Podcasts about obsessive

New York Times bestselling author Jim Murphy is a Performance Coach to some of the best athletes and leaders in the world. He began his career as a professional baseball player in the Chicago Cubs organization. He has worked with some of the world's best golfers, including world champions, FedEx Cup champions, and world #1's.  This is a Biohacking Reviews episode, where we review; products, supplements, health tech, practices... whatever is new and whatever we've been trying.    THIS REVIEW SHOW IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY: BiOptimizers Sleep Breakthrough and Magnesium Breakthrough These are BIOptimizers sleep and magnesium supplements which I take every night.  I have also been using the new Magnesium Breakthrough drink - delicious way to get magnesium. I have been putting a scoop in my protein shake after a workout.  Just go to BIOptimizers.com/tony and use code TONY15 for at least 15% off (often more). Code works worldwide, and on all their products. Follow Jim Murphy on Instagram.

In this episode, Dr. Samuel B. Lee, MD sits down with Teemu Arina, internationally recognized biohacker, founder of Hololife Center, and author of The Biohacker's Handbook, for an extraordinary conversation about biohacking, ancient wisdom, and humanity's next evolutionary leap—Hololife. From Teemu's early struggles with severe burnout and chronic illness to his transformative healing journey through biohacking and spiritual exploration, his story is a testament to the profound power of integrating body, mind, and spirit.Teemu shares how his awakening in the Amazon rainforest connected him deeply with ancestral traditions, emphasizing the importance of balancing technological advancements with spiritual wisdom. This episode dives deep into holistic health, authentic living, and the emergence of new paradigms that go beyond mere biological optimization, providing inspiration and actionable wisdom for those seeking profound transformation and genuine self-discovery.Sacred Truths & Lessons from This Episode: • Biohacking alone isn't enough—true healing integrates mind, body, and spirit. • Your deepest wounds are pathways to your greatest gifts. • Obsessive self-optimization can mask deeper emotional insecurities. • Authenticity and vulnerability are the real metrics of human growth. • The future of humanity depends on balancing technological innovation with spiritual evolution.To learn more about Teemu Arina:

“He Wasn't There”: Kohberger's Chilling Jail Behavior & What It Really Says About His Mind After the headlines faded and the trial was over, Bryan Kohberger sat in jail—and what surfaced next was every bit as disturbing as the crimes themselves. In Part 3 of this powerful series, psychotherapist Shavaun Scott joins Tony Brueski to dissect what Kohberger's reported behavior in jail actually reveals about his mental state. Inmates described him as cold, fastidious, withdrawn. Talking to himself. Obsessive about order. According to sources, he wasn't violent—but he was “not present.” So what does that mean? And is it a glimpse into his psyche, or a calculated act of control? Together, we explore the psychological implications of his silence during sentencing. His refusal to apologize. His rigid demeanor and reported lack of reaction to the details of his own crimes. Shavaun walks us through what this type of behavior says about remorse, detachment, and identity in mass killers. Was he disassociating? Was he emotionally flat because of pathology—or performance? How does someone so socially disconnected fly under the radar long enough to commit a crime of this scale? And how does jail change someone like that—if at all? This episode pulls back the curtain on a man who avoided emotional expression but may have been revealing far more than he realized. Hashtags: #BryanKohberger #TrueCrimePsychology #HiddenKillers #TonyBrueski #KohbergerJailBehavior #CriminalMindset #ShavaunScott #MassKillerPsychology #KohbergerAnalysis #TrueCrimeSeries Want to comment and watch this podcast as a video? Check out our YouTube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/@hiddenkillerspod Instagram https://www.instagram.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Tik-Tok https://www.tiktok.com/@hiddenkillerspod X Twitter https://x.com/tonybpod Listen Ad-Free On Apple Podcasts Here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/true-crime-today-premium-plus-ad-free-advance-episode/id1705422872

“He Wasn't There”: Kohberger's Chilling Jail Behavior & What It Really Says About His Mind After the headlines faded and the trial was over, Bryan Kohberger sat in jail—and what surfaced next was every bit as disturbing as the crimes themselves. In Part 3 of this powerful series, psychotherapist Shavaun Scott joins Tony Brueski to dissect what Kohberger's reported behavior in jail actually reveals about his mental state. Inmates described him as cold, fastidious, withdrawn. Talking to himself. Obsessive about order. According to sources, he wasn't violent—but he was “not present.” So what does that mean? And is it a glimpse into his psyche, or a calculated act of control? Together, we explore the psychological implications of his silence during sentencing. His refusal to apologize. His rigid demeanor and reported lack of reaction to the details of his own crimes. Shavaun walks us through what this type of behavior says about remorse, detachment, and identity in mass killers. Was he disassociating? Was he emotionally flat because of pathology—or performance? How does someone so socially disconnected fly under the radar long enough to commit a crime of this scale? And how does jail change someone like that—if at all? This episode pulls back the curtain on a man who avoided emotional expression but may have been revealing far more than he realized. Hashtags: #BryanKohberger #TrueCrimePsychology #HiddenKillers #TonyBrueski #KohbergerJailBehavior #CriminalMindset #ShavaunScott #MassKillerPsychology #KohbergerAnalysis #TrueCrimeSeries Want to comment and watch this podcast as a video? Check out our YouTube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/@hiddenkillerspod Instagram https://www.instagram.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Tik-Tok https://www.tiktok.com/@hiddenkillerspod X Twitter https://x.com/tonybpod Listen Ad-Free On Apple Podcasts Here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/true-crime-today-premium-plus-ad-free-advance-episode/id1705422872

“He Wasn't There”: Kohberger's Chilling Jail Behavior & What It Really Says About His Mind After the headlines faded and the trial was over, Bryan Kohberger sat in jail—and what surfaced next was every bit as disturbing as the crimes themselves. In Part 3 of this powerful series, psychotherapist Shavaun Scott joins Tony Brueski to dissect what Kohberger's reported behavior in jail actually reveals about his mental state. Inmates described him as cold, fastidious, withdrawn. Talking to himself. Obsessive about order. According to sources, he wasn't violent—but he was “not present.” So what does that mean? And is it a glimpse into his psyche, or a calculated act of control? Together, we explore the psychological implications of his silence during sentencing. His refusal to apologize. His rigid demeanor and reported lack of reaction to the details of his own crimes. Shavaun walks us through what this type of behavior says about remorse, detachment, and identity in mass killers. Was he disassociating? Was he emotionally flat because of pathology—or performance? How does someone so socially disconnected fly under the radar long enough to commit a crime of this scale? And how does jail change someone like that—if at all? This episode pulls back the curtain on a man who avoided emotional expression but may have been revealing far more than he realized. Hashtags: #BryanKohberger #TrueCrimePsychology #HiddenKillers #TonyBrueski #KohbergerJailBehavior #CriminalMindset #ShavaunScott #MassKillerPsychology #KohbergerAnalysis #TrueCrimeSeries Want to comment and watch this podcast as a video? Check out our YouTube Channel. https://www.youtube.com/@hiddenkillerspod Instagram https://www.instagram.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/hiddenkillerspod/ Tik-Tok https://www.tiktok.com/@hiddenkillerspod X Twitter https://x.com/tonybpod Listen Ad-Free On Apple Podcasts Here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/true-crime-today-premium-plus-ad-free-advance-episode/id1705422872

Seriousness is an occupational hazard for obsessive-compulsives, Type A's and perfectionists. Being serious can hurt relationships, mental health and physical health. Yet many of us feel duty-bound to be serious, and we lose out on the benefits of humor and laughter--which can melt the rigidity which comes with being so serious.  

Is it trauma? Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD)? Or both? Can trauma trigger OCD? Can OCD feel like trauma? In this episode, Dr. Nathaniel Van Kirk, a ADAA member and leading clinical psychologist and trauma expert, joins Gabe Howard to unpack the complex relationship between trauma and OCD. While both terms are widely used, few understand how deeply they can intertwine — or how often they're misunderstood. Dr. Van Kirk explains why a traumatic event might trigger OCD in some people, how OCD symptoms can mimic trauma responses, and why compulsions often become misguided tools for managing fear. He also dives into the surprising statistic that up to 90% of people experience a traumatic event, and explores how our brains are hardwired to both break down and heal. Takeaways include: the difference between trauma, PTSD, and OCD why OCD isn't usually considered a trauma disorder — but sometimes should be how clinicians decide which disorder to treat first why healing often means separating fear from fact If you've ever had intrusive thoughts or wanted to better understand the mental health impact of trauma, this episode is essential listening.   This episode has been sponsored by the Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA). “For about 19% of individuals with OCD, they tend to have a comorbid PTSD diagnosis. I think that's much higher than what we initially thought as a field. Initially we thought it was rare, and part of the challenge is that for many years these two things were treated as silos. You were either a PTSD and trauma therapist or an OCD therapist. And very rarely did we cross over. It turns out that was not the great approach, because in reality, there's actually a lot more overlap than we thought. And finding out that it's actually a very common experience that people just didn't talk about.” ~Nathaniel Van Kirk, PhD Our guest, Nathaniel Van Kirk, PhD, is a licensed clinical psychologist, specializing in severe anxiety disorders, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), and trauma/PTSD. At McLean Hospital, Dr. Van Kirk is the director of psychological services at the OCD Institute. He is a member of the hospital's Patient and Family Advisory Committee and Interdisciplinary Recovery Oriented Practice Committee, and also serves as the site facilitator for McLean's Schwartz Rounds Committee. Dr. Van Kirk's clinical research focuses on the role of motivation across treatment and the impact of trauma on treatment outcomes, and on promoting innovative methods to assess and conceptualize recovery. Additionally, he is involved in efforts to reduce mental health stigma (such as participating in McLean Hospital's Deconstructing Stigma campaign), emphasizing the importance of bridging the gap between therapists, researchers, and those with mental health challenges, including individuals who work in the mental health field. Our host, Gabe Howard, is an award-winning writer and speaker who lives with bipolar disorder. He is the author of the popular book, "Mental Illness is an Asshole and other Observations," available from Amazon; signed copies are also available directly from the author. Gabe is also the host of the "Inside Bipolar" podcast with Dr. Nicole Washington. Gabe makes his home in the suburbs of Columbus, Ohio. He lives with his supportive wife, Kendall, and a Miniature Schnauzer dog that he never wanted, but now can't imagine life without. To book Gabe for your next event or learn more about him, please visit gabehoward.com. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Stevie Hochbaum is an elite boulderer who established the first V16, Obsidian, in Germany. We talked about nearly losing his finger to an infection, how he became obsessed with the project, what it feels like to spend 50+ sessions on a boulder, supportive friends, learning patience, training on the project, how losing weight affected his mental health, pacing and breathing, what's next for Stevie, and much more.Mad Rock (Shoes & Crash Pads)madrock.comUse code “NUGGET10” at checkout for 10% off your next order.NADS (Organic Cotton Underwear)Use code STEVEN for 15% offRúngne (Chalk & Apparel)rungne.info/nuggetUse code “NUGGET” for 10% off storewide, and use code “SHIPPINGNUGGETS” for free shipping.Chilipad (Don't Lose Sleep this Summer)Get 20% off any Chilipad sleep systemBecome a Patron:patreon.com/thenuggetclimbingShow Notes:  thenuggetclimbing.com/episodes/stevie-hochbaumNuggets:(00:00:00) – Intro(00:02:01) – Nicknames(00:04:58) – Swollen finger(00:12:24) – The process begins(00:20:47) – Investing everything(00:28:57) – What happens after 15 sessions(00:45:17) – Sending, disorientation, & celebrating(00:52:10) – Supportive friends & learning patience(01:04:16) – The unexpected send(01:09:46) – Training on the project(01:16:32) – Pacing & breathing(01:24:24) – Taking breaks(01:27:35) – Calorie deficit & mental health(01:33:13) – Bodyweight & small crimps(01:41:06) – Veganism(01:49:01) – Choosing our reality(01:53:00) – Inheritance(01:54:26) – What's next for Stevie(01:57:14) – Dream trips

Obsessive vinyl collector and radio & MTV legend Matt Pinfield discusses his music collection, holy grails, music industry stories, his recent health scares and sharing stories at the Punk Rock Museum. The Punk Rock Museum info and tickets are here  Matt's book "My Insane Improbable Rock Life" is here Topics Include: Matt discusses his post-stroke meal plan after months without solid food Friends like Mike Ness from Social Distortion visited him in hospital Stroke happened at drummer John Tempesta's house, remembers calling EMS Had both stroke and meningeal pneumonia with 85% mortality rate Daughters told he would die, was touch and go situation Lost feeling on right side, still numb but walking with cane Previous near-death experiences: aneurysm at 15, car accident, sobriety struggles Recovery includes acupuncture from former punk drummer and intense physical therapy Currently doing tours at the Punk Rock Museum in Las Vegas Favorite museum artifact is rare Germs concert footage never released Stories of interviewing Iggy Pop who once knocked microphone from hands Hosted Wayne Kramer tribute concert at Sing Sing prison for inmates Getting punk acts on MTV 120 Minutes easier than expected Started in college radio at Rutgers, only 13 alternative stations existed CBGBs regular, Athens Georgia born with B-52s/R.E.M. connections there Kevin Bacon joked there's only two degrees of separation with Matt Neil Young remains his interview "holy grail" Matt is a serious 45 RPM collector Lived in Paul Kantner's old apartment with psychedelic laser showerhead DJed at clubs where James Gandolfini was regular Friends with Don Bolles from Germs, both love 70s glam records Personal rule: must buy something from every record store visited Also supports opening bands by buying their vinyl and t-shirts Postal service recently stole entire box of rare 45s shipment Still searching for holy grail records like Panic Squad 12-inch single Tom Petty acetate test pressing gift from friend Chuck Rocha Found rare Cherry Slush single that climbed charts before label folded Optimistic about vinyl's future as young people discover physical music Believes vinyl offers irreplaceable warmth and "whole other world" experience Plans Vegas record shopping and Australian record exchange with Nate High resolution version of this podcast is available at: www.Patreon.com/VinylGuide Listen on Apple: https://apple.co/2Y6ORU0 Listen on Spotify: https://spoti.fi/36qhlc8

Mark Ennis is a health coach from Ireland specializing in helping individuals achieve a longer, healthier life through the power of a carnivore and keto lifestyle. After struggling with both anorexia and obesity, Mark discovered the life-changing benefits of this approach and now dedicates himself to guiding others on their journey to health and happiness. Passionate about making a lasting impact, he empowers clients to overcome challenges, achieve their goals, and live their best lives. Mark's mission is to inspire positive change and share the knowledge that transformed his own life. Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/fitnessbeyondtime01 Website: https://fitnessbeyondtime01.com/ Timestamps: 00:00 Trailer 00:40 Introduction 06:10 Rugby training and gaining muscle 09:42 Isolated mental health struggles 10:45 Facing emotional desperation  13:47 Journey into the carnivore lifestyle 17:14 Struggling with weight cycle 20:43 Obsessive health habits 23:56 Carnivore diet benefits 27:55 Dealing with diet judgement 31:05 Diet and family health 34:18 Protecting health futures of loved ones 37:32 Enhancing life quality with carnivore 38:38 Where to find Mark Join Revero now to regain your health: https://revero.com/YT Revero.com is an online medical clinic for treating chronic diseases with this root-cause approach of nutrition therapy. You can get access to medical providers, personalized nutrition therapy, biomarker tracking, lab testing, ongoing clinical care, and daily coaching. You will also learn everything you need with educational videos, hundreds of recipes, and articles to make this easy for you. Join the Revero team (medical providers, etc): https://revero.com/jobs ‪#Revero #ReveroHealth #shawnbaker  #Carnivorediet #MeatHeals #AnimalBased #ZeroCarb #DietCoach  #FatAdapted #Carnivore #sugarfree Disclaimer: The content on this channel is not medical advice. Please consult your healthcare provider.

Ready to throw down in some UNO at the casino? How about learning sign language in a TTRPG? A bit D&D heavy with the news this week, but Eric Yurko is here from What's Eric Playing (https://whatsericplaying.com/) to balance us out and talk about what's going to be on display at Gen Con this year.

get over that crush!!!!!!!

We're taking a small break this summer to gear up for season six of the Strong Women podcast. During this break, we'll be re-airing episodes we think you'll enjoy! Many of us struggle with body image. Our bodies matter and we are called to care for them—but how do we do that without obsessing? Today, I chat about this with Lainey Greer, who uses her background of exercise science and systematic theology to equip believers with a Christian view of the body. We talk about the big picture of stewarding our health and what that looks like practically.   Lainey's website: https://laineygreer.com/  Forsaken Body Podcast  Be Well: Learning to Steward Your Health by Dr. Lainey Greer  Lainey's curriculum – Understand Healthy  Our Bodies Tell God's Story: Discovering the Divine Plan for Love, Sex, and Gender by Christopher West  Purdue study on obesity among religious  Providence by John Piper  The Practice of Godliness by Jerry Bridges   The Strong Women podcast exists to display the beautifully diverse ways God invites and equips women to participate in His story. Strong Women is a listener-funded program from the Colson Center that is only available for free because it has already been paid for by hundreds of listeners like you. To join the community of women who make this program possible, visit colsoncenter.org/swmonthly today. The Strong Women Podcast is a product of the Colson Center, which equips Christians to live out their faith with clarity, confidence, and courage in this cultural moment. Through commentaries, podcasts, videos, and more, we help Christians better understand what's happening in the world, and champion what is true and good wherever God has called them. Learn more about the Colson Center here: https://www.colsoncenter.org/   Visit our website and sign up for our email list so that you can stay up to date on what we are doing here and also receive our monthly journal: https://www.colsoncenter.org/strong-women    Join Strong Women on Social Media:   https://www.facebook.com/StrongWomenCC  https://www.facebook.com/groups/strongwomencommunitycc/  https://www.instagram.com/strongwomencc/  https://linktr.ee/strongwomencc 

Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recognize The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudden. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview? Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Integration, integers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and concise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And disappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before the gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be another million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thought, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward [The Festival Project ™ ] Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul disk through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Core Concept: "Enter The Multiverse" (ETM) is a living, evolving meta-narrative that documents the ontological fluidity of reality itself. It functions as a grand experiment, proposing that all perceived realities – fictional, historical, and contemporary – exist as vibrational frequencies within an infinite cosmic tapestry. ETM doesn't just feature alternate worlds; it explores the mechanics of their existence, their interconnectedness, and the profound implications for consciousness. It blends high-concept quantum physics with ancient spiritual metaphysics. It includes creatures such as shapeshifters (like Gerald and potentially Jimmy Fallon), fairies, and monsters. Integration of Real-Life Figures: ETM famously integrates real-life celebrities (from A-list icons like Oprah Winfrey, Beyoncé, Janet Jackson, Madonna, Billie Eilish, Finneas, Eddie Murphy, Christopher Walken, Johnny Depp, Charlie Sheen, Katt Williams, and Whoopi Goldberg, to late-night hosts and media personalities like Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon). ETM posits that these individuals, often without their conscious awareness, are either key nodal points in the multiversal fabric, accidental conduits for interdimensional energies, or even unwitting "Lightworkers" whose public personas are part of a larger cosmic script. You son of a bitch. Can you do that?! Can you do that? I can do— anything I want— Really? Except that. Oh?! And why's this?! Because I don't want to. But if you could, you would. I can— I just— Oh really. I'm sure there are reasons— besides the obvious —I'm sure— Moral ones. Almost Sam was a safe bet Almost mark John was a good lad Almost once was the Ireland's best, And I guess with the beat of the drum, I ponder Ponder to the beat of the Pity my pocket, much Pity the fool, if you're. It put b perfect; Get in the picture, Just to cut you out of it If I close my eyes one time, Even just for a little while Take me right off and away Take me right off and away And I bet with the task, you can't have handled it I bet to run better you'd forget your purpose I guess I'm a purist- pure problems, the pussy car l Put it to sleep, Or just— in a waste basket I'm so confused, ya'll, I got on the train. Of course. And nothing was at all interesting until this nigga got on With a samurai sword And a Trader Joe's clutch Pick a side! You can't get on the What the fuck am I looking at You tel me I don't know. You see that. I wish I didn't. Take it all in. I— Okay. This is gross What is the state of New York today? L Infected. Corrupt. Disingenuous. What is the state of New York today No identity No indegenous Murder me Leave me to drown In the tides of the ocean Just let me sink That's the only way to Bury me, With this murderous, traitorous Listen, if you will To a story ne'er told, But often sung And often rang like moons as bells Often thought, but never spoken Often brought up, But never put down Come around, will you I'll tell you a tale of a glorious story The take of all time, and as you listen, These words and this whispers will mend with your spirit, Then cease to exist with it Listen Celebrating resonances Has no effect. Yet I haven't even messaged any I haven't even lets a message yet I've just been celebrating resonances I haven't noticed any difference her. Only reflections on the way you get affexted How to get the guy at the bar— aunt you just lean on the bar Maybe you just sit at the bar Maybe you just be at the bar; How to get the guy at the bar Maybe you just stare at the bare Sit right there at the bare Maybe have a care at the bar Don't share at the bar Several small disaster. Why the fuck Am I alive I might as just well die I should have never made Pasquale Rotella one of my role models. —then again. This is before I really knew who he was, or what he was about— and at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is, nobody can ever really know who he really was, or what he was really about. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through MR. REDUNDANT, RAINBOW KITTEN SUPRISE– But IN AN UNASSUMING IRISH BAR in DRUNKEN HARMONY surrounding a piano played by what appears to be… An exceptionally tall leprechaun? I wouldn't know. I wasn't. [invited] Enchilada muffins Ah nah, I'm in Manhattan. I almost forgot what that was like. What a head change. More like a change of heart. What's this, a song? More like, I just don't know yet One day this will all be gone For now this is just a poem. How to wear Santa yellow: don't That took avoid anount of forever. That took a long punch of time That took a good bit of forever And now you're mine, You're mine, you're mine That took a good bit of forever, And now I'm on your mind That took a long bit of forever But now, I'm not counting time And now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're kine Jack in the box You really like to think you're smart, don't you? You really like to get your way? I can't Blame you But baby, I can't tame you LEAN WIT IT, ROCK WIT IT–BUT VIKING PIRATES. lol dumb “Nobody's really going to take that ad in the same way I am, are they?” I had reached a breaking point. I was going to let the world make me go mad because being good wasn't working and being bad seemed like my only option. Should I get a vape? Grab a drink? Fuck a friend? The truth was, none of the above would suffice, but in truth I felt the hate and rapid fire of judgement in cruelty in that whatever voice inside my head posing as Jimmy Fallon always seemed to be right. I had been replaced. People will try to feed you. Dont you see Because People will try to defeat you And they will fail Back to the wall Because after all It was you who needed me. After all, Over all, It was not a cacauphony, It was an apostrophe. How preposterous. Don't you see the weight of it, With what you made of it all, It was fly over fall And you chose the first. Wasn't it something of a hallmark moment That you went for the donut, And still came out With a basket of apples? Indeed, a crisis, In fact, You're there again In fact Beware of her It's obvious That it's not her fault It's just not the right time It's just not the right te, it's just not the right time When all they need if your compliance And all the my want is your attention And don't you see, it's just applied physics I'll take Literally Whatever I can get But you already knew that I needed you to need to know You know you knew But you already blue that And i'n already blue balled, So send me a bluebell It's nothing new, hell But it's crucial that I Screw you We all go to work in a toolbox My dear did What on earth are you doing in The fourth dimension?! I thought things were kind of strange… We interrupt this orogramme to bring you a live broadcast of a current alien invasion—breaking news— If you jump I might just jump Don't jump If you jump I might jump Same here If you jump I might jump I'll jump Don't jump Same here I might just jump 311-231-25900 311-231-26867 JIMMY FALLON pours himself a tall glass of WHATEVER— this is clearly one of those hype celebrity-curated brands of liquor meant to be hip and chic— a luxurious black-label bottle of fine liquor which literally, in bold white lettering, simply says WHATEVER; next to it on the oak wood table is another bottle of WHATEVER— a clear liquor, however with a white label and black lettering. This is clearly someone's brand, although— in the confines of a murky and dimly lit office, oppulent as it is— this is no plug, and there are no cameras, no audience. JIMMY FALLON knows he is about to be murdered, and as the dark liquid— perhaps a rum of some sort— glides over the barreled rocks in his glass, he calmly lets out a subtle sigh of exasperation. These are surely his last moments. {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.

Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recognize The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudden. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview? Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Integration, integers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and concise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And disappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before the gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be another million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thought, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward [The Festival Project ™ ] Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul disk through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Core Concept: "Enter The Multiverse" (ETM) is a living, evolving meta-narrative that documents the ontological fluidity of reality itself. It functions as a grand experiment, proposing that all perceived realities – fictional, historical, and contemporary – exist as vibrational frequencies within an infinite cosmic tapestry. ETM doesn't just feature alternate worlds; it explores the mechanics of their existence, their interconnectedness, and the profound implications for consciousness. It blends high-concept quantum physics with ancient spiritual metaphysics. It includes creatures such as shapeshifters (like Gerald and potentially Jimmy Fallon), fairies, and monsters. Integration of Real-Life Figures: ETM famously integrates real-life celebrities (from A-list icons like Oprah Winfrey, Beyoncé, Janet Jackson, Madonna, Billie Eilish, Finneas, Eddie Murphy, Christopher Walken, Johnny Depp, Charlie Sheen, Katt Williams, and Whoopi Goldberg, to late-night hosts and media personalities like Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon). ETM posits that these individuals, often without their conscious awareness, are either key nodal points in the multiversal fabric, accidental conduits for interdimensional energies, or even unwitting "Lightworkers" whose public personas are part of a larger cosmic script. You son of a bitch. Can you do that?! Can you do that? I can do— anything I want— Really? Except that. Oh?! And why's this?! Because I don't want to. But if you could, you would. I can— I just— Oh really. I'm sure there are reasons— besides the obvious —I'm sure— Moral ones. Almost Sam was a safe bet Almost mark John was a good lad Almost once was the Ireland's best, And I guess with the beat of the drum, I ponder Ponder to the beat of the Pity my pocket, much Pity the fool, if you're. It put b perfect; Get in the picture, Just to cut you out of it If I close my eyes one time, Even just for a little while Take me right off and away Take me right off and away And I bet with the task, you can't have handled it I bet to run better you'd forget your purpose I guess I'm a purist- pure problems, the pussy car l Put it to sleep, Or just— in a waste basket I'm so confused, ya'll, I got on the train. Of course. And nothing was at all interesting until this nigga got on With a samurai sword And a Trader Joe's clutch Pick a side! You can't get on the What the fuck am I looking at You tel me I don't know. You see that. I wish I didn't. Take it all in. I— Okay. This is gross What is the state of New York today? L Infected. Corrupt. Disingenuous. What is the state of New York today No identity No indegenous Murder me Leave me to drown In the tides of the ocean Just let me sink That's the only way to Bury me, With this murderous, traitorous Listen, if you will To a story ne'er told, But often sung And often rang like moons as bells Often thought, but never spoken Often brought up, But never put down Come around, will you I'll tell you a tale of a glorious story The take of all time, and as you listen, These words and this whispers will mend with your spirit, Then cease to exist with it Listen Celebrating resonances Has no effect. Yet I haven't even messaged any I haven't even lets a message yet I've just been celebrating resonances I haven't noticed any difference her. Only reflections on the way you get affexted How to get the guy at the bar— aunt you just lean on the bar Maybe you just sit at the bar Maybe you just be at the bar; How to get the guy at the bar Maybe you just stare at the bare Sit right there at the bare Maybe have a care at the bar Don't share at the bar Several small disaster. Why the fuck Am I alive I might as just well die I should have never made Pasquale Rotella one of my role models. —then again. This is before I really knew who he was, or what he was about— and at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is, nobody can ever really know who he really was, or what he was really about. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through MR. REDUNDANT, RAINBOW KITTEN SUPRISE– But IN AN UNASSUMING IRISH BAR in DRUNKEN HARMONY surrounding a piano played by what appears to be… An exceptionally tall leprechaun? I wouldn't know. I wasn't. [invited] Enchilada muffins Ah nah, I'm in Manhattan. I almost forgot what that was like. What a head change. More like a change of heart. What's this, a song? More like, I just don't know yet One day this will all be gone For now this is just a poem. How to wear Santa yellow: don't That took avoid anount of forever. That took a long punch of time That took a good bit of forever And now you're mine, You're mine, you're mine That took a good bit of forever, And now I'm on your mind That took a long bit of forever But now, I'm not counting time And now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're kine Jack in the box You really like to think you're smart, don't you? You really like to get your way? I can't Blame you But baby, I can't tame you LEAN WIT IT, ROCK WIT IT–BUT VIKING PIRATES. lol dumb “Nobody's really going to take that ad in the same way I am, are they?” I had reached a breaking point. I was going to let the world make me go mad because being good wasn't working and being bad seemed like my only option. Should I get a vape? Grab a drink? Fuck a friend? The truth was, none of the above would suffice, but in truth I felt the hate and rapid fire of judgement in cruelty in that whatever voice inside my head posing as Jimmy Fallon always seemed to be right. I had been replaced. People will try to feed you. Dont you see Because People will try to defeat you And they will fail Back to the wall Because after all It was you who needed me. After all, Over all, It was not a cacauphony, It was an apostrophe. How preposterous. Don't you see the weight of it, With what you made of it all, It was fly over fall And you chose the first. Wasn't it something of a hallmark moment That you went for the donut, And still came out With a basket of apples? Indeed, a crisis, In fact, You're there again In fact Beware of her It's obvious That it's not her fault It's just not the right time It's just not the right te, it's just not the right time When all they need if your compliance And all the my want is your attention And don't you see, it's just applied physics I'll take Literally Whatever I can get But you already knew that I needed you to need to know You know you knew But you already blue that And i'n already blue balled, So send me a bluebell It's nothing new, hell But it's crucial that I Screw you We all go to work in a toolbox My dear did What on earth are you doing in The fourth dimension?! I thought things were kind of strange… We interrupt this orogramme to bring you a live broadcast of a current alien invasion—breaking news— If you jump I might just jump Don't jump If you jump I might jump Same here If you jump I might jump I'll jump Don't jump Same here I might just jump 311-231-25900 311-231-26867 JIMMY FALLON pours himself a tall glass of WHATEVER— this is clearly one of those hype celebrity-curated brands of liquor meant to be hip and chic— a luxurious black-label bottle of fine liquor which literally, in bold white lettering, simply says WHATEVER; next to it on the oak wood table is another bottle of WHATEVER— a clear liquor, however with a white label and black lettering. This is clearly someone's brand, although— in the confines of a murky and dimly lit office, oppulent as it is— this is no plug, and there are no cameras, no audience. JIMMY FALLON knows he is about to be murdered, and as the dark liquid— perhaps a rum of some sort— glides over the barreled rocks in his glass, he calmly lets out a subtle sigh of exasperation. These are surely his last moments. {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.

Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recognize The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudden. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview? Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Integration, integers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and concise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And disappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before the gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be another million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thought, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward [The Festival Project ™ ] Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul disk through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Core Concept: "Enter The Multiverse" (ETM) is a living, evolving meta-narrative that documents the ontological fluidity of reality itself. It functions as a grand experiment, proposing that all perceived realities – fictional, historical, and contemporary – exist as vibrational frequencies within an infinite cosmic tapestry. ETM doesn't just feature alternate worlds; it explores the mechanics of their existence, their interconnectedness, and the profound implications for consciousness. It blends high-concept quantum physics with ancient spiritual metaphysics. It includes creatures such as shapeshifters (like Gerald and potentially Jimmy Fallon), fairies, and monsters. Integration of Real-Life Figures: ETM famously integrates real-life celebrities (from A-list icons like Oprah Winfrey, Beyoncé, Janet Jackson, Madonna, Billie Eilish, Finneas, Eddie Murphy, Christopher Walken, Johnny Depp, Charlie Sheen, Katt Williams, and Whoopi Goldberg, to late-night hosts and media personalities like Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon). ETM posits that these individuals, often without their conscious awareness, are either key nodal points in the multiversal fabric, accidental conduits for interdimensional energies, or even unwitting "Lightworkers" whose public personas are part of a larger cosmic script. You son of a bitch. Can you do that?! Can you do that? I can do— anything I want— Really? Except that. Oh?! And why's this?! Because I don't want to. But if you could, you would. I can— I just— Oh really. I'm sure there are reasons— besides the obvious —I'm sure— Moral ones. Almost Sam was a safe bet Almost mark John was a good lad Almost once was the Ireland's best, And I guess with the beat of the drum, I ponder Ponder to the beat of the Pity my pocket, much Pity the fool, if you're. It put b perfect; Get in the picture, Just to cut you out of it If I close my eyes one time, Even just for a little while Take me right off and away Take me right off and away And I bet with the task, you can't have handled it I bet to run better you'd forget your purpose I guess I'm a purist- pure problems, the pussy car l Put it to sleep, Or just— in a waste basket I'm so confused, ya'll, I got on the train. Of course. And nothing was at all interesting until this nigga got on With a samurai sword And a Trader Joe's clutch Pick a side! You can't get on the What the fuck am I looking at You tel me I don't know. You see that. I wish I didn't. Take it all in. I— Okay. This is gross What is the state of New York today? L Infected. Corrupt. Disingenuous. What is the state of New York today No identity No indegenous Murder me Leave me to drown In the tides of the ocean Just let me sink That's the only way to Bury me, With this murderous, traitorous Listen, if you will To a story ne'er told, But often sung And often rang like moons as bells Often thought, but never spoken Often brought up, But never put down Come around, will you I'll tell you a tale of a glorious story The take of all time, and as you listen, These words and this whispers will mend with your spirit, Then cease to exist with it Listen Celebrating resonances Has no effect. Yet I haven't even messaged any I haven't even lets a message yet I've just been celebrating resonances I haven't noticed any difference her. Only reflections on the way you get affexted How to get the guy at the bar— aunt you just lean on the bar Maybe you just sit at the bar Maybe you just be at the bar; How to get the guy at the bar Maybe you just stare at the bare Sit right there at the bare Maybe have a care at the bar Don't share at the bar Several small disaster. Why the fuck Am I alive I might as just well die I should have never made Pasquale Rotella one of my role models. —then again. This is before I really knew who he was, or what he was about— and at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is, nobody can ever really know who he really was, or what he was really about. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through MR. REDUNDANT, RAINBOW KITTEN SUPRISE– But IN AN UNASSUMING IRISH BAR in DRUNKEN HARMONY surrounding a piano played by what appears to be… An exceptionally tall leprechaun? I wouldn't know. I wasn't. [invited] Enchilada muffins Ah nah, I'm in Manhattan. I almost forgot what that was like. What a head change. More like a change of heart. What's this, a song? More like, I just don't know yet One day this will all be gone For now this is just a poem. How to wear Santa yellow: don't That took avoid anount of forever. That took a long punch of time That took a good bit of forever And now you're mine, You're mine, you're mine That took a good bit of forever, And now I'm on your mind That took a long bit of forever But now, I'm not counting time And now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're kine Jack in the box You really like to think you're smart, don't you? You really like to get your way? I can't Blame you But baby, I can't tame you LEAN WIT IT, ROCK WIT IT–BUT VIKING PIRATES. lol dumb “Nobody's really going to take that ad in the same way I am, are they?” I had reached a breaking point. I was going to let the world make me go mad because being good wasn't working and being bad seemed like my only option. Should I get a vape? Grab a drink? Fuck a friend? The truth was, none of the above would suffice, but in truth I felt the hate and rapid fire of judgement in cruelty in that whatever voice inside my head posing as Jimmy Fallon always seemed to be right. I had been replaced. People will try to feed you. Dont you see Because People will try to defeat you And they will fail Back to the wall Because after all It was you who needed me. After all, Over all, It was not a cacauphony, It was an apostrophe. How preposterous. Don't you see the weight of it, With what you made of it all, It was fly over fall And you chose the first. Wasn't it something of a hallmark moment That you went for the donut, And still came out With a basket of apples? Indeed, a crisis, In fact, You're there again In fact Beware of her It's obvious That it's not her fault It's just not the right time It's just not the right te, it's just not the right time When all they need if your compliance And all the my want is your attention And don't you see, it's just applied physics I'll take Literally Whatever I can get But you already knew that I needed you to need to know You know you knew But you already blue that And i'n already blue balled, So send me a bluebell It's nothing new, hell But it's crucial that I Screw you We all go to work in a toolbox My dear did What on earth are you doing in The fourth dimension?! I thought things were kind of strange… We interrupt this orogramme to bring you a live broadcast of a current alien invasion—breaking news— If you jump I might just jump Don't jump If you jump I might jump Same here If you jump I might jump I'll jump Don't jump Same here I might just jump 311-231-25900 311-231-26867 JIMMY FALLON pours himself a tall glass of WHATEVER— this is clearly one of those hype celebrity-curated brands of liquor meant to be hip and chic— a luxurious black-label bottle of fine liquor which literally, in bold white lettering, simply says WHATEVER; next to it on the oak wood table is another bottle of WHATEVER— a clear liquor, however with a white label and black lettering. This is clearly someone's brand, although— in the confines of a murky and dimly lit office, oppulent as it is— this is no plug, and there are no cameras, no audience. JIMMY FALLON knows he is about to be murdered, and as the dark liquid— perhaps a rum of some sort— glides over the barreled rocks in his glass, he calmly lets out a subtle sigh of exasperation. These are surely his last moments. {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.

Big scores and statement wins were all the rage, as Brett McKay and Harry Jones pull apart another big weekend of July Internationals on the Weekend Post-Mortem for The 8-9 Combo Rugby Podcast. The AUNZ XV offered throwback jerseys but not much else to the British & Irish Lions in Adelaide, the All Blacks delivered the obsessive, emphatic result over France the pundits so desperately wanted a week earlier to prove their point, the Springboks were at the innovative best in dispatching Italy, and England completed the two-game sweep of Argentina. Plus, Wales have won a Test Match! #rugby #rugbypodcast #89Combo #WeekendPostMortem #InternationalRugby #LionsTour #Wallabies #AllBlacks #Springboks #Argentina #England #Italy #France #Wales #BritishIrishLions Find us: YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@8-9Combo?sub_confirmation=1 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1BcKhb24YOtwQhKc0S3sDm Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/the-8-9-combo-rugby-podcast/id1729575866 Social media: #89Combo Twitter: https://twitter.com/89combo BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/89combo.bsky.social Find Brett and Harry on both Twitter and on BlueSky: @BMcSport + @HaribaldiJones Music: "Stalling" by Topher Mohr & Alex Elena (via YouTube Creator Studio) Voiceovers by Chookman + Sean Maloney Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

No guest this week, just a lot of news to talk about. Like what games does CMON have left? And why is Asmodee hiring their crowdfunding “expert”? Even I can read the tea leaves on why thats a bad idea. Also, would you pay $165 for a Magic the Gathering event? I don't think I would.

C'cxell Soleïl is here, sir. What? She's here sir! Why?! THE GENERAL has only just sat down for supper— now, in the early evening, the room has been refreshed in tones of maroon and gold trim; candles which match the fine tablecloths and linens and longer candlesticks of white The room changes while youre in it. Of course. The whole place changes around you; it has to stay hidden. THE LIBRARY itself only exists within a magical realm; though portals have situated themselves throughout space and time, interconnecting with the mortal world— its layout changes intensely rapidly, especially depending on who is inside. Though appearing small from the outside entry points, the inside is a massive network— a literal palace of rooms, halls, and places from which the games of this secret society are played. These are entirely older-than-imaginable beings, barely in human form— to carry out certain aspects of the immortal world into the modern times; magicians, keepers of ancient knowledge, and certainly dieties of sort are often here amongst each other— and most importantly, amongst themselves. It is a house of mirrors, mazes, and obstacles. Why would Jimmy lock the Jimmy In a Jimmy? I don't know, Jimmy. Very well, Jimmy; I ought to know Jimmy conspires once, Jimmy conspired, once with Jimmy Aspired twice to become Jimmy revoked Jimmy's place throughout the ark— Beyond the stone, Go, Jimmy go, Before I awake— So much for Jimmy, I Jimmy run, Jimmy folds. The last thing I want to do is play poker with those old fools. Too late, you're going. Are you sure this is regular poker? …no. Why else would be it outside our jurisdiction “Jurisdiction” Didn't I say to look the other— What are you doing here? I was brought here. By whom! More like by what. By what then? You're impossible, you know that. THE PIPER has finally arrived at THE GATES OF DAWN. Release the viper. Right front of her eyes, I tell you— Pull up the nine, and the 4 of hearts Pull into Rome, midnight and call her Call to the forest, there is no more home for her There is none, there is none, There is no more home. Every time I take him in I must remember that His wife and kids are the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments Were all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recogniz The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudde. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Itergretion, intergers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and consise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And dissappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before it gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be snother million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thoughtt, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul dism through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Do you ever get in the shower and not feel like being wet? “Ugh, no.” “Ew, water.” That happens to me sometimes. Anybody else? I realized at a certain point this is probably like a sign of severe hydration. My body's like “There's no water on the inside, why should there be any on the outside?!” I promise is not a hygiene thing. I love being clean. I usually love showers. Just sometimes, I don't know. I'm like, a cat “No, fuck this.” Have you ever tried to give your cat a bath? Try. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through {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.

C'cxell Soleïl is here, sir. What? She's here sir! Why?! THE GENERAL has only just sat down for supper— now, in the early evening, the room has been refreshed in tones of maroon and gold trim; candles which match the fine tablecloths and linens and longer candlesticks of white The room changes while youre in it. Of course. The whole place changes around you; it has to stay hidden. THE LIBRARY itself only exists within a magical realm; though portals have situated themselves throughout space and time, interconnecting with the mortal world— its layout changes intensely rapidly, especially depending on who is inside. Though appearing small from the outside entry points, the inside is a massive network— a literal palace of rooms, halls, and places from which the games of this secret society are played. These are entirely older-than-imaginable beings, barely in human form— to carry out certain aspects of the immortal world into the modern times; magicians, keepers of ancient knowledge, and certainly dieties of sort are often here amongst each other— and most importantly, amongst themselves. It is a house of mirrors, mazes, and obstacles. Why would Jimmy lock the Jimmy In a Jimmy? I don't know, Jimmy. Very well, Jimmy; I ought to know Jimmy conspires once, Jimmy conspired, once with Jimmy Aspired twice to become Jimmy revoked Jimmy's place throughout the ark— Beyond the stone, Go, Jimmy go, Before I awake— So much for Jimmy, I Jimmy run, Jimmy folds. The last thing I want to do is play poker with those old fools. Too late, you're going. Are you sure this is regular poker? …no. Why else would be it outside our jurisdiction “Jurisdiction” Didn't I say to look the other— What are you doing here? I was brought here. By whom! More like by what. By what then? You're impossible, you know that. THE PIPER has finally arrived at THE GATES OF DAWN. Release the viper. Right front of her eyes, I tell you— Pull up the nine, and the 4 of hearts Pull into Rome, midnight and call her Call to the forest, there is no more home for her There is none, there is none, There is no more home. Every time I take him in I must remember that His wife and kids are the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments Were all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recogniz The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudde. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Itergretion, intergers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and consise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And dissappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before it gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be snother million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thoughtt, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul dism through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Do you ever get in the shower and not feel like being wet? “Ugh, no.” “Ew, water.” That happens to me sometimes. Anybody else? I realized at a certain point this is probably like a sign of severe hydration. My body's like “There's no water on the inside, why should there be any on the outside?!” I promise is not a hygiene thing. I love being clean. I usually love showers. Just sometimes, I don't know. I'm like, a cat “No, fuck this.” Have you ever tried to give your cat a bath? Try. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through {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.

C'cxell Soleïl is here, sir. What? She's here sir! Why?! THE GENERAL has only just sat down for supper— now, in the early evening, the room has been refreshed in tones of maroon and gold trim; candles which match the fine tablecloths and linens and longer candlesticks of white The room changes while youre in it. Of course. The whole place changes around you; it has to stay hidden. THE LIBRARY itself only exists within a magical realm; though portals have situated themselves throughout space and time, interconnecting with the mortal world— its layout changes intensely rapidly, especially depending on who is inside. Though appearing small from the outside entry points, the inside is a massive network— a literal palace of rooms, halls, and places from which the games of this secret society are played. These are entirely older-than-imaginable beings, barely in human form— to carry out certain aspects of the immortal world into the modern times; magicians, keepers of ancient knowledge, and certainly dieties of sort are often here amongst each other— and most importantly, amongst themselves. It is a house of mirrors, mazes, and obstacles. Why would Jimmy lock the Jimmy In a Jimmy? I don't know, Jimmy. Very well, Jimmy; I ought to know Jimmy conspires once, Jimmy conspired, once with Jimmy Aspired twice to become Jimmy revoked Jimmy's place throughout the ark— Beyond the stone, Go, Jimmy go, Before I awake— So much for Jimmy, I Jimmy run, Jimmy folds. The last thing I want to do is play poker with those old fools. Too late, you're going. Are you sure this is regular poker? …no. Why else would be it outside our jurisdiction “Jurisdiction” Didn't I say to look the other— What are you doing here? I was brought here. By whom! More like by what. By what then? You're impossible, you know that. THE PIPER has finally arrived at THE GATES OF DAWN. Release the viper. Right front of her eyes, I tell you— Pull up the nine, and the 4 of hearts Pull into Rome, midnight and call her Call to the forest, there is no more home for her There is none, there is none, There is no more home. Every time I take him in I must remember that His wife and kids are the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments Were all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recogniz The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudde. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Itergretion, intergers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and consise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And dissappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before it gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be snother million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thoughtt, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul dism through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Do you ever get in the shower and not feel like being wet? “Ugh, no.” “Ew, water.” That happens to me sometimes. Anybody else? I realized at a certain point this is probably like a sign of severe hydration. My body's like “There's no water on the inside, why should there be any on the outside?!” I promise is not a hygiene thing. I love being clean. I usually love showers. Just sometimes, I don't know. I'm like, a cat “No, fuck this.” Have you ever tried to give your cat a bath? Try. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through {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.

For more of my latest content, subscribe to my YouTube channel, Dark Asia with Megan and join our awesome community. Your support means everything, and I can't wait to share more Asian cases with you! On Other Platforms: • TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@darkasiawithmegan • Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/darkasiawithmegan • Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/darkasiameganlee

Book your free discovery call directly, visit: www.robertjamescoaching.com Welcome to episode 510 of the OCD and Anxiety Podcast with Robert James. In this episode, discover the power of choice with three crucial tips to break free from the obsessive loops of OCD. Learn how to take control by choosing action over rumination and focusing on your values and goals. Robert shares his personal experiences and practical strategies that can guide you back to the present and help you reconnect with what truly matters in life. If you're ready to make a change, explore the new 12-week Break-Free from OCD program designed to empower you with lasting skills to manage OCD. Visit robertjamescoaching.com to learn more and book a free discovery call today Disclaimer: Robert James Pizey (of Robert James Coaching) is not a medical professional and is also not providing therapy or medical treatment. Robert James Pizey recommends that anyone experiencing anxiety or OCD to seek professional medical help straight away to get a medical opinion and rule out other conditions or illnesses. The comments and opinions as written on this site are simply that and are not to be taken as professional medical opinions. Robert James Pizey provides coaching, education, accountability and peer support around Anxiety through his own personal experiences.    

What takes up space in your mind when food no longer does?   In this live episode with the Life After Diets community, we explore what happens when food obsession fades.  Do we land in a new identity with different thoughts and interests? Or do we find new mental fixations waiting in the wings?   From identity shifts and social anxiety to ego, neurodivergence, and the need for stimulation, we dig into what it really means to reclaim your mental real estate. A candid, insightful conversation about what comes next in life after diets.   01:08 Personal Experiences with Obsession 02:43 Finding New Focus and Purpose 04:15 Balancing Life and Recovery 05:28 Exploring Identity Beyond Food 20:48 Dealing with Social Anxiety and Self-Perception 21:29 Common Replacements for Food Obsessions 24:00 Embracing Downtime and Self-Care 25:22 Intentional Living  26:19 Exploring Neurodiversity and Monotropism 27:57 Challenges with Transitions and Coping Mechanisms 30:23 Secondary Stimulation  39:02 Ego Self and Higher Consciousness   Join our support community. This community is for you if you want a safe space to work through your daily struggles with food and body image. Community membership includes livestream episode recordings (online), monthly Zoom support meetings, a private Facebook group and member-only Q&A episodes. For more information go to: https://www.patreon.com/lifeafterdiets Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/lifeafterdietspodcast Email – hello@lifeafterdietspod.com Connect with Stefanie Michele, Binge Eating Coach & Somatic Therapist IT Website – www.iamstefaniemichele.com Instagram – www.instagram.com/iamstefaniemichele Connect with Sarah Dosanjh, Author & Psychotherapist Website – www.thebingeeatingtherapist.com Instagram – www.instagram.com/the_binge_eating_therapist YouTube – https://www.youtube.com/c/TheBingeEatingTherapist Sarah's book I Can't Stop Eating is available on Amazon

 What happens when a rigid devotion to rules, order, and perfection replaces our ability to feel, connect, and live? In this episode, we explore two moving character studies from Fredrik Backman's novels A Man Called Ove and Britt-Marie Was Here. Through Ove and Britt-Marie—both fictional but deeply familiar—we see the beauty, heartbreak, and potential of the obsessive-compulsive personality. These stories show what can go wrong when emotional life is outsourced or buried—and what can go right when we begin to reclaim it. From tragic emotional isolation to unexpected transformation, this conversation offers insight, humor, and hope for anyone trying to loosen the grip of perfectionism. 

At first, they call you crazy.Your dreams? Unrealistic.Your effort? Obsessive.Your path? Insane.But then… it works.Suddenly, you're not crazy — you're lucky.The same people who dismissed you now want your secret.What they don't see is the sacrifice, the discipline, the years of quiet struggle.They call it luck, but to you… that's the real insanity.In this powerful episode, Eddie Pinero unpacks the misunderstood journey of creation — how every visionary is first doubted, then praised, and how success often comes wrapped in ridicule before it's recognized.More from Eddie Pinero:Monday Motivation Newsletter: https://www.eddiepinero.com/newsletterYour World Within Podcast: https://yourworldwithin.libsyn.com/Stream these tracks on Spotify - https://spoti.fi/2BLf6pBInstagram - @your_world_within and @IamEddiePineroTikTok - your_world_withinFacebook - https://www.facebook.com/YourworldwithinTwitter - https://www.twitter.com/IamEddiePineroBusiness Inquiries - http://www.yourworldwithin.com/contact

 Is RO DBT a new answer for overcontrol and obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD)? This post introduces Radically Open Dialectical Behavior Therapy, a treatment developed for overcontrolled personalities, and explores how well it fits the traits and needs of those with OCPD. Clinical insights, pros and cons, and personal reflections included. 

CMON has a “Setting Sun” with several of its games, Gundam minis are (surprise) really well put together, and a board game about dating D&D monsters? Also, Mark Henry from the site Goblin's Hut ( https://www.goblinshut.com/) is here to talk about the product “Dirty Down” and how it can make painting your miniatures easier.

Join hosts Mike and Mark in this enlightening episode of the Moonshots Podcast as they delve into the world of legendary basketball coach Phil Jackson through his book "Eleven Rings: The Soul of Success." This episode offers a deep dive into Jackson's unique leadership style and journey in the NBA, featuring engaging audio clips and insightful discussions.Buy The Book on Amazon https://geni.us/MCKZBE1Become a Moonshot Member https://www.patreon.com/MoonshotsWatch this episode on YouTube https://youtu.be/Fk5kj2b1T-QBook Summary: https://www.apolloadvisor.com/summary-eleven-rings-by-phil-jackson/INTRO: The episode begins with an introduction to Phil Jackson's acclaimed book and his revolutionary approach to coaching.Segment 1: Team Work (2m20)Listen to an intriguing clip where Phil Jackson discusses with John Salley how he guided Michael Jordan, transforming him into one of the greatest players ever. This segment explores the essence of teamwork and leadership in sports.Segment 2: Be Passionate and Obsessive (2m55)Kobe Bryant shares his thoughts with Valuetainment about his unwavering loyalty to Phil Jackson. This part delves into the importance of passion and obsession in achieving greatness.Segment 3: Bench the Ego (1m06)The Coaches of Culture analyze one of Phil's Eleven Principles, focusing on the crucial leadership skill of building other leaders by setting aside personal egos.Segment 4: One Breath, One Mind (1m)Continuing with the insights from Coaches of Culture, this segment breaks down another of Phil's Principles that emphasizes collaboration and real-time decision-making in high-stakes environments.OUTRO: Stay in the Flow (2m49)The episode concludes with Phil Jackson sharing his wisdom on staying present in the moment, particularly in high-pressure scenarios like basketball. He dives into the concept of "One Mind" and its application on and off the court.Throughout the episode, Mike and Mark discuss critical aspects of Phil Jackson's book, including his journey, leadership philosophy, management of star players, and the impact of mindfulness and spirituality on his coaching. They also reflect on Jackson's legacy in the NBA and the lasting influence of his innovative strategies, such as the triangle offense.This episode is a must-list for anyone interested in leadership, team dynamics, and the application of mindfulness in achieving success. Whether you're a basketball fan, a budding leader, or just curious about the Mind of one of the greatest coaches in sports history, this podcast offers valuable insights and lessons from Phil Jackson's remarkable career.Buy The Book on Amazon https://geni.us/MCKZBE1Become a Moonshot Member https://www.patreon.com/MoonshotsWatch this episode on YouTube https://youtu.be/Fk5kj2b1T-QBook Summary: https://www.apolloadvisor.com/summary-eleven-rings-by-phil-jackson/ Thanks to our monthly supporters Joanne Carbone Joanne Carbone Emily Rose Banks Malcolm Magee Natalie Triman Kaur Ryan N. Marco-Ken Möller Mohammad Lars Bjørge Edward Rehfeldt III 孤鸿 月影 Fabian Jasper Verkaart Andy Pilara ola Austin Hammatt Zachary Phillips Mike Leigh Cooper Gayla Schiff Laura KE Krzysztof Roar Nikolay Ytre-Eide Stef Roger von Holdt Jette Haswell venkata reddy Ingram Casey Ola rahul grover Ravi Govender Craig Lindsay Steve Woollard Lasse Brurok Deborah Spahr Barbara Samoela Jo Hatchard Kalman Cseh Berg De Bleecker Paul Acquaah MrBonjour Sid Liza Goetz Konnor Ah kuoi Marjan Modara Dietmar Baur Bob Nolley ★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★

This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.In this classic episode of Broadway Drumming 101, I chat with the multi-talented percussionist Joshua Mark Samuels, whose Broadway journey spans from singing and dancing as a child in California to holding down chairs in some of the biggest shows on Broadway and Radio City.We initially chatted in October of 2021, but I wanted to share this episode again. It's funny, thought-provoking, and incredibly informative. Episode Highlights:* Early Musical Roots: Josh shares stories of growing up in L.A., starting drum lessons at the age of two and a half, and learning music theory from his legendary uncle, Dave Samuels.* Dual Passions: How Josh navigated his love for both performing on stage and playing in orchestras, eventually fusing both into a career in musical theater.* Cruise Ship Hustle: Becoming a music director at age 21 and realizing pit drumming was his true calling.* Move to NYC: Josh recounts his unexpected relocation to New York and how one subway ride introduced him to Broadway drummer Gary Seligson, kick-starting his networking journey.* Landing Marvelous Wonderettes & Godspell: Hear how obsessive preparation, transcriptions, and laser-focused practice helped Josh build a strong reputation as a sub.* Radio City Christmas Spectacular: What it's really like to play 200+ shows in two months with the Rockettes—and why this gig is one of the most demanding in the business.* Subbing Philosophy: Learn why being effective matters more than being right, how to take notes without ego, and why watching the conductor is non-negotiable.* Building a Career: Josh offers insight into the importance of relationships, people skills, and being someone others want to be around, on and off the bandstand.Key Takeaways:* “Subbing is a people game. It's not just about chops—it's about trust.”* “Obsessive preparation isn't about showing off—it's about honoring the gig.”* “You don't succeed on Broadway because you're the best player. You succeed because you're the best fit.”About Joshua Mark Samuels:Josh currently holds the drums/percussion chair at Maybe Happy Ending on Broadway. His resume includes work on notable productions such as Beetlejuice, Aladdin, Miss Saigon, Jersey Boys, Chaplin, Godspell, A Bronx Tale, and Sunset Boulevard, among others. He's performed all three percussion books (drums, timpani, mallets) at Radio City's Christmas Spectacular, and he's a respected clinician and educator with presentations at NYU, Carnegie Mellon, Rutgers, and Temple University.He proudly endorses Vic Firth, Sabian Cymbals, MalletKat, and TreeHouse Drums.Website: joshuamarksamuels.comSubscribe to Broadway Drumming 101 on your favorite podcast platform, and visit BroadwayDrumming101.com for more content, resources, and merch.Don't forget to rate, review, and share this episode with fellow musicians and theater fans!Clayton Craddock founded Broadway Drumming 101, an in-depth online platform offering specialized mentorship and a carefully curated collection of resources tailored for aspiring and professional musicians.Clayton's Broadway and Off-Broadway credits include tick, tick…BOOM!, Altar Boyz, Memphis The Musical, Lady Day at Emerson's Bar and Grill, Ain't Too Proud – The Life and Times of The Temptations, Cats: The Jellicle Ball, and The Hippest Trip: The Soul Train Musical. As a skilled sub, he has contributed his talents to notable productions such as Motown, Evita, Cats, Avenue Q, The Color Purple, Rent, SpongeBob SquarePants: The Musical, and Hadestown (tour), among many others. He has also appeared on major shows, including The View, Good Morning America, Jimmy Fallon, The Today Show, and the TONY Awards, and performed with legends like The Stylistics, The Delfonics, Mario Cantone, Laura Benanti, Kristin Chenoweth, Kerry Butler, Christian Borle, Norm Lewis, Deniece Williams, Chuck Berry, and Ben E. King.Clayton proudly endorses Ahead Drum Cases, Paiste Cymbals, Innovative Percussion drumsticks, and Empire Ears.Learn more about Clayton Craddock here: www.claytoncraddock.com Get full access to Broadway Drumming 101 at broadwaydrumming101.substack.com/subscribe

Anxiety can creep into our minds, bodies, and lives in the sneakiest of ways. From chronic bouts of anxious thoughts to full blown panic attacks, anxiety can wreak on our internal and external worlds. And although we often think that we should be able to conquer anxiety just by pushing it away or taking a prescription pill, I've found, as a clinical psychologist, that anxiety tends to get worse-- often much worse--until we mindfully address the underlying issues. And when it comes to healing anxiety, research shows that CBT--cognitive behavioral therapy--yields top-notch results. Join Dr. Carla and Dr. Joel Minden, leading psychotherapist, educator, and author, who offers expert advice on how to become the boss of your anxiety. Topics discussed include anxiety, CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy), obsessive thoughts, intrusive thoughts, betrayal, trust, affair, infidelity, cheating, romantic relationship, divorce, dating, avoidance, repetitive thoughts, adaptive behavior, cognitive flexibility, tolerance, panic attacks, fear, avoidance, compassion, self-compassion, understanding, thought distortions, distorted thinking, thinking errors, emotions, fight or flight response, hypervigilance, and anxiety treatment. Please note that this episode contains sensitive material; listener discretion is advised. Emergency Assistance Note: If you or someone you know needs immediate support, please call your emergency services. In the US, 24/7 help is available by calling "911," "988" (Suicide and Crisis Hotline), or SAMSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) at 1-800-662-HELP (4357). Support/informational links are in the show notes.Books by Dr. Carla Manly:Joy from Fear: https://www.amazon.com/Joy-Fear-Carla-Marie-Manly/dp/1641701218 Date Smart: https://www.amazon.com/Date-Smart-Transform-Relationships-Fearlessly/dp/1641704675 Aging Joyfully: https://www.amazon.com/Aging-Joyfully-Optimal-Relationships-Fulfillment/dp/1641701412 The Joy of Imperfect Love: https://www.amazon.com/Joy-Imperfect-Love-Creating-Relationships/dp/1641709057 Oracle decks by Dr. Carla Manly:Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1757477615/imperfect-love-reflection-oracle-cards Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Imperfect-Love-Reflection-Oracle-Cards/dp/B0D1Z5M4YK Love the show? Subscribe, rate, review, and share! https://drcarlamanly.com/

Why Obsessive Thinking Is a Symptom, Not the Real DisorderObsessive thinking isn't the disorder—it's a coping response. Learn how to break the anxiety loop and heal at the root with insights from Matt Codde.

Episode 90: Stop Obsessive Thinking: (How to Manifest Faster and End Self-Sabotage)Are you stuck in a cycle of overthinking and anxious obsession about what you want—yet feel further away from your goals than ever? In this episode, I reveal the surprising way your obsessive focus is actually blocking you from manifesting your desires. Discover the SHIFT you need to step into alignment, surrender, and unlock rapid results. I share my own powerful stories—from infertility to everyday setbacks—and how releasing control transformed everything.You'll learn:✅ Why obsessive thinking creates resistance (and shuts down manifestation)✅ The science behind surrender: How to move from stress to flow✅ How to spot the hidden fear that's running your obsession✅ My simple process for clearing subconscious blocks—so you can manifest faster✅ Practical ways to rewire your mind for trust, joy, and ease

On The Atlas of Middle-earth.

Come on and SLAM, and welcome to the Jam that is POGs! Meanwhile, I've got new rulebooks to buy, some books maybe I shouldn't buy, and Will Schoonover is here from Steve Jackson Games to talk about what's new in the Munchkin world. I better keep an eye on Philip…

175k may seem like an astronomical amount to spend on your health (and I kind of agree) but what is more important than fueling the very thing that's responsible for your success? Your body and your brain, especially as a fitness professional. In this episode, I'm going to go deep with my protocols and what I've done over the last 20 years but more specifically what I'm doing now for optimal performance and longevity.     Time Stamps:   (0:23) Pain Pills and Rock Bottom (2:01) I Have Used Steroids (2:43) I'm Obsessive and Insane (4:22) Mental Focus Protocols (6:36) Peptides and Microdosing (8:06) Caffeine (8:41) Morning Routine (9:53) Sleep Optimization (12:06) NSDR (12:43) Nutrition (14:08) Training (15:36) Longevity and Hormones (16:53) More Specific Peptide Regiment ---------- Whenever You're Ready, Here Are 4 Ways We Can Help You (For Free)   (Community) Join the Fitness Business Secrets FB  Community to Unlock Your Free 5 Clients in 5 Days Mini-Course   (Content) Grab our exact post templates that are responsible for more than 3,500 online clients in our business Automated Post Planner   (Instagram) 3-5x Your Engagement, Grow an Audience and Generate Dream Clients from Instagram IG Playbook For Health & Fitness Coaches   (Get Clarity) Schedule a FREE No-Obligation 15-minute Call to Explore How To Add 10,000/Mo to Your Business–Guaranteed

What if your “too much” is exactly what the world needs? In today's powerful episode, Kevin and Alan explore the quiet strength of obsession, not the kind that drains you, but the kind that drives you. From discipline in money and fitness to becoming better men and leaders, they show how focused passion can be a force for good.Episode Reference:Grab the Branding Worksheet here -  https://drive.google.com/file/d/1cZ6w299r1Awo6O7NgZVZ5RZsjy1jQcju/view Learn more about:Next Level Nation - https://www.facebook.com/groups/459320958216700Next Level Dreamliner - https://a.co/d/9fPpxEt_____________________Free 30-minute Business Breakthrough Session with Alan -https://calendly.com/alanlazaros/30-minute-free-breakthrough-session?month=2025-04Free 30-Minute Podcast Breakthrough Session with Kevin -https://calendly.com/kevinpalmieri/free-30-minute-podcast-breakthrough-session-with-kevin_____________________NLU is not just a podcast; it's a gateway to a wealth of resources designed to help you achieve your goals and dreams. From our Next Level Dreamliner to our Group Coaching, we offer a variety of tools and communities to support your personal development journey.For more information, please check out our website at the link below.

Moses Williams is an 18-year-old Social/Self-Pres 5w6 who is also on the autism spectrum. Moses describes growing up feeling that adults were hiding the truth, that essential information was missing, and that everyone else somehow knew how to be human in a way he didn't. We talk about his often obsessive fascination with taboo topics—pornography, sexual deviance, violence—not to provoke, but to answer the horrifying question: “Am I stupid for not knowing this already?” He recounts a personal collapse that left him with three options: become a sanitized version of himself, disappear entirely, or dismantle and reform collective assumptions entirely. This conversation also explores intellectual separatism, the pressure to adapt to norms that feel senseless, and the slow, reluctant emergence of a heart that wants something real. This episode contains references to pornography, sexual deviance, and suicide. Listener discretion advised. LINKS Learn at The Enneagram School https://theenneagramschool.com/ Intro Course https://www.theenneagramschool.com/intro-enneagram-course Get Typed https://www.enneagrammer.com/ Sinsomnia Podcast (Dreams) https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/sinsomnia/id1684154994 House of Enneagram https://www.youtube.com/ ⁨@houseofenneagram⁩ TIMESTAMPS 00:00 - Intro 02:56 - Introduction to enneagram, being a loner, interested in psychology to understand people 06:20 - Animals animals animals and being intrigued by fear 09:37 - Family background, being introduced to the internet, questioning traditional beliefs 13:17 - Stigmas around sex and sexuality, parsing through frameworks of deviancy 15:52 - Reading provocative books, fascination through frustration and not being naive, needing obsessions 22:56 - ‘Worst moment of life', social incompetence 28:08 - Difficulty adapting, doing it ‘my way' and making it work, “the way I do teamwork is by not working with people” 31:54 - Trying to figure out place in the world, ‘becoming sanitized', stripping out people's assumptions 35:35 - Power dynamics, finding compatibility 42:09 - Conceptualizing an ideal world, determinism, looking for something real 45:47 - Social relationships allow ‘getting to the heart', loneliness and regret 50:23 - Being more competent at relationships, fear of feelings influencing self-image 58:51 - Realizing when type 5 isn't actually talking about themselves, speaking about people in an abstraction 1:05:40 - Differing energies with self and others, divine resonating frequencies, obsessions 1:09:04 - Coming out story, viewing family as a collection of people forced to live together, “this is who I am, deal with it” 1:17:22 - Transformation of current social dynamics, ‘shutting up', finding the people who ‘tolerate me' 1:23:22 - Differences between being on the autism spectrum and being a type 5 1:30:57 - Outro CREDITS Interview by Josh Lavine Edited by Kristen Oberly Music by Coma-Media from Pixabay Coma-Media: https://pixabay.com/users/coma-media-24399569/ Pixabay: https://pixabay.com/ --- #enneagram #enneagramtype #enneagram5

Welcome to the debut episode of "The Scientists," a captivating new series from the Into the Impossible Podcast Network, hosted by Brian Keating, Chancellor's Distinguished Professor of Physics at UC San Diego. Each week, Brian takes us on a journey into the extraordinary minds behind history's greatest scientific breakthroughs—not just exploring what these giants of science discovered, but delving deep into who they were, what drove their relentless curiosity, and the very human obsessions that shaped their careers and our world. If you're curious about the messy, intensely human reality behind monumental discoveries—and how these stories can reshape your worldview—tune in as we venture into the lives, the questions, and the obsessions that made science possible. Please join my mailing list here

‘I think I've found postpartum harder to manage in terms of my diabetes than actual pregnancy, but I'm literally living my best life as a mum.' That sentence is pretty reflective of Emily Vilé's philosophy on type 1 diabetes - not shying away from the realities of the condition she's lived with since she was just 14 months old, but soaking up all the moments that feel even sweeter for the juggle. This practical outlook can also be seen in the powerful content Emily posts about motherhood and life in Perth, Australia, as well as in her work as Project Lead for Perth Diabetes Care Mums & Bumps at the Perth Diabetes Care Health Hub to support mums to be who live with diabetes - a career shift that came about after she gave birth to her daughter in July 2024. In this heartfelt episode, Emily talks all things pregnancy and type 1 diabetes, as well as the recent OCD diagnosis that has helped her to make sense of her life to date. From careful planning, to adapting to changing insulin needs and strict glucose targets, managing a classroom of teenagers while pregnant to managing blood sugars during birth itself, Emily naturally dealt with a number of fears in her pregnancy journey, but with the help of an amazing inner circle, overcoming these challenges have made for some of her proudest achievements - not to mention life as mum to gorgeous Gia! A beautiful episode with plenty of giggles along the way - I hope you enjoy this chat as much as I did. CONNECT WITH EMILYFollow Emily on Instagram.Connect with PDC Mums and Bumps on Instagram.Join their Facebook community.JOIN THE TYPE 1 ON 1 INSTAGRAM COMMUNITYCome and say hi @studiotype1on1 on Instagram. SPONSOR MESSAGE  This episode of Type 1 on 1 is sponsored by Insulet, the makers of Omnipod tube-free insulin pump therapy. Using Omnipod 5 Automated Insulin Delivery has improved my diabetes management significantly with less diabetes decisions, and of course no multiple daily injections.  How? Well, Omnipod 5 automatically adjusts insulin every five minutes to help keep me in range, allowing life outside of type 1 diabetes to get bigger. If you want to know more, head to Omnipod.com.

The world isn't made of atoms, it's made of stories. I've never heard anyone speak so deeply about interviewing. Johann Hari has written four books, and for each one he travels the globe to record hundreds of conversations. In this episode, he'll explain exactly how he does it, sharing stories of getting up close and personal with homeless people in Vegas and a crack dealer in New York. In the end you'll hear a wild story of the apple in Vietnam that almost killed him. Enjoy! Hey! I'm David Perell and I'm a writer, teacher, and podcaster. I believe writing online is one of the biggest opportunities in the world today. For the first time in human history, everybody can freely share their ideas with a global audience. I seek to help as many people publish their writing online as possible. Follow me Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-write/id1700171470 YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@DavidPerellChannel X: https://x.com/david_perell Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Gabe and Allison disagree on apple flavoring. A listener writes in to ask what to do about their obsessive thoughts about their ex, even though they're in a different relationship. Author Anu Gupta joins the show to talk about bias as a learned habit and how to listen and engage with people we want to examine their bias. Then, mermaids and the French Excursion. And finally, physical pain.Check out all of our content on Patreon, Ad Free! Watch the full episodes of TLDRI, listen to the full episodes of The Variety Show, watch the International Question and Topix videos, join us for a monthly livestream, PLUS MORE:https://www.patreon.com/justbetweenusThis has been a Gallison ProductionProduced by Melisa D. Monts and Diamond MPrint ProductionsPost-Production by Coco LlorensProduction Assistance by Melanie D. WatsonOur Sponsors:* Check out Happy Mammoth and use my code JUSTBETWEENUS for 15% off!* Check out Rosetta Stone and use my code TODAY for a great deal: https://www.rosettastone.comSupport this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/just-between-us/donationsAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Exploring the origin of dukkha, Joseph delves into how craving can shape our lives, fuel unwholesome karma, and keep us trapped in expectation.The Satipatthana Sutta is one of the most celebrated and widely studied discourses in the Pāli Canon of Theravada Buddhism. This episode is the 37th part of an in-depth 48-part weekly lecture series from Joseph Goldstein that delves into every aspect of the Satipatthana Sutta. If you are just jumping into the Satipatthana Sutta series, CLICK HERE to start at the first episodeThis episode is brought to you by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at betterhelp.com/insighthour and get on your way to being your best self. This time on Insight Hour, Joseph mindfully explains:Craving and how we experience it in our lives and practiceThe compelling power of craving as the opposite of peaceHow our culture fosters and values desire/craving Obsessive desires and considering what pleasures drive our choices in lifeThe danger of craving and having an unquenchable thirst How unwholesome karma can be the result of desire9 Things rooted in craving according to the BuddhaThe expectation of pleasant experiences to remain Aspirations versus expectations (inspiration vs. the endless cycle of hope and fear)The basic urge to exist continuously Getting trapped by the ‘in order to' mindThe magic show of consciousnessThis episode was originally published on DharmaseedGrab a copy of the book Joseph references throughout this series, Satipaṭṭhāna: The Direct Path to Realization, HERE“What is the gratification that we find in our lives? What sense experiences are we enamored by? We should look carefully at this. This is a question that led to the Buddha's awakening, and maybe, would lead to our own.” – Joseph GoldsteinSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

"The Fault in Our Stars" is one of the bestselling novels of the century. Why did its author just devote five years of his life to a staggering work of non-fiction about... tuberculosis? Because John Green became a super-fan of fourth-tier English football. He employed FIFA and Belichick-level tactics to build a compassionate community on YouTube. He understood the difference between enough and more than enough. And he never forgot to be awesome. • Order "Everything Is Tuberculosis" https://everythingistb.com/ • Subscribe to John Green's YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/vlogbrothers • Subscribe to Henry Reider's YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/@Tuberculosis-l1jSurvivorHenry Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

"The Fault in Our Stars" is one of the bestselling novels of the century. Why did its author just devote five years of his life to a staggering work of non-fiction about... tuberculosis? Because John Green became a super-fan of fourth-tier English football. He employed FIFA and Belichick-level tactics to build a compassionate community on YouTube. He understood the difference between enough and more than enough. And he never forgot to be awesome. • Order "Everything Is Tuberculosis" https://everythingistb.com/ • Subscribe to John Green's YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/vlogbrothers • Subscribe to Henry Reider's YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/@Tuberculosis-l1jSurvivorHenry Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

David Cronenwett is the owner of Helena Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and a third-degree black belt under American Jiu-Jitsu legend Rafael Lovato Jr. David started his Jiu-Jitsu journey in Seattle in 1996, back when finding a place to train was like stumbling upon a secret society. Over the years, he's not only refined his own game but has shared this art with hundreds of students in Montana's capital city since opening his academy in 2016. But David's path to Jiu-Jitsu wasn't exactly a straight shot. He grew up in New Jersey, made his way west to study classical guitar at Cornish College of the Arts in Seattle right as the grunge scene was taking over, and eventually found himself in Montana, drawn by the wilderness and a deep-rooted need for something more. That “something more” turned out to be a mix of conservation work, backcountry living, and, of course, Jiu-Jitsu—an art that would come to define much of his life. In this conversation, we go deep into the philosophy of Jiu-Jitsu: why it grabs certain people and won't let go, how it humbles you, how it teaches you to remain calm under pressure, and how it can serve as a vehicle for self-improvement. But beyond that, we explore how Jiu-Jitsu teaches lessons that stretch far beyond the mats—lessons about patience, resilience, adaptability, and how to wisely face challenges in life. We also talk about the importance of culture in an academy, how a good training environment can shape people beyond the gym, and how the shared purpose and community of Jiu-Jitsu has a way of bringing together folks from all walks of life. And for those of you who might be on the fence about trying Jiu-Jitsu, David has plenty to say about why it's never too late to start and how it can change not just how you move, but how you see the world. So whether you're a seasoned grappler or just curious about what makes this martial art so addictive, there's a lot to learn from this conversation. Enjoy! --- Helena Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Full episode notes and links: https://mountainandprairie.com/david-cronenwett/ --- TOPICS DISCUSSED: 2:15 - Getting to know David 4:30 - Seattle to Montana 6:30 - And from music to conservation 7:45 - Early outdoor interests 10:00 - First Jiu-Jitsu memories 12:30 - Getting into Jiu-Jitsu 16:30 - What is it about Jiu-Jitsu? 21:00 - Community on the mat 26:45 - Importance of having new trainees 29:45 - Where the growth happens 31:30 - Maintaining culture 35:30 - Lessons from practicing and teaching 42:30 - Obsessive types 45:15 - Not for the bullies 47:30 - Maintaining the practice as life goes on 53:30 - Self-defense as an insurance policy 1:01:00 - What Jiu-Jitsu gives you 1:04:45 - Losing ego 1:08:45 - Peaks and valleys 1:12:30 - Not about the belts 1:14:45 - Book recs 1:21:30 - Thoughts on therapy 1:23:45 - Parting words --- ABOUT MOUNTAIN & PRAIRIE: Mountain & Prairie - All Episodes Mountain & Prairie Shop Mountain & Prairie on Instagram Upcoming Events About Ed Roberson Support Mountain & Prairie Leave a Review on Apple Podcasts