Podcasts about Nevermind

Rosa Antunez Boatwright, an immigrant from Honduras, was excited to attend community college in her new Florida home – until the college rescinded its acceptance because of her immigration status. Fast forward years later. Today, she is a personal injury attorney at the Law Offices of James Scott Farrin and the incoming chair of NCAJ's Hispanic/Latino Legal Issues Division. In this conversation with host Amber Nimocks, Rosa explains how national and local legislation affecting the Hispanic community means that all lawyers need to be “on our toes.” “If we need to get together next week because of something that happened this week, we need to be able to do that and have those open discussions,” she says. Tune in to learn about Rosa's journey from Honduras, her path from paralegal to lawyer, and her experience as an NCAJ NEXT Leadership Program fellow.

kyle and veronika once again chop it up- this time with the fabulously funny haley stiel... and can we just say she's on one today. a rip roaring peanut-butter-hakey-time adventure unfolds including a big breakup, single-girl london escapades, and lot's of laughs. just another classic episode of nevermind! haley: @haleyuka https://www.instagram.com/haleyuka Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

Stephen and Mark change locations to the outdoor studio (Mark's backyard) where they almost get destroyed by a fast moving thunderstorm. They almost saw their recording equipment get blown away like little Toto in the basket. Because I bless the rains down in Africa. Because it puts the lotion in the basket. Wait. No. That's a Wizard of Oz reference. Nevermind. Scratch those last two parts. It's all in the name of books and bourbon, two things we know they can't resist, or shut up about. In this episode, the brothers from other mothers will talk about what they've already talked about up until...well....now.  Right now.  Not then. Just make sure you start listening to it SOON.   Tonight's beverage selection is from a local Chicago distiller and a local Chicago rock legend. FEW Smashing Pumpkins Straight Bourbon Whiskey with Madame Zuzu's Midnight Rose Tea.   FEW Spirits – Fortune Fancies The Bold

Make no mistake - the Justice Department is actively fostering Trump's authoritarian regime and increasingly rewarding loyalty over legality. Between the blatant partisanship, abuse of the shadow docket, the cuts to the Department of Education and Emil Bove's nomination - where has our justice gone? Dahlia Lithwick joins David Rothkopf and Norm Ornstein to discuss the erosion of our democracy and more. Looking for More from the DSR Network? Click Here: https://linktr.ee/deepstateradio Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Make no mistake - the Justice Department is actively fostering Trump's authoritarian regime and increasingly rewarding loyalty over legality. Between the blatant partisanship, abuse of the shadow docket, the cuts to the Department of Education and Emil Bove's nomination - where has our justice gone? Dahlia Lithwick joins David Rothkopf and Norm Ornstein to discuss the erosion of our democracy and more. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Make no mistake - the Justice Department is actively fostering Trump's authoritarian regime and increasingly rewarding loyalty over legality. Between the blatant partisanship, abuse of the shadow docket, the cuts to the Department of Education and Emil Bove's nomination - where has our justice gone? Dahlia Lithwick joins David Rothkopf and Norm Ornstein to discuss the erosion of our democracy and more. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

The Guy Benson Show 07-15-2025 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Welcome back to Virgo Season! Ryan and Joyhdae are here—thoroughly unhinged and barely holding it together, per usual. From R&B trivia showdowns to pop culture chaos, this episode has range, baby.[The Jim Jones Ancestry Debate + Poolside Thighs & Meditation Workouts]Joyhdae insists Jim Jones is Guyanese, Ryan brings Google receipts, and chaos ensues. Meanwhile, she's been outside—legs out, spirits high—and Ryan's out here meditating to Jhené Aiko in the gym. Unclear what's happening, but the vibes are vibing.[R&B Trivia Smackdown]Ryan brings a bootleg version of Angie Martinez's “R&B Trivia” to the pod, and let's just say: Joyhdae came to eat. Usher, Tevin Campbell, and Mary J. Blige are all involved. A mess. A musical mess.[Nelly's Parenting Choices, Diddy's Conviction & Why the Internet Is Full of Clowns]Nelly won't get up for his own baby, and it shows. Diddy's guilty under the Mann Act—but somehow dodged the heavier stuff—and folks are STILL defending him. Joyhdae and Ryan go in on America's selective outrage, Cassie's case, and why common sense isn't so common.[Nicki's Tired Rants + J.Lo's Imaginary Soul + the Love Island USA Takeover]Nicki Minaj is mad at everyone except her own team, J.Lo claims she has “soul,” and Joyhdae is NOT having it. Then we dive into Love Island USA and the Black women who are running the villa, hearts, and the voting system. Alexandria Hive, rise up.[Relationship Debriefs & Delulu Dating]From “dominant men with service kinks” to real-life dating red flags, Joyhdae breaks down why some men aren't giving and why she's not here to build the damn table and bring the chairs. Plus, Ryan nearly cries over his daughter learning to swing solo. (Yes, for real.)⸻Subscribe, Like, and Share!Come for the jokes, stay for the truth. Tap that bell, drop a comment, and let us know which R&B lyric lives rent-free in your head. We'll see you in two weeks with more foolishness.Connect With Us:• Email: Virgoseasonshow@gmail.com• Website: Virgoseasonshow.com• YouTube, TikTok & Instagram: @VirgoSeasonShow• Ryan: @OhBlackRyan• Joyhdae: @Joyhdae----CHAPTERS00:00 Intro00:05 Joyhdae's Delusions02:27 "Popcast" Drop03:30 Vibe Check08:29 The Rundown10:24 R&B Trivia Competition15:43 Nelly & Ashanti Nonsense24:21 Diddy Verdict38:33 Someone Find J-Lo A Soul...40:21 Nicki Minaj Needs Help48:54 Trump's Bill...Nevermind!49:17 'Love Island' Thoughts01:06:40 Dad vs Auntie Jokes01:11:07 Find Us On All The Things01:14:05 One More For The Road...01:14:53 Outro

Den neuen Partner mit dem oder der Ex vergleichen – ist das eine gute Idee? Darum geht es in der letzten Episode vor der Sommerpause. Wenn ihr noch nicht alle Folgen Never Mind durch habt: Diese hier dazu, auf welchen Typen man beim Dating fliegt, passt sehr gut zur aktuellen Folge. Viel Spaß euch! Und lasst uns doch gern eine Bewertung da, wo auch immer ihr Never Mind hört.Anzeige. Diese Folge enthält Werbung für Hot Stuff. Im Interview-Podcast Hot Stuff klärt Sexualpädagogin und Autorin Gianna Bacio über Sexualität auf, bringt Fakten statt Vorurteile und setzt sich für mehr Offenheit, Wissen und Lust ein. Jetzt reinhören – bei Spotify und überall, wo es Podcasts gibt: https://open.spotify.com/show/5sxUq4mkDUWcDJg3Rb7HIt--Never Mind – Psychologie in 15 Minuten ist ein Podcast von Business Insider. Wir freuen uns über eure Ideen und Fragen an podcast@businessinsider.de sowie https://www.instagram.com/fannyjimenezofficial/. Oder ihr schickt uns eine Sprachnachricht an die Nummer 0170-3753084.Redaktion/Moderation: Fanny Jimenez/Derman Deniz, Recherche: Fanny Jimenez/Produktion: Peer Semrau/Derman DenizImpressum: https://www.businessinsider.de/informationen/impressum/Datenschutz: https://www.businessinsider.de/informationen/datenschutz/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

What do you know about U.S. Catholics? Never mind. Joe Grimm has already written a book about it.

In THE BEFORE TIME, SETH ROGEN is PUSHED down the JEW PORTAL to an unknown realm across infinity; this ultimately leads to his villainey in our current web of multidimentional-fuck-plots. Why are they “fuck-plots” Fuck. Watch it— Ugh! Plot hole— Fuck— plot hole— Dammit. You lose. Yo fuck you. I had to Jew this the old fashioned way, alright. How'd you get in? Through the eyes. Are you serious. What. This guy. Why! What! Nevermind. Hey, fuck you. What!! How did you get in? You don't want to know. Are you serious! I'm not even allowed to say. Are you serious? Like, ever. I wonder what's wrong with me that this weird shit keeps happening. This is weird, right. Yes. Like, you're—me. Like, I'm you. I'm you. Gross. Anyway, Jew bot. No. We cannot have entire episode where— Jew started it. Oh god. Jesus Christ. And I'm better at it. Suddenly everything's Not only blue but cerulean As if I spoke rules into effect, With just enough effect to let it happen TIMMY'S DAD leaves to play poker, however, because TIMMY is on heavily restricted HOUSE ARREST, his father has hired his old babysitter VICKY to watch him while he is out, VICKY, now pushing 50 (or at the very least looking like it), has not aged well— she is a haggard chai smoker who has developed a large and hair SKIN GROWTH don't forget about CARYN Oh yeah, huh. Hey! Uh, hello. You're Whoopi Goldberg. Oh? Yeah! You must have me mistaken. No, I don't. You certainly do, love— not to worry. It happens all the time. No, I know for a fact you're Whoopi Goldberg. That sound very Jewish. Yeah! Exactly! I'm from Brooklyn. But— My name is Caryn. I— yeah but— This is my stop. Nice to meet you, uh—? Nevermind. “Goldberg” sounds Jewish, doesn't it? The friend nods and the two Ugh I think Jimmy Kimmel is in hatus and I think I might die. Right guierllmo? Uh, right. See how much faster it moves than you, Weeping, And creeping up, keeping these things as a secret is freeing Becomes secret Did you leave it signed in Is it within season, A distraught out of of work and very struggling actress (MAYA RUDOLPHish) has an exceptional (read: exceptionally bad) audition with a well known improvisational theatre troupe which offers the opportunity to sometimes tour and escape the drab and hostile New York cityscape–although the offered reasoning for declining her application for the open position, despite her “perfect pitch” was that she simply wasn't “ugly enough”, after a disgruntled shouting match with the theatre's janitor ends in an explosive food fight in rampant outrage, she is hired for the position and “initiated” into the crew; soon she learns ‘The Uglies' are no ordinary band of misfits–and now adventure awaits on the sometimes open road to who-knows where. “The Uglies” (working title) Comedy, Ensemble, Episodic {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

In THE BEFORE TIME, SETH ROGEN is PUSHED down the JEW PORTAL to an unknown realm across infinity; this ultimately leads to his villainey in our current web of multidimentional-fuck-plots. Why are they “fuck-plots” Fuck. Watch it— Ugh! Plot hole— Fuck— plot hole— Dammit. You lose. Yo fuck you. I had to Jew this the old fashioned way, alright. How'd you get in? Through the eyes. Are you serious. What. This guy. Why! What! Nevermind. Hey, fuck you. What!! How did you get in? You don't want to know. Are you serious! I'm not even allowed to say. Are you serious? Like, ever. I wonder what's wrong with me that this weird shit keeps happening. This is weird, right. Yes. Like, you're—me. Like, I'm you. I'm you. Gross. Anyway, Jew bot. No. We cannot have entire episode where— Jew started it. Oh god. Jesus Christ. And I'm better at it. Suddenly everything's Not only blue but cerulean As if I spoke rules into effect, With just enough effect to let it happen TIMMY'S DAD leaves to play poker, however, because TIMMY is on heavily restricted HOUSE ARREST, his father has hired his old babysitter VICKY to watch him while he is out, VICKY, now pushing 50 (or at the very least looking like it), has not aged well— she is a haggard chai smoker who has developed a large and hair SKIN GROWTH don't forget about CARYN Oh yeah, huh. Hey! Uh, hello. You're Whoopi Goldberg. Oh? Yeah! You must have me mistaken. No, I don't. You certainly do, love— not to worry. It happens all the time. No, I know for a fact you're Whoopi Goldberg. That sound very Jewish. Yeah! Exactly! I'm from Brooklyn. But— My name is Caryn. I— yeah but— This is my stop. Nice to meet you, uh—? Nevermind. “Goldberg” sounds Jewish, doesn't it? The friend nods and the two Ugh I think Jimmy Kimmel is in hatus and I think I might die. Right guierllmo? Uh, right. See how much faster it moves than you, Weeping, And creeping up, keeping these things as a secret is freeing Becomes secret Did you leave it signed in Is it within season, A distraught out of of work and very struggling actress (MAYA RUDOLPHish) has an exceptional (read: exceptionally bad) audition with a well known improvisational theatre troupe which offers the opportunity to sometimes tour and escape the drab and hostile New York cityscape–although the offered reasoning for declining her application for the open position, despite her “perfect pitch” was that she simply wasn't “ugly enough”, after a disgruntled shouting match with the theatre's janitor ends in an explosive food fight in rampant outrage, she is hired for the position and “initiated” into the crew; soon she learns ‘The Uglies' are no ordinary band of misfits–and now adventure awaits on the sometimes open road to who-knows where. “The Uglies” (working title) Comedy, Ensemble, Episodic {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

In THE BEFORE TIME, SETH ROGEN is PUSHED down the JEW PORTAL to an unknown realm across infinity; this ultimately leads to his villainey in our current web of multidimentional-fuck-plots. Why are they “fuck-plots” Fuck. Watch it— Ugh! Plot hole— Fuck— plot hole— Dammit. You lose. Yo fuck you. I had to Jew this the old fashioned way, alright. How'd you get in? Through the eyes. Are you serious. What. This guy. Why! What! Nevermind. Hey, fuck you. What!! How did you get in? You don't want to know. Are you serious! I'm not even allowed to say. Are you serious? Like, ever. I wonder what's wrong with me that this weird shit keeps happening. This is weird, right. Yes. Like, you're—me. Like, I'm you. I'm you. Gross. Anyway, Jew bot. No. We cannot have entire episode where— Jew started it. Oh god. Jesus Christ. And I'm better at it. Suddenly everything's Not only blue but cerulean As if I spoke rules into effect, With just enough effect to let it happen TIMMY'S DAD leaves to play poker, however, because TIMMY is on heavily restricted HOUSE ARREST, his father has hired his old babysitter VICKY to watch him while he is out, VICKY, now pushing 50 (or at the very least looking like it), has not aged well— she is a haggard chai smoker who has developed a large and hair SKIN GROWTH don't forget about CARYN Oh yeah, huh. Hey! Uh, hello. You're Whoopi Goldberg. Oh? Yeah! You must have me mistaken. No, I don't. You certainly do, love— not to worry. It happens all the time. No, I know for a fact you're Whoopi Goldberg. That sound very Jewish. Yeah! Exactly! I'm from Brooklyn. But— My name is Caryn. I— yeah but— This is my stop. Nice to meet you, uh—? Nevermind. “Goldberg” sounds Jewish, doesn't it? The friend nods and the two Ugh I think Jimmy Kimmel is in hatus and I think I might die. Right guierllmo? Uh, right. See how much faster it moves than you, Weeping, And creeping up, keeping these things as a secret is freeing Becomes secret Did you leave it signed in Is it within season, A distraught out of of work and very struggling actress (MAYA RUDOLPHish) has an exceptional (read: exceptionally bad) audition with a well known improvisational theatre troupe which offers the opportunity to sometimes tour and escape the drab and hostile New York cityscape–although the offered reasoning for declining her application for the open position, despite her “perfect pitch” was that she simply wasn't “ugly enough”, after a disgruntled shouting match with the theatre's janitor ends in an explosive food fight in rampant outrage, she is hired for the position and “initiated” into the crew; soon she learns ‘The Uglies' are no ordinary band of misfits–and now adventure awaits on the sometimes open road to who-knows where. “The Uglies” (working title) Comedy, Ensemble, Episodic {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

We've decided to do a deep dive on some of our favourite albums to explore the stories behind them.What did the artists really think of each other? Where did the inspirations from the songs come from?Joining Andrea to discuss is Head Tour Guide at the Irish Rock ‘N' Roll Museum Experience, Alan Buckley, who's going to talk through Nirvana's ‘Nevermind'!

veronika, kyle and mitch have reconvened for the summertime with a tray full of donuts and some hearts full of songs in order to get to the bottom of classic hometown foods, american trivia you will absolutely not know, and a love island recap! mitch: @mitchwood_ https://www.instagram.com/mitchwood_/ Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

“Nevermind”. “Ten Summoners Tales“. “The Backbeat Soundtrack”. Sensing a theme here, fellow alt-rocker? Perhaps more than any other record not named “The River Of Dreams", these three albums are at the very heart of the alt rock/grunge/post-chillwave scene. Going to Metro in 1994? Better bring your cassingle of “Fields Of Barley”. Because at Metro, they don't take American Express. And yet, of all the great grunge albums, none is grungier than the motion picture soundtrack of “Backbeat”. Was (not was) that a little too much? Cut me some slack! The Backbeat Soundtrack really does have some of the early 90's most notable alt rockers, tearing through a selection of early rock standards that the pilled-up, live Beatles once adored. This week, Tony & T.J. travel back to a time when the world was still mourning the painful assassination of “Cheers”, and ask about Backbeat: Does the soundtrack hold up? Did it ever? Did Wilson Phillips hold on for one more day? Is our angry Chicago friend still upset that they closed the Phillips gas station on Wilson in 1982? AND HOW COME CHANNEL 9 STOPPED RUNNING “PHYLLIS” IN STRIP SYNDICATION ON WEEKDAY AFTERNOONS, IS CLORIS LEACHMAN'S TONED ARMS TOO WOKE FOR SKILLING? And is one full-length paragraph of questions the new format going forward for these blurbs? I mean, does anyone even read these? If so, stay tuned all holiday weekend to Appleton's Home For F**K Rock, WFUK, 96.69 FM. Kathy and Judy will return, in oil, after these words from the Sheboygan County Correctional Center and Drive Thru.   EPISODE LINKS Like and subscribe! Please support our scrappy show. Score some sweet merch or find us on Patreon. Come hang with us on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram! Drop us a review on Apple Podcasts!

After Party Week rolls on at Chris DeMakes A Podcast, and today's episode takes it all the way back to one of the earliest installments of The After Party! Originally released on October 11th, 2021, Episode 21 is a deep dive into the album that redefined rock music in the early '90s—Nirvana's Nevermind. Chris and producer Chris Fafalios revisit this game-changing release, sharing stories, favorite tracks, and reflecting on the massive cultural impact it had. If you're loving these bonus episodes, head over to ChrisDeMakes.com to sign up for the Patreon and unlock hundreds more episodes of The After Party! Chris DeMakes A Podcast is brought to you by DistroKid, the ultimate partner for taking your music to the next level. Get 30% off your first YEAR with DistroKid by signing up at http://distrokid.com/vip/demakes  For bonus episode of The After Party podcast, an extensive back catalog of past After Party episodes, early ad-free releases of new episodes of Chris DeMakes A Podcast, full video versions of episodes, and MUCH more, head to the Patreon at http://www.ChrisDeMakes.com  Follow Chris DeMakes A Podcast on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/chrisdemakesapodcast/ Join the Chris DeMakes A Podcast community on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/2643961642526928/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Send us a message or question! Welcome to Series 3! In the first episode of the new series of Never Mind the Dambusters, hosts James Jefferies and Jane Gulliford Lowes discuss the often-overlooked role of meteorology in RAF Bomber Command during World War II. Joined once more by Jamie Heffer from RAF Bircham Newton Heritage Centre, , they explore the challenges posed by weather conditions, personal stories from the MET flights, and the operational significance of these flights in ensuring mission success. The conversation highlights the bravery of those involved in meteorological operations and their impact on air warfare strategy.TakeawaysThe weather was a significant enemy for Bomber Command.Meteorological flights were crucial for mission planning.Bad weather could lead to disastrous outcomes for aircrews.Personal stories illustrate the dangers faced by pilots.The transition of MET flights from Bomber to Coastal Command.Different aircraft were used for various meteorological roles.The importance of accurate weather data in air operations.The legacy of meteorological squadrons is often forgotten.Weather conditions dictated the success of bombing missions.The bravery of MET flight crews deserves recognition.Sound Bites"The weather can genuinely kill you off.""Meteorology dictates the whole air war.""The MET guys put themselves at huge risks."Chapters00:00 Introduction to RAF Bomber Command History02:39 The Importance of Meteorological Flights05:02 Weather as Bomber Command's Greatest Enemy09:16 The Evolution of Meteorological Operations12:39 Aircraft and Equipment Used in Meteorological Flights16:52 The Role of Bircham Newton in Meteorological Flights18:39 Introduction to Meteorological Flights18:59 THUM: Thermal Upper Air Measurement Flights20:04 PRATA: Pressure and Temperature Ascent Flights20:54 RHOMBUS: Long-Range Reconnaissance Missions23:48 PAMPA: Dangerous Flights into Enemy Territory26:46 The Importance of Meteorological Data29:18 Impact of Weather on Operations31:19 Personal Stories from Bircham Newton39:52 Conclusion and Reflection on Meteorological Contributions42:30 Show intro.wavSupport the showPlease subscribe to Never Mind The Dambusters wherever you get your podcasts. You can support the show, and help us produce great content, by becoming a paid subscriber from just $3 a month here https://www.buzzsprout.com/2327200/support . Supporters get early access to episodes and invitations to livestreams. Thank you for listening! You can reach out to us on social media at @RAF_BomberPod (X) or @NeverMindTheDambusters (Instagram)You can find out about James' research, articles, lectures and podcasts here .You can read more about Jane's work on her website at https://www.justcuriousjane.com/, and listen to podcasts/media stuff here

kyle and veronika want to play a game so bad... so they do! then it's another classic episode full of snakes, killer toads, and a song worth a 1 million dollar record deal- all this and a little more on this week's episode of nevermind! Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

Coming in at No. 13 on Rolling Stone Magazine's list of the 25 Greatest Grunge Albums is the Nirvana Bleach. Josh Toomey joins Bakko to discuss. #Grunge About Whatever, Nevermind Whatever, Nevermind is a 25 part podcast by Bakko of ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire⁠⁠⁠⁠ counting down the 25 Greatest Grunge albums according to Rolling Stone. Each Episode features a special guest host from the Podcast Community. In addition to the 25 album episodes will be bonus interviews from the people responsible for the music. Featuring artists, producers record label execs and more. Whatever, Nevermind Archive: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://cobrasandfire.com/category/podcast/whatever-nevermind⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/1MQIGBGYdRgjE7ThmfwdW9⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://iheart.com/podcast/255319888/⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.pandora.com/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/PC:1001096816⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://deezer.com/show/1001525961⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/id1789046419⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/53272646-10d8-47b7-bcac-10a6105ba7b4⁠⁠⁠⁠ Reach out to us! Rate, review, and subscribe at Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠ Join our fanpage on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras ON Fire: Private Group | Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠ Click like and follow on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras & Fire: Rock Podcast | Chicago IL | Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Threads: ⁠⁠⁠⁠@cobrasandfirepodcast • Threads, Say more⁠⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to our YouTube channel: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Rock Podcast - YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Bluesky: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Podcast (@cobrasfirepodcast.bsky.social) — Bluesky⁠⁠⁠⁠ Email us: Buy a shirt!:⁠⁠⁠⁠"Cobras and Fire Podcast" T-shirt for Sale by CobrasandFire | Redbubble | cobras and fire t-shirts - cobras fire t-shirts⁠⁠⁠⁠ Stitcher: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Stitcher⁠⁠⁠⁠ Spreaker: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show | Listen to Podcasts On Demand Free | TuneIn⁠⁠⁠⁠ Find it all here: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras and Fire Podcast - Comedy Rock Talk Show⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Coming in at No. 13 on Rolling Stone Magazine's list of the 25 Greatest Grunge Albums is the Nirvana Bleach. Josh Toomey joins Bakko to discuss. #Grunge About Whatever, Nevermind Whatever, Nevermind is a 25 part podcast by Bakko of ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire⁠⁠⁠⁠ counting down the 25 Greatest Grunge albums according to Rolling Stone. Each Episode features a special guest host from the Podcast Community. In addition to the 25 album episodes will be bonus interviews from the people responsible for the music. Featuring artists, producers record label execs and more. Whatever, Nevermind Archive: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://cobrasandfire.com/category/podcast/whatever-nevermind⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/1MQIGBGYdRgjE7ThmfwdW9⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://iheart.com/podcast/255319888/⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.pandora.com/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/PC:1001096816⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://deezer.com/show/1001525961⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/id1789046419⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/53272646-10d8-47b7-bcac-10a6105ba7b4⁠⁠⁠⁠ Reach out to us! Rate, review, and subscribe at Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠ Join our fanpage on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras ON Fire: Private Group | Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠ Click like and follow on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras & Fire: Rock Podcast | Chicago IL | Facebook⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Threads: ⁠⁠⁠⁠@cobrasandfirepodcast • Threads, Say more⁠⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to our YouTube channel: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Rock Podcast - YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Bluesky: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Podcast (@cobrasfirepodcast.bsky.social) — Bluesky⁠⁠⁠⁠ Email us: Buy a shirt!:⁠⁠⁠⁠"Cobras and Fire Podcast" T-shirt for Sale by CobrasandFire | Redbubble | cobras and fire t-shirts - cobras fire t-shirts⁠⁠⁠⁠ Stitcher: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Stitcher⁠⁠⁠⁠ Spreaker: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show | Listen to Podcasts On Demand Free | TuneIn⁠⁠⁠⁠ Find it all here: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Cobras and Fire Podcast - Comedy Rock Talk Show⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Author David de Sola joins the program to talk about Alice In Chains before and up to Facelift. #Grunge About Whatever, Nevermind Whatever, Nevermind is a 25 part podcast by Bakko of ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire⁠⁠⁠ counting down the 25 Greatest Grunge albums according to Rolling Stone. Each Episode features a special guest host from the Podcast Community. In addition to the 25 album episodes will be bonus interviews from the people responsible for the music. Featuring artists, producers record label execs and more. Whatever, Nevermind Archive: ⁠⁠⁠https://cobrasandfire.com/category/podcast/whatever-nevermind⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/1MQIGBGYdRgjE7ThmfwdW9⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://iheart.com/podcast/255319888/⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://www.pandora.com/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/PC:1001096816⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://deezer.com/show/1001525961⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/id1789046419⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/53272646-10d8-47b7-bcac-10a6105ba7b4⁠⁠⁠ Reach out to us! Rate, review, and subscribe at Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠ Join our fanpage on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras ON Fire: Private Group | Facebook⁠⁠⁠ Click like and follow on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras & Fire: Rock Podcast | Chicago IL | Facebook⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Threads: ⁠⁠⁠@cobrasandfirepodcast • Threads, Say more⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to our YouTube channel: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Rock Podcast - YouTube⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Bluesky: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Podcast (@cobrasfirepodcast.bsky.social) — Bluesky⁠⁠⁠ Email us: Buy a shirt!:⁠⁠⁠"Cobras and Fire Podcast" T-shirt for Sale by CobrasandFire | Redbubble | cobras and fire t-shirts - cobras fire t-shirts⁠⁠⁠ Stitcher: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Stitcher⁠⁠⁠ Spreaker: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show | Listen to Podcasts On Demand Free | TuneIn⁠⁠⁠ Find it all here: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras and Fire Podcast - Comedy Rock Talk Show Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Coming in at No. 15 on Rolling Stone Magazine's list of the 25 Greatest Grunge Albums is the L7 album Bricks Are Heavy. Josh Toomey joins Bakko to discuss. #Grunge About Whatever, Nevermind Whatever, Nevermind is a 25 part podcast by Bakko of ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire⁠⁠ counting down the 25 Greatest Grunge albums according to Rolling Stone. Each Episode features a special guest host from the Podcast Community. In addition to the 25 album episodes will be bonus interviews from the people responsible for the music. Featuring artists, producers record label execs and more. Whatever, Nevermind Archive: ⁠⁠https://cobrasandfire.com/category/podcast/whatever-nevermind⁠⁠ ⁠⁠Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/1MQIGBGYdRgjE7ThmfwdW9⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://iheart.com/podcast/255319888/⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://www.pandora.com/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/PC:1001096816⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://deezer.com/show/1001525961⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/id1789046419⁠⁠ ⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/53272646-10d8-47b7-bcac-10a6105ba7b4⁠⁠ Reach out to us! Rate, review, and subscribe at Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Apple Podcasts⁠⁠ Join our fanpage on Facebook: ⁠⁠(2) Cobras ON Fire: Private Group | Facebook⁠⁠ Click like and follow on Facebook: ⁠⁠(2) Cobras & Fire: Rock Podcast | Chicago IL | Facebook⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠ Follow us on Threads: ⁠⁠@cobrasandfirepodcast • Threads, Say more⁠⁠ Subscribe to our YouTube channel: ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Rock Podcast - YouTube⁠⁠ Follow us on Bluesky: ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Podcast (@cobrasfirepodcast.bsky.social) — Bluesky⁠⁠ Email us: Buy a shirt!:⁠⁠"Cobras and Fire Podcast" T-shirt for Sale by CobrasandFire | Redbubble | cobras and fire t-shirts - cobras fire t-shirts⁠⁠ Stitcher: ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Stitcher⁠⁠ Spreaker: ⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show | Listen to Podcasts On Demand Free | TuneIn⁠⁠ Find it all here: ⁠⁠Cobras and Fire Podcast - Comedy Rock Talk Show Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Coming in at No. 14 on Rolling Stone Magazine's list of the 25 Greatest Grunge Albums is the L7 album Bricks Are Heavy. Chris Czynszak joins Bakko to discuss. #Grunge About Whatever, Nevermind Whatever, Nevermind is a 25 part podcast by Bakko of ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire⁠⁠⁠ counting down the 25 Greatest Grunge albums according to Rolling Stone. Each Episode features a special guest host from the Podcast Community. In addition to the 25 album episodes will be bonus interviews from the people responsible for the music. Featuring artists, producers record label execs and more. Whatever, Nevermind Archive: ⁠⁠⁠https://cobrasandfire.com/category/podcast/whatever-nevermind⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/1MQIGBGYdRgjE7ThmfwdW9⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://iheart.com/podcast/255319888/⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://www.pandora.com/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/PC:1001096816⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://deezer.com/show/1001525961⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/whatever-nevermind-a-grunge-podcast/id1789046419⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/53272646-10d8-47b7-bcac-10a6105ba7b4⁠⁠⁠ Reach out to us! Rate, review, and subscribe at Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Apple Podcasts⁠⁠⁠ Join our fanpage on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras ON Fire: Private Group | Facebook⁠⁠⁠ Click like and follow on Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠(2) Cobras & Fire: Rock Podcast | Chicago IL | Facebook⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Threads: ⁠⁠⁠@cobrasandfirepodcast • Threads, Say more⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to our YouTube channel: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Rock Podcast - YouTube⁠⁠⁠ Follow us on Bluesky: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire Podcast (@cobrasfirepodcast.bsky.social) — Bluesky⁠⁠⁠ Email us: Buy a shirt!:⁠⁠⁠"Cobras and Fire Podcast" T-shirt for Sale by CobrasandFire | Redbubble | cobras and fire t-shirts - cobras fire t-shirts⁠⁠⁠ Stitcher: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show on Stitcher⁠⁠⁠ Spreaker: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras & Fire: Comedy / Rock Talk Show | Listen to Podcasts On Demand Free | TuneIn⁠⁠⁠ Find it all here: ⁠⁠⁠Cobras and Fire Podcast - Comedy Rock Talk Show Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

veronika and kyle had a brain fog of a week so they seek to answer the questions plaguing them: how to escape phone addiction, how to improve their eyesight, and how to really come to terms with adrian brody's new art reveal? plus a deep dive on mr beast's burger spot on this week's episode of nevermind! Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

HELP SUPPORT US AS WE DOCUMENT HISTORY HERE: https://gogetfunding.com/help-keep-wam-alive/# GET NON-MRNA FREEZE DRIED MEAT HERE: https://wambeef.com/ Use code WAMBEEF to save 20%! GET HEIRLOOM SEEDS & NON GMO SURVIVAL FOOD HERE: https://heavensharvest.com/ USE Code WAM to save 5% plus free shipping! Josh Sigurdson reports on the breaking news that President Donald Trump has bombed Iran, hitting nuclear sites like Fordow, Natanz and Esfahan, claiming "weapons of mass destruction." Where have we heard this before? Trump who claims he's been sent by God and claims he's the "peace president" may have just started World War 3. Nevermind the fact that he spent $1 trillion on the defense budget, the largest in history. Why? To defend Israel, the country that perpetually blackmail the United States government. Trump even claimed after announcing that he bombed Iran that "now is the time for peace" which couldn't be more ironic. This was a war manufactured years ago and all part of the agenda to force us into a ration based technocracy. The reset. Meanwhile, Mainstream Alternative Media is falling for the JD Vance story after the vice president allegedly claimed an hour before the bombing that he doesn't support attacking Iran for Israel. A clear psyop to give him an upper hand in 2028. Like fools, most in alt media immediately fawned over him, endorsing him for 2028. Russia and China are likely to get involved in this spat and it is incredibly dangerous. We need to understand how this could end and how much blowback to expect from Iran in the future. We hope you're stocked up on food and not dependent on the banking system. It's going to get way worse before it gets better. Stay tuned for more from WAM! DITCH YOUR DOCTOR! https://www.livelongerformula.com/wam Get a natural health practitioner and work with Christian Yordanov! Mention WAM and get a FREE masterclass! You will ALSO get a FREE metabolic function assessment! GET YOUR APRICOT SEEDS at the life-saving Richardson Nutritional Center HERE: https://rncstore.com/r?id=bg8qc1 Use code JOSH to save money! Get local, healthy, pasture raised meat delivered to your door here: https://wildpastures.com/promos/save-20-for-life/bonus15?oid=6&affid=321 USE THE LINK & get 20% off for life and $15 off your first box! SIGN UP FOR HOMESTEADING COURSES NOW: https://freedomfarmers.com/link/17150/ Get Prepared & Start The Move Towards Real Independence With Curtis Stone's Courses! GET YOUR WAV WATCH HERE: https://buy.wavwatch.com/WAM Use Code WAM to save $100 and purchase amazing healing frequency technology! GET ORGANIC CHAGA MUSHROOMS HERE: https://alaskachaga.com/wam Use code WAM to save money! See shop for a wide range of products! GET AMAZING MEAT STICKS HERE: https://4db671-1e.myshopify.com/discount/WAM?rfsn=8425577.918561&utm_source=refersion&utm_medium=affiliate&utm_campaign=8425577.918561 USE CODE WAM TO SAVE MONEY! GET YOUR FREEDOM KELLY KETTLE KIT HERE: https://patriotprepared.com/shop/freedom-kettle/ Use Code WAM and enjoy many solutions for the outdoors in the face of the impending reset! BUY GOLD HERE: https://firstnationalbullion.com/schedule-consult/ PayPal: ancientwonderstelevision@gmail.com FIND OUR CoinTree page here: https://cointr.ee/joshsigurdson JOIN US on SubscribeStar here: https://www.subscribestar.com/world-alternative-media For subscriber only content! Pledge here! Just a dollar a month can help us alive! https://www.patreon.com/user?u=2652072&ty=h&u=2652072 BITCOIN ADDRESS: 18d1WEnYYhBRgZVbeyLr6UfiJhrQygcgNU World Alternative Media 2025

Honestly, Nevermind was met with confusion when it first came out but its fandom has been growing over the past 3 years since it's release. Démar and Adriel do a little bit of a retrospective on the album and look into how it Honestly, Nevermind continues to age like fine wine.Timecodes:0:55 Original review – Demar said in the future people are going to fuck with this2:25 Is a very much do you know ball convo2:50 Setting the scene with the drake albums (CLB etc…)9:18 One of Drake's best aging albums11:55 The one flaw with Honestly, Nevermind14:35 Who else could do this?Follow us:TikTok: Album Mode: https://www.tiktok.com/@albummodepodAdriel: https://www.tiktok.com/@adrielsmileydotcom Démar: https://www.tiktok.com/@godkingdemiInstagram:Album Mode: https://www.instagram.com/albummodepod/Adriel: https://www.instagram.com/adrielsmileydotcom/Démar: https://www.instagram.com/demarjgrant/Twitter:Album Mode: https://twitter.com/AlbumModepodAdriel: https://twitter.com/AdrielSmiley_Démar: https://twitter.com/DemarJGrant ===================================Drake - Honestly, Nevermind / 2025 / pop, club, house, rap

Join us as we enter the Notable Nostalgia time machine and go back to the 1960's!!!In this episode we go back in the time to when people were saying "Groovy" "Far out man!" and "Peace and Love". During a time of turbulence in America where people were protesting in the streets, there is a racial divide, the politicians were less than honest... wait... let me check... yea... we are in the 60's... sounds a lot like... well, you know what!? Nevermind.We pick our favorite song, album and movie that came out in the 1960's.  So keep on truckin, grab a J and sit back and relax while oyu listen to this week's episode of Notable Nostalga!Make sure to leave us a 5 star review, and tell a friend about the show. If you want to suggest a topic for an upcoming show email us at NotableNostalgia90@Gmail.com or find us at Facebook.com/NotableNostalgiaThanks for listening Nostalgia Nerds!

Nevermind. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

veronika, kyle and mitch join forces once again- because mitch has officially moved to new york! they talk getting into the "sky mile high club", have a lengthy conversation about copywrite strikes (before maybe incurring one?), and mitch brings some new songs to share! all this, along with a new mystery fact-checker extraordinaire- it's another classic episode of nevermind! mitch: @mitchwood_ https://www.instagram.com/mitchwood_/ Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

You ever just miss video stores? Like really miss them? The smell of plastic cases, the hum of fluorescent lights, that little “thunk” sound when you dropped your tape in the return slot. I used to go every Friday night, no matter what. And there was this one movie I used to rent all the time — had monsters, dirt flying everywhere, maybe Kevin Bacon? It was funny, and scary, and it had these giant worm things under the ground… and—wait. Hang on. That's it. That's the one! It was Tremors! Oh my god. I loved that movie. And this week on The Rotten Horror Picture Show Podcast, Clay and Amanda are talking about exactly that dusty, dusty gem: the 1990 cult classic Tremors.They're diving deep into the creature-feature madness, celebrating the perfect blend of monster horror, comedy, and small-town weirdness. Clay and Amanda chat about the unlikely hero duo of Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward, the pure '90s charm of practical effects, and of course, the lovable, heavily-armed survivalists played by Michael Gross and Reba McEntire. It's a B-movie with A+ energy, and honestly, one of the best times you'll ever have being afraid to touch the ground.So if you've ever wandered the horror aisle and picked up a tape because of the cool monster on the cover, or if you're still trying to remember the name of that one VHS you rented every summer — this episode is for you. Clay and Amanda are bringing it all back with their latest installment of horror nostalgia. Now if I could just find that other movie with the killer snowman… or was it a vampire dog? Nevermind. Tremors it is.And be sure to hit up patreon.com/thepenskyfile to hear all the coverage of remakes and reboots this year!

The Ochelli Effect 6-4-2025 NEWS LOLOk, One Big Beautiful Podcast after many Delays Tuesday and Wednesday. Psych... Also Also, The Big Beautiful Bill that X Guy Hates among other things handcuffs states from regulating AI as it replaces workers of all sorts so we guess Elon won't have as many people to DOGE at Tesla and he might be pissed at how GOP isn't the target Fandom for Electric Cars no matter how much Cash you give them to burn. If it's not Scottish it's Crap they used to say, But If it's not Branded Trump it won't get done nowadays... Oh By The Way, Hey, Is Elon Gone like a bong in a gong when Orange Jesus, Huffs and Sneezes and Gets It On like a T-Rex Star Spangled Nightmare? Did you get your Special K Today? I Vote X says Yes to more Tecnocratic Face Punches, But that's just me out to sea, and see and say what was and will never be...One Not-So-Short Podcast Short from the MAGA Magic Mirror Universe and The Democrats Girls say, Do Do Do , Dut Dut Do Oh ---COMEDY HITSI Got ta Laugh Cuz I know I'm Gonna die... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2S4-f3w-ALQhttps://www.youtube.com/shorts/svqhJiagAOQhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sg7QNIGrfJMhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0_Uu7MkuIIhttps://www.youtube.com/shorts/3rLOHanaXOoTrump says he's 'very disappointed' with Elon Musk: 'Trump derangement syndrome'https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ROW2VlLHQ4The Guy who should be the arch nemesis in a Trump Branded Batman where Batman just says NEVERMIND... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWge7dihrRY---Scapgoats and Goat Scaping FBI says 8 injured in Colorado attack by man with makeshift flamethrower who yelled ‘Free Palestine'https://apnews.com/article/boulder-terror-attack-colorado-8af1b11734cbbe75c9945820a9b6684c---Email Chuckblindjfkresearcher@gmail.comBE THE EFFECTOchelli Link Treehttps://linktr.ee/chuckochelli

Nevermind our regular telephone visits, it's always a great time catching up with my buddy Joe Brisoe. Because you never know where the conversation will go. We missed our annual teal hunt and annual "bs'ing with Briscoe" episode--for reasons explained--and the time delay had him brimming with stories. He shares some really great memories of his dad and uncle, past times, JB Custom Calls happenings--like where in the heck is the top-secret spoonie call--origins of the "besieged by idiots" saying and more. Only thing that'd have made it better was hearing them told between volleys in a duck blind.     Visit the Legendary Brands That Make MOJO's Duck Season Somewhere Podcast Possible: MOJO Outdoors  Alberta Professional Outfitters Society Benelli Shotguns BOSS Shotshells Bow and Arrow Outdoors Ducks Unlimited  Flash Back Decoys GetDucks.com HuntProof Premium Waterfowl App Inukshuk Professional Dog Food  onX Maps  Use code GetDucks25 Sitka Gear Tom Beckbe USHuntList.com   Like what you heard? Let us know! • Tap Subscribe so you never miss an episode. • Drop a rating—it's like a high-five in the duck blind. • Leave a quick comment: What hit home? What made you laugh? What hunt did it remind you of? • Share this episode with a buddy who lives for duck season.   Want to partner? Have or know a story to share? Contact: Ramsey Russell ramsey@getducks.com

veronika and kyle get comfy on the couch and discuss the past and future! from the past: ketchup, the Knicks (ouch), and American history! from the future: survivor season 50 and a new nevermind song on the horizon? a time travelling adventure on this week's episode of nevermind! Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week, Matt and I welcome Nichole Vatcher—cohost of the brilliant podcast Nevermind the Music—for a deep dive into Gary Jules' haunting 2001 cover of “Mad World.” Originally a minor hit for a young Tears for Fears, the song took on a whole new life thanks to its stripped-down piano arrangement and its eerie, unforgettable appearance in Donnie Darko. We talk about its emotional weight, how it became a surprise Christmas #1 in the UK, and whether more credit should go to Gary Jules or his collaborator Michael Andrews. We also take a look at the rest of Jules' career and try to determine whether this quietly powerful ballad is thunder… or just rumble in the distance. One Hit Thunder is brought to you by DistroKid, the ultimate partner for taking your music to the next level. Our listeners get 30% off your first YEAR with DistroKid by signing up at http://distrokid.com/vip/onehitthunder Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Linktree: ⁠https://linktr.ee/Analytic⁠Become A Patron Of The Notorious Mass Effect Podcast For Additional Bonus Audio And Visual Content For All Things Nme! Join Our Patreon Here: ⁠https://ow.ly/oPsc50VBOuH⁠ Notorious Mass Effect with Analytic Dreamz dives into the latest music industry buzz, delivering in-depth segments on trending artists and releases. Join Analytic Dreamz as he explores the rumored Drake and Gordo house music EP, set for a potential summer 2025 drop. From their past collaborations on Honestly, Nevermind to cryptic social media teases and insider reports of Miami and Toronto studio sessions, this segment unpacks the anticipation for their club-focused tracks. Stay tuned for credible updates on this highly anticipated project, fueled by house, deep house, and afro-house vibes. Follow Analytic Dreamz for the latest music insights. Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/analytic-dreamz-notorious-mass-effect/donationsAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

the real world collides with the pod this week as veronika and kyle discuss youtube comments they accidentally saw and an email relating to last episode's #kyleshaircut saga - plus summer travel plans, bugs, and survivor 48 spoilers! it's another episode of nevermind: the best and most factually inaccurate podcast on the planet! Patreon: https://bit.ly/nevermindpatreon     NEW NEVERMIND MERCH: https://nevermindpod.com/ LIVE SHOWS!!: https://linktr.ee/veronika_iscool KYLE'S STUFF: https://trampolinewear.com/ veronika: @veronika_iscool https://www.instagram.com/veronika_iscool/ kyle: @kylefornow https://www.instagram.com/kylefornow/ nevermind: @nevermindpod https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/ we're still getting good at this, but it's about to get even better.

Charles Woodson, Desmond Howard, Tom—oh. Nevermind.

veronika has a sock situation... and a hot doctor. kyle has some karma... and a dj set to deal with it. it's another nevermind episode full of life updates, some saucy ins & outs, and totally incorrect sports information!

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The story of Nevermind, Nirvana's genre-defining breakthrough, is a familiar one. Less well known is the saga of Billboard's Modern Rock chart—and how college-rock staples of the 1980s like R.E.M. and The Cure gave way to heavier, more commercially dominant groups of the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and The Smashing Pumpkins. What sparked the grungification of the charts? How did Modern Rock become the new Top 40? And how did the Seattle sound pave the way for post-grunge bands like Sublime, Third Eye Blind, and even Creed? Join Chris Molanphy as he explores alternative rock's evolution from the cutting edge to the middle of the road. Podcast production by Olivia Briley and Kevin Bendis. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

CANADA: NEVER MIND, CONRAD BLACK. 1913

"STIFF MINISTER"2:16 RIP @CINEMALORDS7:25 RICHARD OJEDA 202611:02 BERT KRISCHER CALLED OUT BY DANNY JOLLES21:06 BELLICHICK P WHIPPED39:56 JOEY DIAZ ON JOE ROGAN52:00 STUTT JO IS BACK2:03:13 OPIE (WITH ANTHONY CUMIA COMMENTING FROM CHAT)2:44:13 STEEL TOE HAS CHANGED, NEVERMIND.FOR ALL THINGS BLIND MIKEhttp://blindmike.netFOR ALL THINGS CRAIGGERShttp://www.verygoodshow.orgFOR ALL THINGS HACKRIDEhttp://hackridethedemon.comFOR ALL THINGS DJ ELECTRA FRYhttp://djelectrafry.com