Entitlement is that smell… be wary of it. Act in obedience and let not the world poison your ability to see your blessings!  

Group Guide Use this guide to help your group discussion as you meet this week. TranscriptWell, good morning. My name is Chet. I'm one of the pastors here. We are working our way through our membership commitment. It's different for us. We're normally working our way through books of the Bible, but we've taken the fall to just kind of go, hey, we collectively are following Jesus together as a church family. And what are the things that we've committed to? What are the things that we believe? And then kind of, what, how have we designed how we're going to live life together? So we, we are on commitment number 11 out of 14. It's just a one sheet piece of paper that we say, yes, this is what we're trying to do here. It's kind of our outline for discipleship. I want to begin by showing you this tweet that kind of made the rounds a while back. I think it's a good intro to what we're talking about today. It says, nobody talks about Jesus. Miracle of having 12 close friends in his 30s. The point of that tweet is it's hard to have relationships. Being friends with people is difficult. You're doing well if you've got one. But this idea that you'd have a lot and that they would stay together and you'd be able to keep working things out. And the reality is in the church, Jesus says that they'll know you're my disciples by the way, you love one another. So that it is supposed to look different for us, that the church is supposed to put this picture of what love and relationships are, are meant to look like and be able to walk things out together. So this is actually a miracle that we're all supposed to get to participate in as Christians. But it is difficult to do. We understand that. So that's what number 11, our commitment is for us. I want to read it as we begin. It says, I expect relational difficulty as I seek genuine relationships with other sinners saved by grace. I will actively fight against gossip, drama, bitterness and relational weirdness. I will work toward reconciliation in all conflict, seeking always to live at peace, unified with others in the mill city family. So we're going to take that line by line. We're going to show you where that comes from in the scriptures, what we're talking about, what we're committing to. Let's pray. Lord, we ask for your help. We ask for your grace. We ask in the name of Jesus that this would be true for us, that we would work towards reconciliation and all conflict, seeking always to live at peace and be unified as your people. In Jesus name, Amen.All right, so that first line, if you're going to commit to membership here, and if you have committed to membership here, you have announced, I expect this to be difficult. You're like, I looked around, I saw you guys. And I'm pretty sure this is going to be hard. Yeah, that's how it works. I expect relational difficulty as I seek genuine relationships with other sinners saved by grace. And in some ways, this is commitment. 9, 10, and 11 follow a logical flow. 9 is, I'm going to pursue deep, genuine relationships. I'm going to do that by being here on Sundays and by committing to belong to a community group and that we're going to pursue these types of relationships. And then 10 says, and I'm well aware that I'm a sinner, so I won't be surprised if someone comes to me and says that I've sinned, I'm aware of that. I'll walk through that with them. And then 11 says, and I'm also well aware that they're sinners. And so this is going to be hard. What we're saying is that we expect. It makes sense that if what brought us here is sin and the need for forgiveness, Christianity is the people who raised their hand and said, I need help. The people who said, if the Lord doesn't have mercy, I'm in trouble. If he doesn't forgive sin, I'm in trouble. I want this to be about Christ. I want it to be about his goodness. I want my hope to be in Him. And if we all get together, the assumption that we would somehow not have conflict, that we're coming from different backgrounds, different economic places, we speak different languages at times, that we're coming from all these different places and we sinful. The idea that that wouldn't cause conflict is crazy. So we're saying, no, I expect that I'm a sinner who needs grace, and I expect that you're a sinner who needs grace. And I'm pretty sure if we try to have a real relationship, that's gonna. There's gonna be some problems. A lot of times we don't have conflict with people because we don't have relationships with people. The reason there's no frustration, the reason there's no difficulty, the reason there's no conflict is because you're not around each other enough for that to have even come up. We're saying, we want to be around each other enough to grow in these deep, genuine relationships, which means we expect there's going to be Some difficulty. So we say, I will actively fight against gossip, drama, bitterness, and relational weirdness. So we're saying, okay, it makes sense that we would have some problems, but I'm going to commit to fighting against these things. And this isn't just I won't participate. It's I'm going to try to stop them. I'm going to fight against it in myself and in others. We're going to. We're going to police this. We're going to defend something that is good together. Okay? Gossip. It's listed several times in the New Testament as a sin. What it is, is me and you talking about someone else. Be true. Slander would be if it was untrue. We're not going to do that either. But gossip is like, hey, did you hear this? Hey, I got something to say. People will say, I don't know if I should say this. And I've practiced. If you say that to me, I'll go, then don't. I'll try to wet blanket that as fast as I can. Because I know if you say it, I'm probably going to like hearing it. Proverbs says they're delicious morsels. Whispering like, this is a delicious morsel. And it's like, you know, don't even open the donut box. Like, I don't want to have to choose whether I'm eating two or three. Like, I just get it out of here. So when you're like, I don't know if I should say this, then you probably shouldn't. Don't say it. I don't know if you're the right person to talk to. I'm probably not. Leave me out of this. But we're going to fight against the gossip Is me and you talking about someone else. Did you hear that this was going on? One of the things I found personally that I love doing is telling you why someone did something. I don't know, but I have good negative guesses. So I. For a long time ago, I can tell you why they said that. I can tell you exactly what they're trying to do. And I had to learn, no, I can't. And even if I was right, I should keep my mouth shut. But we're going to fight against that. This is not going to be something we're going to participate in, which means that it's not just you're not going to say these things, but you're going to be an unsafe person for someone else to say them to. We're not going to get together to spill the tea? No, we're going to keep it all well contained, Highly good contained tea in our church. Family. Drama, not a Bible word. The Bible word that most often is used is we're going to pursue peace and we're going to see that a lot. Drama would be the opposite of that, would be you making things worse, making things bigger than they are, overreacting to things. The Bible talks about stirring things up. So Romans 16:17 and Titus 3:10. We've on the screen together, it says,> I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them.>> As for a person who stirs up division, after warning him once and then twice, have nothing more to do with him.There are obstacles to following Jesus. There shouldn't be other ones that we add in. There shouldn't be other things that we go, well, you know, this is a problem. And this is a problem. And this is. Have you noticed this? I've noticed this. This is a problem for me. Is it a problem for you? We're not supposed to do that and to stir up division. He says, avoid them. Watch out for that. That's bad for you. You know, there are people who can. Their joy is contagious, and there are people who. Their bitterness and frustration and dislike is contagious. I have. I have a friend who can make you dislike a movie. You watch it with him and he can talk you out of it. I'm a little bit like that. I have to watch. So I don't dislike it when he does that. I'm like, yeah, tell me how stupid this movie is. But I heard two other friends talking, and one of them, they're friends with that guy. And one of them said, yeah, I didn't like that movie. And the third friend said, did you actually not like that movie or did you just see it with this person? And later that friend said to me, I don't know. I don't know if I actually didn't like it or if they just so affected my ability. And it's like, y', all, you've got to be aware that that's a thing. Someone can come poison something for you, and they can poison your church family, they can poison your community group. They can poison things for you. They can get in your head and talk you out of joy and forgiveness and. And life and grace. And he says, watch out. You may have someone who comes and says, hey, you know, I need to talk to you about something. And all they're doing is this.Titus 3:10. For a person who stirs up division makes it worse. That's drama. It's stirring things up after warning him once and then twice have nothing more to do with him. Or as Proverbs 16:28 says,> A dishonest man spreads strife, and a whisperer separates close friends.I love the way 26:20 says it, for the lack of wood, a fire goes out. And where there is no whisperer, quarreling ceases. There's nobody actively stirring it up. A lot of times things will stop, we say drama, bitterness and relational weirdness. Bitterness is. You're not talking about it, you're just seething over it. It's internal. It's not gossip. It's just as something that you're working out internally. You're going, yeah, I know what they were doing. I know. No, that's fine. This is just be how. Okay, yeah, you're just working it out in your head. They were rude to me. I know they were rude to me, whatever. And it just starts changing your relationship. We're not going to do that. We're going to be on guard against that in our heart. Relational weirdness is not a Bible term. It's a catch all. We're trying to grab a concept when we talk about relational weirdness. It. It's one of those things where it's like, you know, it's developed where we used to be okay, or we had this thing and we talked about it, but now I just don't really know how to talk to him anymore. I don't really want to talk to him anymore. If I find out they're going somewhere, I don't want to be there. It's like, oh, well, that's relational weirdness. And we just kind of sometimes will consign ourselves to that and go, yeah, I don't know, I don't like them, they don't like me. It's fine, we're fine. We're not in a group together anymore. So it's fine. I'm fine, we're fine, it's fine. I'm telling you a little bit something personal about myself. When I wake up in the morning, my left heel hurts so much that it's hard for me to walk. But I'm coming up on 40. So what I thought was, well, I'll just have that be true about me until I die. I'll limp around my house in the morning and then at some point it'll stop hurting and I'll move on because I have no intention of seeing a doctor about this. That's what relational weirdness is. It's just relationships. It's where you're going. This is fine. I'm fine. No, it's okay. No, this isn't a problem. I don't need to talk about it. I'm okay. And it's like, yeah, you have this. Like, something's painful, something's weird. You feel this twinge. You don't want to talk. I don't. Nah. And you just go, it's fine, though. As long as we ignore it, it's fine. And then someday I'll die. And it's like, no, we're going to fight against that. I'm allowed to do that with my heel. But you're not allowed to do that with your relationships. But I want you to see something first. 2 Corinthians 2:10-11 says this.> Anyone whom you forgive, I also forgive. Indeed, what I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for your sake in the presence of Christ, so that we would not be outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs.He's talking about conflict. He's talking about forgiveness and unforgiveness. And he says, no, I forgive them if you're forgiving them, we're going to walk in forgiveness. And he says, so that Satan doesn't trick us. And one of the reasons we commit to fighting this stuff is because Satan wants us to walk in unforgiveness, wants us to walk in fractured relationships, wants us to have relational difficulty and drama all over the place, wants that to be true for us where we don't enjoy and participate in what Christ has purchased for us. And we just have all these little fractures and broken relationships and frustrations because we're trying to walk together. And if we're going to do that, it's going to be difficult. And he says, no, we're going to walk in forgiveness so that we won't be outwitted by Satan. This is one of the reasons we're fighting against it, because this stuff is cancer for a church. Most people who have church hurt, and they'll talk about it. It's them, this. So it's unacceptable here. It's unacceptable in any church. But we're. We're not going to practice it. We're going to sort things out. But how are we going to do that? And that's what we say. Next. I will work toward reconciliation in all conflict, seeking always to live at peace, unified with others. In the mill city family, reconciliation is. There's a broken relationship and we're going to fix that. There's something between us and we're going to get rid of it. We're not going to let it develop. We're not going to let it grow. We're not going to let it see. We're not going to talk about other people about it. We're not going to let bitterness develop. We're going to try to sort this out. We're going to get to where we can be at peace with one another. And this is commanded over and over again in the Scriptures. So we're about to look at a lot of verses together. 2 Corinthians 13:11 says,> Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.I said, I love that. That's a command. Agree. It's like something you'd say to your kids, hey, get along, be friends. That's what he's doing. He's saying, aim for restoration, agree with one another, live in peace, and the God of love and peace will be with you. Our God is a God of love and peace. We actually get to participate in that. We get to have love and peace. And that gets to define the relationships here. And so we aim for restoration. That's what we're seeking to do. That's what the whole point of this is. So that's what you're committing to is, I'm going to do that. I'm going to commit to aim for restoration when there's conflict, when there's frustration, when there's difficulty. Romans 14:19 and Hebrews 12:14 says,> So then let us pursue what makes for peace and mutual upbuilding.>> Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.I love these verses. The reason I have them next to each other. Pursue and strive. Pursue what makes for peace. Strive for peace. It means it takes work. This is something that's going to call out effort in us. You know, this is the reason this is all over the place in the New Testament is because they were like us. They became Christians and then found the other Christians kind of annoying. They had problems, they had difficulties, they had hurt feelings, they had sin. And he keeps going, y' all gotta work that out. You gotta work that out. You gotta pursue this stuff. I think sometimes we think about peace as, like, a byproduct. Like, it should just be there. It's just something you have or you don't have. When it's there, it's nice. When it's not there, it's, you know, whatever. And he's like, no, it takes work. We think of it as like a musical or something. Like they're in a barbershop and somebody's sweeping and somebody's cutting hair. Somebody's buzzing, and then they just start singing. It's magic. And that's what peace is like in a church. Imagine like we're monkeys in a Disney cartoon or something. That's not what it's like. That's not even what it's like in the thing you're watching. Where did that piano come from? Like, they've practiced this, obviously, and there's now instruments that aren't in this barbershop. But we act like that, and it's like, no, it's something that's going to take work. If you're going to be at peace with someone, it's going to take effort. It's going to take striving, it's going to take pursuit. And we're not going to want to do it. But it's worth it. And we're commanded to. So Romans 12:16-18 says,> Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight.>> Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all.>> If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.So this idea of living in harmony, living peaceably with all. And in the middle there, he says, do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. I've been a part of a community group in this church for 12 years. One of the things that I have found is part of the problem is that I'm right and good and they're stupid and bad. You ever feel that, you ever want to say, if they would just quit being wrong, then we wouldn't have a problem? Some of you married people know what I'm talking about. I've explained it to them twice. I don't know why they're so dumb. But you just feel that, you feel like I'm right. If you just see what I see, if you just know what I know. If you would just get on board now, you're like, yeah, and I got a Bible verse now, agree with me. Where is it at? It's like, that's not. There's a level of humility needed when we approach this and we're coming in and going, I'm aware of my own sin. I'm aware of my own self righteousness. I'm aware of my own haughtiness. I'm aware that I'm so wise in my own eyes constantly. I think I'm the smartest person who's ever existed. I just feel right about everything. My opinions feel like facts. And it's like that robs us of getting to do this. We're to live in harmony with one another. This isn't a solo. You have to work at it. Repay no one evil for evil. I want you to hear this. They actually did the thing that you're upset about most of the time. Sometimes we're like, yeah, but they really did sin. It's like, right? Yeah. Nobody's arguing that. We actually started with that we expected them to sin. They're a sinner who needs Jesus. We are not nobody's. We're not scandalized. Yeah, they really did it. They really. No, but they really. But it was really hurtful. It was really mean. No, they actually said it. No, they actually did. Yeah. Yeah, they did. And it's bad. Nobody's saying it's. It's not bad. Nobody's saying it's not sin. Nobody's saying it's okay. But we are saying we're not going to repay evil for evil. We've got to give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. Then verse 18, he says, if possible, and he's clarifying so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all meaning that there are some people that you can't be at peace with, but it has to be on their side, not yours. So you can't say, well, this person's just impossible to be at peace with. And it's like, only if it's on their side, not yours. You have to be holding out, going to be peaceable as far as it's up to me. All the parts that I can handle, I'm going to handle, and I'm going to live at peace.Okay, so what does pursuing reconciliation look like? We committing to do it? We're going to pursue reconciliation in all conflict. What does that look like? Well, first thing we can do is forbearance. Bearing with one another is just a way that you are going to absorb some of their sin in a way that you're going to offer forgiveness, offer love, and you don't have to have a conversation about it. Proverbs 10:12 says,> Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all offenses.Proverbs 17:9,> Whoever covers an offense seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates close friends.There's a way for us to just by love forgive one another. And I think those proverbs can apply to, you've had a conversation, you've sorted things out. But I also think it's just one of those things that we get to do. We get to delight in to do someone is rude to you in your group, or they planned a time to meet with you and then they showed up late, and that drives you particularly crazy. The most offensive thing someone could ever do, they should hang up the phone on their mom and come show up on time to meet you. It's unacceptable. But you have these different things where it's like this, no, it was really rude. It was really offensive. They said that and it really hurt my feelings. We celebrated this birthday and then they acted like I didn't exist. And I told them it was my birthday. This stuff happens and it hurts. There's times where you go, yeah, but I've offended other people. I've been rude before. And I'm just gonna offer grace and forgiveness and love so that we get to have it. If I offer you grace and forgiveness and love, then our relationship gets to have grace and forgiveness and love. I just get to pour it in. Some of you people who live, have roommates and are married or whatever, you need to learn some of this. Like some of your relationships, you get to just add grace and forgiveness and love to your house on your own, from your side, and then it gets to be there. I'm pretty sure my wife does this with me 75 times a week where she's just going to make sure there's Love and kindness in our house. I know for a fact that I do things that she's asked me not to do. I noticed it this week as I was thinking about this. She tells me all the time when we're on the phone, say bye. Yeah, seems pretty simple. I'm constantly like, sounds good. Click. Alright. Yeah. It works for me. Click. I did that a couple times this week and I thought, I wonder if she's on the other side of the phone being like, I'll get texts every once in a while that say say bye. Because it's become evident to her that I've already hung up. I don't know if she's still talking. I don't know. I hung up the phone, you guys. I don't know how she finds out that I'm not on the phone anymore because apparently I don't say bye. But there's times where I just do that. She's told me a thousand times. I know for a fact I hung up on her twice without saying bye this week. She didn't say a word about it. I don't know if she didn't notice or if she just is like, he can't help it, something wrong with him and just chooses to love me and covers an offense, something that legitimately offends her. It bothers her, but she's just showing grace and kindness so that our house just gets to have love and we get to do this because we belong to Jesus. We just get to love each other. And so there's a whole lot of things that you can just go, you know what? I'm just going to forget. I'm just going to love. This is just going to be okay and I'm not going to hold on to it. 1 Peter 4:8 says,> Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.This applies in situations where we have to have multiple conversations. This applies to situations where we're having to work some stuff out. This applies all the time that we're seeking to love one another earnestly. But I'm just letting you know that forbearance lets you do this sometimes where you just go, I'm just going to choose on my side to not be offended by that. To be offended, but then to just choose to forgive and move on. And you can do that until it starts to grow. Because sometimes I think people say that's what they're doing and they're really just avoiding conflict because they don't want to have to have the conversation that makes them Uncomfortable. So they go, I'll just forgive. They were rude to me. That's fine. They're just a rude person. And then you see them and you say in your head, well, hello, Rudy. And it's like, okay, if you're doing that, I don't know if you've done the forbearance thing where you're choosing to forgive and show love. Like you, something else is happening. And so it's like, you can choose to do that, but you also can't sit and seize and have resentment and bitterness and difficulty. And if you start realizing, I'm trying, and I've done this for a while, but now it's still growing and it's still happening, and they're still offending me, and I'm going to have to have a conversation, which is the next thing that happens. So we can bear with one another, we can forbear, we can forgive without conversations. But then there are times where Matthew 18:15 says,> If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother.You're trying to aim for restoration. You're trying to gain your brother. There's something between us, and this is what I think we sometimes miss. There'd be something between us. And someone will go, just. Well, it's just what it is. And it's like, you don't care about your brother. You're okay with just losing a sister. If you're going to hold on to that, or you'll be like, well, I just don't want to. I don't want. Sometimes people have in their mind peace just means the absence of conflict. But if I know about the conflict and you don't, conflict is still there. That's not peace. That's like, we see a hole and we put a blanket over it that didn't fix the hole. It actually increases the likelihood someone will fall into it. And so sometimes we're doing that in our relationships where we're just going, well, I just. I'm not gonna say anything. And it's like, yeah, but you're gonna hold on to it. That's still there. It's gonna affect the relationship. They won't know exactly why, but they'll feel it. And so he says, now you go talk to him. Because we're trying to aim for restoration. We're trying to gain our brother. And there are some baseline assumptions. If you sin against me and I come to you and I tell you or if I sin against you and you come and tell me we're making some assumptions. I love you. I want good for you and for us. I believe the spirit's at work in you so that this can work, so that you can repent, I can forgive. Like, I'm assuming good things about you if I come and talk to you. You're assuming good things about me. Now you're telling me I've sinned. I don't like that part. But you're making some baseline assumptions that are like, but if someone sins and I just go, yeah, not worth talking to them. Well, all my baseline assumptions are bad. Don't really care that much about them. Or you'll say things like, yeah, but I would talk to them, but I know what they're gonna say. And it's like, okay, so you're just gonna condemn them from here. Judge and condemn them from here, Lock them in that. And even if you are right and that's what they say or that's how they act, still supposed to do that for their good. God has you in this position in this relationship to see this thing and to have this conversation for their good, for their joy, and for yah's restoration. And it goes the other way, too. Matthew 5:23-24 says,> So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.You say, they didn't sin against me, they're mad at me. Okay, well, go talk to them. You can go have a conversation with someone where you say, it seems like you're mad at me, but I don't know what about, and I don't want to guess. You can go and say, hey, I know I did this, and I know that we hadn't quite been right since, and we need to talk about it. Matthew 18:16 says,> But if he does not listen, take one or two others along with you, that every charge may be established by the evidence of two or three witnesses.That every charge may be established by the evidence of two or three witnesses. We talked about this last week, but it's. If someone sins against me or if there's hurt, if there's conflict between us, I'm going to go talk to him privately. If that doesn't work, I'm going to get some other people to come help, and maybe that's because they don't see it. It's very clear that it's sin, but they don't see it. They're just denying it. Or maybe it's not clear that it's sin. We just aren't having a good conversation. It's hard for us to sort this out. Or they're, they said that I'm wrong, and so now I got to get somebody else and say, hey, maybe I'm wrong here, but can you come help us sort this out? But this is why if someone comes and talks to you about someone else, you are supposed to ask, what did they say when you told them? Because you're assuming we're on step two. If you're talking to me about it, you've already talked to them between you and them alone, and it didn't go well. That's my assumption. So how did that conversation go? And if you say, I haven't talked to them, then I'm supposed to say, well, go do that first. Now, I have had a lot of people ask, can't I come and talk to someone just to try to get some wisdom on how to have that conversation? Can I come and ask and say, am I wrong about this? Like, should I even be upset about this? And the answer to that is, yes, you can do that in limited circumstances with wise people who are actually helpful. You can come and say, hey, I'm trying to have this conversation with them. I'm really angry and I don't think I'm going to do it well. And you help me think about how to word this, how to structure this. You can also do that. You can say, I'm in conflict with a person. They don't have to know who it is. They don't have to know all the details. As a pastor, I do this all the time. Someone will say, hey, I'm having a hard time with someone. Can I tell you about it? And I'm like, yeah, maybe. But you can also, like, you can redact it. You can give me some of the details and not all the details. And I can try to be helpful on how to go have that conversation or how to approach this. You can go ask someone, am I wrong about this? And they might tell you, yeah, you're wrong. And then you may still have to go have a conversation with someone that says, I've been mad at you for bad reasons and it's affected our relationship, but we're ultimately going to be having conversations with the people that there's conflict between us. But this is the thing that happens, Philippians 4:2-3 says,> I entreat Euodia and I entreat Syntyche to agree in the Lord. Yes, I ask you also, true companion, help these women, who have labored side by side with me in the gospel together with Clement and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life.So there are times where you just need somebody else to be in the room to help you have the conversation. I want to have the conversation. We don't communicate well. We need help. We've tried this two times, three times. I've already brought this up. They don't understand what I'm saying. I don't understand what they're saying. We need somebody else to come sit in the room and try to help us out. That's okay. You can get help. You're not trying to build a co if it's just conflict, frustration, difficulty, not addressing someone in sin. You're not trying to build a coalition of people on your team. You're trying to have someone who's wise and helpful to help you hear both sides sorted out, working towards peace, someone who's going to help make peace. Okay. Ephesians 4 says,> I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.He's saying, the church should look like Christians, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love. Oh, what if that's what it looked like? What if someone sat you down and said, hey, I love you and I need to talk to you about something. But they had humility, gentleness, patience. They said, hey, I want to talk to you because I belong to Jesus and I love you and you belong to Jesus. And we need to sort this out because there's some difficulty between us being eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. I think we need to be real about the fact that a lot of times we're most eager to maintain our own comfort, more eager to maintain that than we are to maintain unity in the spirit. That I really just want you to get on my side so you'll quit getting on my nerves. And I'm not really wanting to sort this out in a way that gives grace and helps us both grow. But we should be eager to maintain that. We should dislike conflict between us to the point that we're wanting to overcome it. We should be like my sons, when there's a tag in their shirt, they will come to me like they're being attacked. Like a four year old will come like, and it's like, what is going on? This tag, let's burn this shirt. But it should be like that. It should be like there's something between us or something causing problems, and I can't stand it. I'm eager to maintain unity. So let's have a conversation. Let's get together, let's sort this out. And if we all have this, then it becomes easier. You should expect that this is going to be hard and you should expect other people to come do it. And when they come do it, you should feel loved, not attacked. You should go, oh, good, they want to maintain unity with me. They love me enough to try to sort this out. The reality is, if we clip off years where there's aren't conversations like this, if we go through your group never, then maybe y' all just aren't around each other enough or don't love each other enough because the idea that I'm around you and haven't seen things, that maybe, maybe we just aren't sorting things out like we should. Maybe we're not eager to maintain unity when we start telling ourselves, well, I just might. I might just go somewhere else. I think this happens so often in churches, especially in the south, where there's so many churches. You reach the place where now I'm going to have to have a conversation. I'm going to have to forgive, I'm going to have to repent, I'm going to have to go through conflict. No, I'm just going to go somewhere else. And you tell yourself that this shouldn't happen. There must be something wrong here. Because our assumption is that peace is a byproduct, not something we have to strive for as we just go somewhere else. And you're there for three years or four years or five years, really just long enough for these people to start really getting on your nerves or sinning against you or hurting you or for them. And then you go somewhere else. When we've reached the moment where we could grow and we could walk in a manner worthy of the Lord and actually step in the things the gospel empowers us to do and walk with the God of love and peace and have him be with us in these moments. Let's do that. Colossians 3:12-14 says,> Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.>> And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.Saying the same kind of things. He says, put on then as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved. He's saying, this is who you are. You're chosen, you're holy, you're beloved. And he says, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and patience bearing with one another. That warms my soul that that's in the. It's in the Bible. Why does he have to write to every church and say, please put up with each other. And you're in a church and you're like, I'm having to put up with these people. There's something wrong with this church. And it's like, no, we look like we're in the New Testament. We're Bible people who are having a hard time sorting some of this stuff out. That's fine. It's normal. It's what it looks like for us to walk in life together. So he says, bearing with one another, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other, as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all these, put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. But I want you to see that bearing with one another if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other, so you also must forgive. This is a command. This is why we commit to it. This is why we say, this is what we're going to do here. This is how we're going to handle this here. Because we're commanded to. I was talking to a pastor one time. He had been a pastor. He was doing some stuff in kind of church, the church world. And we were talking about something when the first church had just started, our church had just started a church plant, and we only had a couple of groups. And I said we had some people that were at odds with one another. And he said, man, that's tough, because you can't, you know, what are you gonna do? You can't make them talk to each other. And I said, oh, we're gonna make them talk to each other because of this, because we're commanded to do this. So we're going to expect of each other that we're going to do this. We're going to expect that we're going to try to sort things out, and it's good for us. I need that expectation on me from you. And you need that expectation on you from me that we're. No, we're going to have the conversation. We're going to sort these things out because we can. And the reason we can. And the reason why you won't do this. You will not do this unless you understand what's in the middle of that highlighted section as the Lord has forgiven you. If we don't know the grace and the mercy and the depth of the love and the forgiveness of Christ, then we won't do this. We won't want to, and we won't have the ability to. We just will refuse. But if we're walking in this if we understand the depth of our sin and the grace of Christ. And then we can. And we delight to do it because we're participating in something that Jesus bought for us, that he claimed for us, that he gave us. This is what Jesus. What Paul says when he's talking about Jesus and he's talking to the Jewish believers and the Gentile believers and the hostility that was between them. He says in Ephesians 2,> But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.>> For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility.He's talking to Jews and Gentiles there, and he's saying that we get to all belong to the Lord. And that's true for us in these other situations. He's our peace, and he bought reconciliation between us and God, which means the reconciliation between me and you is so narrow. We're drowning in the mercy and the forgiveness of Christ. So we delight to walk it out with each other, to participate in it tangibly in a real way in our lives. I love Matthew 18. So this is. He walks through the stuff we've been reading about, addressing your brother in sin. He gets through it. And I love that Jesus has disciples who follow him around and ask questions, because they ask the questions that we ask. Then Peter came up and said to him, lord, how often will my brother sin against me? And I forgive him as many as seven times. Don't you just love the disciples? Sometimes Jesus is like, this is how you forgive your brother? This is how you go get your brother back. This is what it looks like. Peter's like, mm, that's so good. Quick question, though. When can I stop? And y', all, he says, seven. Ain't none of us saying seven. We're Americans. The most we go on things is three. Because of baseball. Been trained in us. You get three, some of us lop off that third one. Fool me once, fool me twice. Fool me, can't fool me again. Sorry. That's just how some presidents say it. But I love this. Peter asks. Jesus says,> I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.Just means all the times. What's so wonderful about this? We'll talk about us. We'll talk about what Peter's asking in a second. But I want you all to see this. You ever have that moment with the Lord and you think how Long before you're done with me. How many times am I going to do this before you're just done with me? How many times am I going to fail and come back and say, I need you and I need mercy and I need grace. How many times is this going to happen before you're done with me? And the Lord Christ expects us to Forgive each other 77 times in a day, because that's the type of grace and mercy that he has for us. When will he be done with you? Never. If you belong to Christ and are covered by his blood. He has paid everything to keep you. He will keep you. So how much mercy and forgiveness do we get? All of it. And how much mercy and forgiveness do we give? All of it. Because we're the only ones who have access to all of it. That's why the church is known by their love. Because we have so much love and so much mercy and so much forgiveness that we don't run out giving it to each other. And you say, they've sinned against me and they've done it again. Right. But I'll never run out of the forgiveness that Christ gives. So I never run out of my ability to share. And I get to participate in a real way. When I feel the pain of forgiveness, I get to know that he was actually dripping blood on that cross because it hurts to forgive, but it's so good because everything breaks down without it. And so we get blood bought reconciliation and we get forgiveness and we get peace and we get joy and we get those handed to us by the God of love and peace, who loved us so much that he died for us. And we absolutely will not settle for not sharing that with each other and not participating. As people who belong to this type of God, we get to delight to share it with one another, even as it is hard, because it reminds us of the goodness of Christ and the mercy and the forgiveness that he's offered. And we get to walk what it looks like to belong to Him. If you're going to commit to a church, how many times are you going to have to forgive? All the times. And how many times are you going to be empowered by Christ to forgive? All the times. Because that's how many times he forgives us.Let's pray. Oh Lord, may you bless this church by your spirit, that we would aim for restoration and that we would be eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit. Lord, you have forgiven us so much. You have had endless mercy granted to us. May we share it with each other. May we not see the sins committed against me as higher and more egregious than my sins committed against you. May I not think so highly of myself. May we not be outwitted by Satan, but may we be people of forgiveness and mercy and kindness and goodness. And may we have the conversations that we need to have and share the love that we need to share, which is given to us endlessly by you. So God of love and peace be with us in Jesus name, Amen.The band's gonna come back up, and here's what we're gonna do. Jesus says if you have something against someone, you need to go talk to them. He says if someone has something against you, you need to leave your gift at the altar and you need to go talk to them. So they're gonna play and we're gonna have a moment. I want you to humbly walk to the Lord and just say, help me to see my sin. Help me to not think so highly of myself. Help me not to be wise in my own sight. And if there's someone I need to talk to, if there's somebody that the spirit's convicting you, that you need to have a conversation with, then go have a conversation with them. You don't have to have the whole conversation now. You can get up and go grab and say, how many. Let's plan a time. We need to talk. You can shoot somebody a text message. Some of you need to step outside and make a phone call as an act of worship. You don't need to sing. You need to go call somebody. We need to be people who are eager to maintain peace. We want people to commit to this. But some of you have come over here from another church because you're in the middle of this exact thing and you need to go back and sort some things out. But we want to be people who look like we belong to Christ. So take a moment, pray, listen, and do as the Spirit leads, and then we'll stand and sing together.

In today's Halloween episode David and Chas confront a new spate of misplaced anger and advise Rory Russell on how to use Instagram, explain how to win a fight against four frat boys, get revved about the greatest invention since the wave pool, and learn that there's no such thing as a one wave set. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You know those moments when something weirdly specific happens, a song lyric, a repeating number, a dream that feels too obvious, and your first thought is, "Wait… was that a sign?" Then your mind jumps in: "Nah, you're imagining it." This episode dives straight into that in-between space where your logical brain wants proof, but your higher self is already whispering, "Trust it." I share a personal story from a sound bath that turned into an unexpected, vivid download — and what it taught me about trusting my own connection. But more than that, this episode is an invitation to look at your own experiences differently. What if you're not making it up? What if the things that feel like "coincidences" are actually confirmations? And what if the universe has been trying to talk to you all along, you just stopped believing it could be that simple? In this episode, we'll explore: You've been getting signs or visions and wondering if they're "real" You feel a shift happening in your life and want to understand what it means You're ready to start believing your own guidance again Because maybe the magic isn't hiding. Maybe you've just been trained to dismiss it. Get your astrology chart here Other episodes you might like:  246: The Secret to Seeing More Signs & Synchronicities 219: How to Surrender Control and Manifest More!   Let's be friends on Instagram! Join The Weekly Nudge Email List!  

This is a preview of a premium episode from our Patreon feed, Paid Costly For Me! Head over to Patreon.com/PodCastyForMe to hear more for just $5 a month. While making CHE, Steven Soderbergh fell so in love with Bolivia's national liquor, singani, that he decided to export it to the US as Singani 63 - just like Che Guevara would have done. Nah just kidding but we tried it and it's actually quite good! Even better, Pod Casty For Me's own Hotel Detective Maxwell Pierson joins us to get a little loose drinking Singani 63 (and Casamigos tequila) and talk about all kinds of stuff: the colonial history of liquor, Soderbergh's recently revealed unmade Kylo Ren movie, our long podcast journey thus far, and more. A special ep with a special man. Per Maxwell's plug, please check out Donors Choose to support a teacher near you: https://www.donorschoose.org/ Follow Maxwell Pierson: https://x.com/MaxwellPierson1 Lots to check out here: https://singani63.com/ Thanks as always to Jetski for our theme music and Jeremy Allison for our artwork.

Did you think we would let Black Speculative Fiction month go by without an acknowledgement? Nah.

“Why did you launch yet another voice dictation app?” I asked Dan Shipper, founder of Every. I thought he’d tell me that there was some kind of research that showed people needed another one. Nah. It came down to his team’s taste and personal preference. They just wanted something different. So a single creator on the team built it. AI makes it easier for more people to create apps. So what’s the differentiator? From what I got in this interview — over and over — it’s the creator’s taste. Dan Shipper is the founder and CEO of Every, a hybrid media and software company creating AI-powered tools for productivity and creativity. The company publishes one of the most widely read newsletters on technology and builds products like Monologue (AI dictation), Spiral (AI ghostwriting), and Cora (AI email assistant). More interviews -> https://mixergy.com/moreint Rate this interview -> https://mixergy.com/rateint

BooOOoOOoOoo it's the EITFO Halloween special! In this week's episode, Erin and Jack discuss the scariest films they've seen, THEN they host (and take) their most confounding quiz yet - Is This a Real Plot from a Supernatural Episode or Nah? Finally, a themed, rhyming (?) horoscope is sure to get listeners in the Halloween spirit.  Follow Erin and Jack on Instagram:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/2toesup/?hl=en⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/jacksfilms/?hl=en⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ To watch Erin Is The Funny One on YouTube: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.youtube.com/@jackisanerd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Don't forget to subscribe to the podcast for free wherever you're listening or by using this link: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://bit.ly/erinisthefunnyone Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

When the government shuts down but the stomach still growls, you already know—it's time to get creative in the kitchen!

In today's show David awakes from an anxiety dream to realize he's manifested the perfect plot for North Shore 2, John Peck sends a wink from the great beyond to remind us he was never really here, Surfing World maps for the next 60 years with an injection of fresh blood, and the boys welcome Raglan Surf Report and Turtle for the next live show! Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Kill your vices, sculpt your physique, and become unstoppable with my FREE 6-Step Daily Domination Blueprint. Is boosting testosterone the key to optimizing your libido?  Nah, not necessarily.  There are a few simple things you can do (and NOT do) that are guaranteed to increase your libido.  And I'm sharing them with you today... How you need to start your day, EVERY day. [6:01] This is killing your erections (... and it's not your testosterone levels). [7:24] Can you get lean AND have a strong libido? [11:14] The one marker you need to make sure you have dialed in. [19:18] This enhances every function of your body and it only takes about an hour. [20:48] Why a hostage situation may not be all that bad. [22:37] Sponsors LMNT: Restore health through hydration, and get a free sample pack at drinklmnt.com/renegade. Cured Nutrition: Use code RENEGADE at curednutrition.com to save 20% on the highest quality CBD. Want to work with me to transform your body and mind? Go here now.

Joe and Elliott get completely out of their depth talking about things they have absolutely no business talking about. They should really keep their traps shut, I'm talkin' gorilla glued shit, but nah, they just keep yapping. But that's podcasts, right? We don't do FANCY SETS or COME PREPARED. Nah, we just read books that are randomly left open next to us while pondering the fickle nature of an AI that's only right 80% of the time (we're right 100% of the time, which is a different number) Music/SFX: If you like our sounds, sign up for ONE FREE MONTH on us at Epidemic Sound! Over 30,000 songs: http://share.epidemicsound.com/n96pc Follow The Valleyfolk across the digital globe: http://twitter.com/TheValleyfolk http://instagram.com/TheValleyfolk http://facebook.com/TheValleyfolk Follow the group on their personal socials: Joe Bereta: http://twitter.com/JoeBereta http://instagram.com/joebereta Elliott Morgan: http://twitter.com/elliottcmorgan http://instagram.com/elliottmorgan Steve Zaragoza: http://twitter.com/stevezaragoza http://instagram.com/stevezaragoza AI wrote a description and spelled my name wrong. Nice.

On today episode, Andy & DJ discuss ICE rolling Portland protester away on flatbed cart as Trump says city is burning to the ground, a bloody Mark Sanchez seen stumbling down Indianapolis sidewalk after being stabbed in fight with grease truck driver, and a brand new segment of AI or Nah.