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Last time we continued speaking about the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Admiral Toyoda's Operation Sho-Go aimed to eliminate American naval forces but faced setbacks with the loss of key ships. As Japanese forces advanced, miscommunications led to disorganized attacks. Rear-Admiral Clifton Sprague's Taffy groups used smoke and air assaults to delay the Japanese, ultimately leading to Kurita's retreat after sustaining heavy damage from American air strikes. On October 25, a series of intense naval engagements unfolded, featuring airstrikes and kamikaze attacks. U.S. forces launched multiple strikes against Japanese carriers, inflicting significant damage but facing challenges from anti-aircraft fire and pilot fatigue. The day ended with the sinking of several Japanese vessels, including Zuikaku and Chitose, resulting in substantial casualties. Admiral Halsey attempted to intercept Kurita's forces but was too late. Despite heavy losses, including the cruiser Abukuma and numerous aircraft, Kurita's forces managed to reach safety. The battle marked a significant defeat for the Japanese, severely weakening their naval capabilities, though Kamikaze attacks prolonged the war. This episode is the Advance to Ormoc Valley  Welcome to the Pacific War Podcast Week by Week, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about world war two? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on world war two and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel you can find a few videos all the way from the Opium Wars of the 1800's until the end of the Pacific War in 1945.  Last we we covered the climax of the battle of Leyte Gulf seeing the IJN basically annihilated in the waters surrounding the philippines. As the confrontation drew to a close, General Krueger's offensive was ongoing at Leyte. By October 26, General Sibert's 10th Corps and General Hodge's 24th Corps had successfully established two beachhead areas, gradually expanding their perimeter inland and pushing General Makino's 16th Division further into the island's interior. Following the failure of his earlier repositioning after the loss of Hindang and Burauen, Makino acknowledged that he could not prevent the loss of the eastern coastal plain. He decided to retreat his units to rear positions in the mountains west of Dagami and Burauen. Concurrently, as part of Operation TA, Admiral Mikawa successfully delivered the first reinforcements to Ormoc. Consequently, General Suzuki promptly ordered Colonel Sumitani Takayoshi's 41st Regiment to move towards Carigara and then to Jaro, where the remnants of the 33rd Regiment had fallen back to maintain the division's left flank. After capturing Hills B and C, the 24th Division resumed its westward assault on October 26. With General Mudge's 1st Cavalry Division protecting General Irving's northern flank, the 34th Regiment advanced along Highway 2, reaching Santa Fe, while the 19th Regiment attempted to attack Pastrana but was halted short of its objective by heavy enemy fire. To the south, the 383rd Regiment patrolled towards San Vicente Hill amidst fierce resistance, as the 382nd Regiment attacked Tabontabon but was forced back to the Guinarona River by determined defenders. In addition, the reserve 3rd Battalion, 381st Regiment, embarked on a long march north along Highway 1 towards Tanauan but encountered enemy fire near Vigia Point. Further south, the 17th Regiment successfully advanced to a position about 600 yards south of Guinarona, while the 32nd Regiment fought persistently to reach the edge of the Buri airstrip. The following day, after fending off several light counterattacks, the 32nd finally secured the airstrip with minimal resistance. Additionally, the 17th pushed forward to a point approximately 2,200 yards south of Dagami, although they faced increased opposition from the retreating enemy. To the east, following an extensive artillery bombardment, the 382nd captured a majority of Tabontabon in a coordinated attack, with Colonel Dill's 1st and 3rd Battalions then moving northeast toward Kapahuan. Colonel Michael Halloran's 3rd Battalion pressed northward and ultimately took Tanauan without opposition before heading towards Kiling. Meanwhile, in the Catmon Hill area, after General Krueger released the remainder of the 381st Regiment to the control of the 24th Corps, General Bradley decided to deploy his reserve regiment to take control of the Labiranan Head position in preparation for an assault against Catmon hill. Catmon Hill had been under steady naval and artillery fire since A Day, October 20. The 96th Division artillery had constantly fired on targets of opportunity by day and harassed enemy positions in the area during the night. Starting at 21:00 on October 27, the 105-mm howitzers of the 361st Field Artillery Battalion, the 155-mm howitzers of the 198th Field Artillery Battalion, a battery of 155-mm howitzers from the 363d Field Artillery Battalion, and the 75-mm howitzers from the 780th Amphibian Tank Battalion were to deliver harassing fires on the hill until 10:30 the following day. At that time all of the artillery units were to commence firing successive concentrations beginning at the bottom of the hill and working to the top in 50-yard bounds. After the 381st Regiment, less the 3rd Battalion, attacked at 12:00 on October 28, the artillery was to fire concentrations in front of the troops as they advanced. In making his plans for the capture of Catmon Hill, Colonel Michael E. Halloran, commander of the 381st Regiment, decided to have the 1st Battalion make an enveloping movement from the northeast while the 2nd Battalion pushed west along the main ridge. The 1st Battalion, 383rd Regiment, from its position on Labiranan Head, would support the attack by fire. Further north, Irving's push westward continued as the 34th Regiment advanced unopposed to the Mudburon River, while the 19th Regiment captured Pastrana following another heavy artillery barrage. On that day, the 171st Independent Battalion arrived after a week-long voyage from Panay, preparing to join the 41st Regiment and its sister battalion towards Carigara and Jaro. On October 28, as the 41st Regiment passed through Carigara and approached Jaro, Mikawa launched his second Operation TA convoy, consisting of three echelons. The first echelon left Manila immediately without cover, transporting the 20th Antitank Battalion. Simultaneously, preparations were underway to send the 12th Independent Regiment and the recently arrived 1st Division to Leyte. Meanwhile, the 34th Regiment swiftly moved through Alangalang and advanced to the Mainit River, where they were ultimately halted by fierce Japanese resistance. Nevertheless, two companies successfully crossed the river unnoticed during a heavy rainstorm. After launching a surprise assault against the defenders, they captured a bridge over the river. At the same time, the 19th Regiment progressed to Tingib, where it established a patrol base. General Hoffman also directed his 2nd Cavalry Brigade to advance toward Carigara, with the 2nd Squadron, 8th Cavalry making an overland move to San Miguel, while Troop C of the 7th Cavalry conducted an amphibious landing at Barugo, later engaging in skirmishes with Japanese forces at Carigara. To the south, after successfully fending off a vigorous counterattack, Colonel Dill's 2nd Battalion secured the Tabontabon area, enabling it to move north toward Kiling. In spite of determined opposition, the Japanese supply center of Tabontabon had at last been taken and approximately 350 Japanese killed in the area. During the three days of fighting, the 2d Battalion had thirty-four men killed and eighty wounded. The remainder of the 382nd fought their way to Digahongan before turning towards Kiling, eventually halting at Kansamada. Meanwhile, while the 383rd conducted reconnaissance toward San Vicente and the 9th Regiment began its retreat to Dagami, the 381st Regiment finally launched its assault on Catmon Hill. However, Halloran's two battalions were met with heavy gunfire from the surrounding foothills. Lastly, as the 184th Regiment patrolled toward Santa Ana, the 17th Regiment attacked toward Dagami. Despite facing strong opposition and difficult swamp conditions, they managed to push 300 yards beyond the enemy stronghold by nightfall, rolling up the defenders' eastern flank. Since the 2d Battalion had borne the brunt of the fighting on 28 October and had suffered numerous casualties, the regimental commander decided to have the battalion drop back into reserve. Although the drive to Dagami was to continue, the north-south line of enemy pillboxes on the left flank of the regiment could not be ignored. At 0800 on 29 October the regimental lines were to be reorganized so that the 3d and 1st Battalions, less Company B, would pass through the 2d Battalion, which would become the regimental reserve. Company B with a platoon of M8's would attack the flank and rear of the enemy in the left line of pillboxes. At 0800, under cover of a heavy artillery concentration from the 49th Field Artillery Battalion, the 1st and 3d Battalions, 17th Infantry, passed through the 2d Battalion without incident. Company B, reinforced by the platoon from the Cannon Company, moved out to destroy the enemy force on the regiment's left flank. The company fought the Japanese from pillbox to pillbox, catching the enemy on his flanks and rear by rifle and machine gun fire, together with time-burst fire from the self-propelled howitzers. This completely demoralized the Japanese, some of whom threw down their arms and tried unsuccessfully to escape. More than 120 enemy dead were counted in the area. The 1st Battalion entered the southern part of Dagami without encountering serious resistance. It then came under artillery fire from the hills west of the town. The 3d Battalion proceeded east of the road in a column of companies in the order L, K, and I, and met no serious opposition until it reached a cemetery south of Dagami. Overgrown with weeds seven to ten feet high and containing stone crypts built off the ground, the cemetery was divided by a path running east to west. As Company L moved into the burial ground, Company I swung around the right (east) side to come into position for the night. The leading elements of Company L passed through the cemetery and Company I moved into position without incident, but as the 1st Platoon of Company L, the reserve platoon, crossed the path, a headstone tilted back and from the open grave four Japanese opened fire with an American Browning automatic rifle and other small arms. The small arms of the 1st Platoon had no effect and it became necessary to bring forward a flame thrower to burn the enemy out. At the same time the platoon received fire from other open graves, from which the Japanese had removed the bodies. By punching holes through the stone they used the crypts as individual foxholes. The platoon broke into small units and pushed through the cemetery, destroying the enemy forces wherever they could be located. Company K, which followed Company I, placed two platoons abreast behind Company L. As it came through the weeds past the cemetery path a Japanese officer charged on the right flank with his saber and wounded one man before he could be brought down. Since the platoons were also receiving heavy fire from the tombs, the commander of Company K drew his men back to the path where they reorganized. Preceded by a battery of six flame throwers, the men then marched shoulder to shoulder through the cemetery and burnt out the enemy. About 1900 the regiment completed the action and formed its night perimeter. During the fighting, the regimental operations officer, hearing the heavy fire and not being able to communicate with the 3d Battalion headquarters, called Company K direct to ascertain if the Japanese had broken through the American lines. "Hell no," was the reported reply, "we're breaking through theirs and fighting for our bivouac." During the night small infiltration parties of Japanese tried unsuccessfully to penetrate the regiment's defenses, and sporadic artillery fire was received from the hills west of Dagami. The following day, the 3rd and 1st Battalions advanced through the 2nd Battalion to continue their northern push, successfully entering Dagami without facing significant opposition. After securing the previous headquarters of the 16th Division, the 17th Battalion spent the next two days conducting mopping-up operations and patrolling the Dagami area, effectively establishing contact with the 19th Regiment across the Binahaan River and the 382nd Regiment to the east. Simultaneously, the 32nd Regiment dispatched its 2nd Battalion toward Abuyog, which was successfully captured by midday. By October 31, Company G had further taken control of Baybay, and the 1st Battalion had landed at Panaon to support the 21st Regiment stationed there. As a result, General Arnold's 7th Division accomplished its objective of capturing the Burauen airstrips and Dagami while linking up with the 96th Division and 10th Corps. This operation resulted in an estimated 4,211 Japanese casualties, with 19 soldiers taken prisoner, while the division incurred 322 killed, 1,064 wounded, and 21 missing. Meanwhile, on October 29, the 381st Regiment executed a tank-supported offensive and ultimately captured Catmon Hill, which would be thoroughly cleared in the following two days. At the same time, Halloran's 3rd Battalion stormed and secured Kiling, with Dill's 2nd Battalion arriving shortly thereafter. On the outskirts of the barrio the battalion met stubborn and determined resistance where the Japanese, with machine guns, mortars, and rifles, fought "to the last man." The resistance was overcome, and by 1500 the Americans occupied the town, which was honeycombed with emplacements and entrenchments. At 1600 the 3d Battalion, 381st Infantry, was relieved by the 2d Battalion, 382d Infantry, which had come up from Tabontabon by truck. At 1800 the 3d Battalion, 381st Infantry, returned by truck to the area north of San Roque. However, the remainder of the 382nd Battalion was unable to penetrate the retreating 9th Regiment towards Kiling, allowing some Japanese forces to evade complete destruction. Nevertheless, Bradley's 96th Division successfully took control of the Catmon Hill mass and the key towns of Tabontabon and Tanauan, resulting in an estimated 2,769 Japanese casualties and 6 prisoners captured, at the cost of 145 men killed, 564 wounded, and 90 missing. On October 29, Colonel Newman's 3rd Battalion advanced northward, leading the charge toward Jaro. They gradually battled through Galotan and quickly captured Jaro without much resistance. The American forces moved so swiftly that Suzuki was unable to implement his strategy of using Jaro as the gathering point for the reinforcements of the 35th Army, compelling him to designate Carigara as the new rendezvous site. Due to the evident Japanese strength in the region, Hoffman ordered his units to bolster defenses in Barugo, with the remaining units of the 1st Squadron, 7th Cavalry arriving by nightfall, followed by the 2nd Squadron, 8th Cavalry on October 31, and the 2nd Squadron, 5th Cavalry on November 1.  At 08:00 on October 30 Colonel Newman ordered the 3rd Battalion of the 34th Regiment to start for Carigara down the highway. As the battalion left the outskirts of Jaro, with Company L in the lead, it came under fire from Japanese who were dug in under shacks along the road. Upon a call from the commanding officer of Company L, the tanks came up in a column, fired under the shacks, and then retired. The leading platoon was drawn back so that artillery fire might be placed on the Japanese, but the enemy could not be located precisely enough to use the artillery. Newman then ordered a cautious movement forward without artillery support, a squad placed on each side of the road and two tanks in the center. The squads had advanced only fifty yards when Japanese fire again pinned them down. When Newman came forward and discovered why the advance was held up he declared, "I'll get the men going okay." Upon hearing that the regimental commander was to lead them, the men started to move forward. The Japanese at once opened fire with artillery and mortars, and Colonel Newman was hit in the stomach. Although badly wounded he tried to devise some means of clearing the situation. After sending a runner back with orders to have the 3rd Battalion fire on the Japanese position, he said, "Leave me here and get mortar fire on that enemy position." As soon as possible Colonel Newman was put on a poncho and dragged back to safety. The following morning, while the 1st Battalion, 19th Regiment moved toward Jaro, the 34th Battalion launched another attack and managed to reach the Yapan River. Despite their fierce assault, the heavy Japanese artillery and flanking fire once again stalled the Americans on their journey to Carigara, allowing the 41st Regiment to withdraw. At this stage, the 5th Air Force had officially set up its forward units on Leyte, tasked with achieving air superiority and attacking Japanese convoys and troop concentrations. However, as the 13th Air Force focused its primary efforts on airfields in bypassed areas. Poor weather had taken its toll on General Krueger's advance. Rainy, monsoon-like conditions confounded his engineers, and airfield construction at Tacloban and Dulag floundered. Landing conditions were still poor. Naval carrier aircraft, from damaged escort carriers, headed to both airfields instead of ditching at sea. As the Navy pilots attempted to land on Leyte, 25 out of 72 planes ended up damaged. Without suitable land-based US air power, the Japanese could continue to launch air attacks. Limited American air power did contest the skies against the Japanese, but could still only provide a minimum of close air support to the American troops. While Japanese aircraft continued to reach targets throughout Leyte, Kinkaid and Halsey's forces had to depart the Leyte region to resupply, so Kenney had to take over with his limited forces. MacArthur did persuade Halsey to maintain Task Group 38.2 in the area when he withdrew most of his fleet on October 29. Kinkaid also left ten escort carriers only by redistributing fleet supplies, but he also had to refit. Nonetheless, Ground commanders criticized Kenney's continued failure to provide close air support. During the early invasion period, naval carrier aviators had delivered direct support. For example, out of the 121 troop support missions from October 20 to 25, pilots flew 33 sorties in direct support of soldiers. With Kinkaid and Halsey's forces departed, Kenney's focus was on air superiority. He had eliminated most close air support missions until later in the campaign. As a result, the infantry had to rely on artillery. The escort carriers of the 7th Fleet, significantly diminished following the Battle of Leyte Gulf, were unable to provide support. Although Admiral Mitscher's carriers did conduct numerous strikes against Japanese shipping in the Visayas and Manila Bay in the last days of October, Task Force 38 had mostly been withdrawn by the end of the month. During the final week of October, the 4th Air Army and the newly-formed 1st Combined Base Air Force maintained a persistent campaign to support ground operations, gradually redirecting their attacks from amphibious shipping and carriers to the enemy-occupied airfields at Tacloban and Dulag.  Though Kenney's airfields still had minimal capacity, he had 34 P-38s from the 49th Fighter Group based at Morotai deployed to Tacloban Airfield on October 27. Three days later, only 20 P-38s remained, as Japanese air attacks destroyed or damaged several of the twin-tailed aircraft. In response, Kenney deployed more P-38s from the 475th Fighter Group. He also assigned six P-61s from the 421st Night Fighter Squadron to counter night attacks. Kenney later replaced them with F6Fs from VMF (N)-541, which improved night patrol and interception missions to include strikes on Japanese night convoys. Thus, Kenney's pilots, led by the elite aces Richard Bong and Thomas McGuire, started to make a difference. Additionally, bombing attacks disrupted airfield construction and caused aircraft losses since they were parked close together due to space limitations. Still, Army engineers with Filipino labor made inroads towards rendering the airfields fully operational. Pilots could now use an expanded 5,000ft runway at Tacloban on October 31. With a growing 5th Air Force presence, the Americans improved their ability to intercept bombers; as a consequence, the Japanese relied more on night attacks. This shift inflicted substantial damage and compelled the Americans to reinforce their positions. Alongside the primary air offensive targeting enemy supply shipping and airfields, Kamikaze units executed suicide attacks against enemy carriers operating off the east coast of the Philippines. Pilots, as well as aircraft of various types, were drawn from the 153d, 601st and 761st Air Groups. The initial corps used only bomb-equipped fighters. However, after the reorganizations of the Kamikaze corps, all types of aircraft were used.  A kamikaze suicide aircraft hit Intrepid on one of her port side gun positions; ten men were killed and another six were wounded, but damage was minimal. The USS Franklin had just refueled and returned to the Leyte action on 27 October, her planes concentrating on a heavy cruiser and two destroyers south of Mindoro. She was under way about 100 miles (160 km) off Samar on 30 October, when enemy bombers appeared bent on a suicide mission. Navy fighters shot down most of the Japanese planes, but six broke through the combat air patrol into Franklin's task group of four carriers defensively surrounded by a circle of about twenty escorting cruisers and destroyers. Shipboard anti-aircraft guns shot down three of the four kamikazes independently diving toward each of the four carriers; but the one targeting Franklin hit the flight deck and crashed through to the gallery deck, killing 56 men and wounding 60. As the remaining two kamikazes attacked, one was shot down by anti-aircraft guns and the second missed Franklin with two bombs before flying into the stern of Belleau Wood. Franklin was able to extinguish fires and patch the flight deck so planes could be recovered 76 minutes after the kamikaze hit. Both carriers retired to Ulithi Atoll for temporary repairs, and then Franklin proceeded to the Puget Sound Navy Yard, arriving on 28 November 1944 for repairs of her battle damage.  Meanwhile, on October 30, the 20th Antitank Battalion was successfully landed at Ormoc. The following day, Mikawa dispatched his remaining two echelons: the second comprised three transports carrying the Imahori Detachment, primarily made up of Colonel Imahori Tetsusaku's 12th Independent Regiment. The third included four transports and four frigates carrying most of Lieutenant-General Kataoka Tadasu's 1st Division along with around 9,000 tons of supplies and ammunition, all under the protection of Rear-Admiral Kimura Masatomi's screen of six destroyers. This would be Mikawa's last convoy, as he would soon be replaced in command of the Southwest Area Fleet by Vice-Admiral Okawachi Denshichi due to his deteriorating health. Following a smooth journey, the Imahori Detachment was quickly disembarked at Ormoc on November 1, with the remainder of the convoy arriving later that night to commence the unloading for the 1st Division. During the day, one of the transports was sent to Cebu to pick up the 35th Army Headquarters, which landed the next morning alongside Kataoka's troops. By noon on November 2, a total of 13,000 soldiers had successfully arrived, culminating in the most effective reinforcement operation of the Leyte campaign, with just one transport lost and another slightly damaged. Turning to the primary action, on November 1, two companies from the 34th Regiment were ordered to execute a broad flanking maneuver and then attack Tunga from the northeast, facing no resistance. This enabled Newman's 1st and 2nd Battalions to advance swiftly down the highway to a point approximately 1,000 yards from Sagkanan. Concerned about the enemy's considerable presence at Carigara, Sibert planned for his two divisions to launch a coordinated assault on the town the following day; however, unbeknownst to him, the disorganized Japanese forces chose to abandon the town and retreat to the mountains southwest of Capoocan. Thus, following a heavy artillery bombardment, the Americans captured Carigara without opposition and promptly established a perimeter, while the 34th Regiment advanced further to Balud, where they encountered intense enemy fire. On that same day, the 382nd Regiment took control of Dagami, from which they would engage the positions of the 16th Division on Bloody Ridge over the coming days. The capture of Carigara marked the completion of the second phase of General Krueger's plan for liberating Leyte. Irving's 24th Division successfully achieved its objectives, resulting in the deaths of approximately 2,970 Japanese soldiers and the capture of 13 prisoners, with their own losses totaling 210 killed, 859 wounded, and 6 missing. Additionally, by October 27, Mudge's 1st Cavalry Division had killed an estimated 739 Japanese and taken 7 prisoners, incurring a loss of 40 men killed, 199 wounded, and 8 missing. The next phase of Krueger's strategy involved two offensives converging on Ormoc: one moving south through Ormoc Valley led by Sibert's 10th Corps and the other advancing north from Baybay under Hodge's 24th Corps. Initially, while certain units of the 24th Corps continued pushing west to bolster troops along Ormoc Bay and clean up in southern Leyte Valley, Sibert's forces aimed to secure control of the Carigara Bay coastline from Carigara to Pinamopoan. Simultaneously, Suzuki sent the experienced 1st Division to Carigara to launch an offensive toward Tacloban. The 1st Division, which had been activated in Tokyo, had served in Manchuria during the "China Incident" and had been transferred to Shanghai in August 1944. Though it had no combat experience, this division was considered by Major-General Tomochika Yoshiharu, deputy chief of staff of the 35th Army, to be the best equipped division of the Japanese Army. Under the command of Lieutenant-General Kataoka Tadasu, it had been held in reserve by Imperial General Headquarters for the decisive battle, and it was sent to Manila with great expectations. Meanwhile the Imahori Detachment moved to the northeastern base of the heights southwest of Jaro to facilitate the assembly of the 26th Division for an impending attack on Jaro. After securing Carigara, the 68th Brigade was set to land in the north as part of the 35th Army reserve, while the 30th Division would land at Albuera on Ormoc Bay and negotiate mountainous trails to Burauen to eliminate all enemy resistance in the Dulag region. As other units of the 102nd Division were moved forward using powered schooners, a reinforced company from the 364th Independent Battalion was also deployed to Albuera to secure the landing site for the 30th Division. On the morning of November 3, the 34th Regiment moved west once again and quickly seized Capoocan, just as Kataoka's vanguard was getting close. Suzuki immediately approved the emergency dispositions already taken and issued orders temporarily attaching the various reinforcement units to the 1st Division. It was impossible, however, to notify Lt. Gen. Kataoka immediately of the changed situation, and the division advance guard moved into the vicinity west of Capoocan at 0900 on 3 November to find itself unexpectedly engaged by the enemy. Badly surprised, the advance guard fell back toward Colasian with the enemy in pursuit. Meanwhile, at 1000, Lt. Gen. Kataoka reached the high ground south of Managasnas. Finding his advance guard engaged, he immediately ordered the 1st Reconnaissance Regiment and the 20th Antitank Battalion to check the enemy advance. At the same time he dispatch ed an order to the division main body to close up at forced march. Although the defenders were initially taken by surprise, they managed to halt the enemy's progress with fierce resistance, ultimately compelling them to withdraw. It was only after artillery bombardment of the ridge parallel to the road that the 34th finally dismantled the Japanese stronghold, establishing their position for the night. Additionally, earlier in the day, Company K had conducted a reconnaissance mission using amphibian tractors from Capoocan to a location just west of Pinamopoan. However, due to heavy enemy fire, the company withdrew and returned to Capoocan. Unbeknownst to the Americans, Kataoka mistakenly perceived this as a battalion-sized enemy assault, prompting him to retreat southwest and position his forces on the eastern end of a long ridge overlooking the coast, referred to as Breakneck Ridge.  Breakneck Ridge, over which Highway 2 corkscrewed its way between Pinamopoan and Limon for about 7200 yards, was actually a hill mass with many spurs branching off from an irregularly shaped crest line toward the shores of Carigara Bay to the north and the Levte River valley to the south. Shoulder-high cogon grass was thick on the low ground, and the pockets between the hills were heavily forested. The valleys were deep, with precipitous sides. The 1st Division had heavily fortified the area, taking advantage of the innumerable thickly wooded pockets that served as natural forts. The Japanese had also built an elaborate system of trenches and other defensive positions and had honeycombed the area with spider holes. Many of the latter were on reverse slopes some distance below the crests and were protected from direct fire. In front of each spider hole the enemy had cut fire lanes through the cogon grass, which was left so short that even a crawling soldier would be exposed to fire. The constant rainfall made the hills slippery and treacherous, and, more important, provided a protective curtain in the day and covered movements of the enemy at night. Following the Japanese withdrawal, the 34th quickly secured Colasian and captured Pinamopoan without opposition the next day. Newman's 3rd Battalion advanced through the town, continuing west along the highway for about 1,700 yards, stopping just short of the ridge. Anticipating a potential enemy amphibious assault via Carigara Bay, Krueger ordered Sibert to defend the Carigara area against any seaborne attack before proceeding southward. Meanwhile, as the divisions of the 10th Corps prepared defensive measures against a possible sea invasion, Colonel Miyauchi Yoshio's 57th Regiment was ordered to get ready to launch an attack from the ridge, as Kataoka believed that the enemy force could be easily cut off. As the newly-arrived 21st Regiment took over from the 34th at the Pinamopoan defenses, the Japanese forces launched an attack on a party of artillery forward observers conducting reconnaissance on OP Hill on November 5. With the artillerymen pinned down, Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick Weber's 3rd Battalion moved in to assist them by the afternoon, successfully securing the northern approaches to OP Hill and the undefended Corkscrew Ridge on the left. Although the Americans were able to fend off the enemy's counterattacks, intense mortar fire on November 6 ultimately compelled them to withdraw. Despite suffering heavy casualties during the battle for Breakneck Ridge, the 1st Division had nearly completed its concentration in the Cananga area and was ready to initiate a broad four-pronged assault. However, the Japanese advance through the mountainous terrain remained exceedingly slow, leaving the 57th Regiment to conduct the attack on its own. Concurrently, Irving attached the 3rd Battalion of the 19th Regiment to the 21st Regiment and ordered the combined force to advance towards Breakneck Ridge. Consequently, Weber's troops launched an assault on Miyauchi's positions, but were completely unsuccessful in breaking through. Dissatisfied with the 21st Regiment's progress and feeling that Weber was insufficiently aggressive, Sibert replaced him with Lieutenant-Colonel William Verbeck, a seasoned veteran of the Alaska Campaign. Verbeck then made an unsuccessful attempt at a wide flanking maneuver to the east but ultimately had to entrench at the edge of Breakneck Ridge by nightfall. On the same day, Colonel Chapman dispatched Company G to Hill 1525, but it lost its way and ended up considerably further east. Thats all we have for today on the Philippines front as we now need to shift over to New Britain. In October, a decision was made to deploy the 40th Division for combat in the Philippines, transferring control of the island to the Australians. This change aligned with the Australian government's intention to utilize their own troops to reclaim territory previously occupied by the Japanese during the war. As a result, General Ramsay's 5th Division began relocating to New Britain, tasked with containing and isolating the Japanese garrison on the Gazelle Peninsula. Ramsay was instructed to maintain pressure on the Japanese forces while avoiding large-scale deployments, permitted only to conduct patrols and minor raids as limited offensive actions. By late October, the 36th Battalion had assumed control at Cape Hoskins, with the remainder of the 6th Brigade slated to land at Jacquinot Bay in early November.  At this time the Japanese had posts at intervals along the south coast as far west as Awul near Cape Dampier. It was decided that the Australian southern guerilla force would be based at Lakiri, a village in the hills two days' march inland from Waterfall Bay, and in an area into which the enemy had not ventured. It possessed a good site for dropping stores from the air and, as a preliminary, some 25,000 pounds of supplies were dropped there. To give added security to the base the Australian-led native guerillas, commanded at this stage by Captain R. I. Skinner, overcame the enemy's coastwatching posts at Palmalmal and Baien, to the south-west and south-east, respectively, killing 23 and taking three prisoners. None survived at Palmalmal, but two escaped from Baien, and it was learnt later that they reached an enemy post at Milim bearing news of what had happened. The south coast group was now placed under the command of Captain Basil Fairfax-Ross, who counted with five officers, 10 Australian N.C.O's, about 140 native troops, and such native allies as could be maintained on an air delivery of 5,000 pounds of supplies a month. After the loss of Baien the Japanese reinforced their post at Milim at the south end of Wide Bay until it was 400 strong. Far to the west they retained posts at Massau and Awul and round Cape Beechey. Fairfax-Ross decided to move discreetly into the strongly-held Wide Bay area, advancing through the hills, concentrating first on winning over the natives , and using the air power available from Bougainville as his trump card . At the same time spies would be sent into the Gazelle Peninsula. In the western area also the first task was to gain information. On 5th June an American patrol from the west led by Lieutenant White of Angau attacked the Awul garrison, which withdrew inland. An Australian platoon under Lieutenant Black thereupon marched from Jacquinot Bay to Lau and Atu. In this area they found that native guerillas about 80 strong had killed 14 Japanese and 14 of their native allies. At Awul they met White and his party. It now seemed that the Japanese from the Atu-Awul area were retreating to the north coast. Guerillas were organized and at Kensina on 18th June, "after pretending to entertain a party of about 50 enemy" , the natives attacked and killed 28, losing 5 of their own men. Black's patrol, in pursuit, found the remainder of the enemy about Rang and i n an attack on 24th June killed nine, but had to withdraw after losing one native N.C.O . As they moved north and east through hostile territory other Japanese were killed. In the eastern section in this period Lieutenant Johnson was winning the support of influential natives in the mountains south-west of Wide Bay. A heavy air attack was made on the main Milim positions on the night of 17th-18th July and as a result the Japanese with- drew some men to a new position away to the west and some men right back to Lemingi in the Gazelle Peninsula. By early September the last of the Japanese stragglers on the south coast west of Wide Bay had been killed; the Japanese had heard many reports of a strong Australian base at Jacquinot Bay-reports circulated by the Australians to dissuade the enemy from advancing westward. This base, although non-existent as yet, was soon to become a reality, and from 5th to 7th September a reconnaissance party, including officers from New Guinea Force and the 5th Division, landed from the corvette Kiama and, guided by Black, examined the area. The two-platoon force reached Milim unnoticed on 12th August, and found the enemy about 150 strong. At dawn they opened an attack in three groups, one to fire on the houses in the Japanese camp, another to fire from the flank, and the third to intercept any reinforcements from the Yaret position 500 yards to the north. Unfortunately a native fired his rifle during the approach, the enemy manned his defenses, and, after a short exchange of fire, the attackers withdrew and placed ambushes across the tracks. The same day the Swan bombarded Milim. After three days of inaction on the part of the Japanese four native soldiers crawled into the enemy's position and killed three, whereafter the Japanese fired into the bush at intervals for 36 hours. This fire ceased on the 18th and soon afterwards the position was found to be abandoned; there was much booty including boats and numerous machine-guns. It was discovered that the enemy had withdrawn to Waitavalo. Fairfax-Ross now moved his forward base to the coast at the Mu River only 6 hours' march from Waitavalo. On 17th and 18th September Fairfax-Ross, Sampson and a platoon, reconnoitring Kamandran, became involved in a fight with a Japanese force about 100 strong. Anticipating that the enemy would retaliate in force the Australians prepared defensive positions and one platoon under Sergeant-Major Josep, an outstanding N.C.O. who had come from the New Guinea Constabulary, was placed on the hillside above Milim to give warning of an enemy advance. On the night of 28th September the Japanese did in fact advance on Milim and on towards the Australian defensive position at the Mu River. Here, however, largely because of Sergeant Ranken's cool handling of his Bren gun, they were repulsed, losing 17 killed. Next day about 200 Japanese reinforcements arrived and, in a firefight with Josep's men whose presence they had not discovered, 16 Japanese and a native ally were killed. The Australians now withdrew inland. Soon the Japanese, about 700 strong, were in their original positions round Milim, where they remained until heavy air attacks on 6th, 7th and 8th October forced them out again. By 10th October the guerilla force was again concentrated at Lakiri. Consequently, on November 4, a small convoy landed the reinforced 14th/32nd Battalion at Jacquinot Bay without  encountering any resistance. In the days following the landing, ground forces secured the Jacquinot Bay area, while a New Guinean company executed an amphibious operation to Pomio on November 6.  The 6th Brigade was gradually transferred to Cutarp, with the final units arriving on December 16. Due to shipping shortages and the low priority for reinforcing forces on New Britain, all components of the 5th Division would not advance to Jacquinot Bay until April 1945. The first echelon of the 13th Brigade arrived on November 26, while the remaining units followed by the end of December. Meanwhile, in the north, the 36th Battalion dispatched patrols to connect with Australian guerrillas at Ulamona, Ubili, and Ea Ea, aiding them in fending off an enemy advance on the Balima River by the end of November.  I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. The Americans were making tremendous progress in the Philippines, advancing through the Ormoc Valley. Despite the terrible odds, it seems the Japanese would not give up an inch of territory without a fight, digging their heels to the very end. Meanwhile the Australians were dealt mop up duty on New Britain and it was going equally as well.

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/medicine

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, his disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/anthropology

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/sociology

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/south-asian-studies

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What happens after colonial industries have run their course—after the factory closes and the fields go fallow? Set in the cinchona plantations of India's Darjeeling Hills, Quinine's Remains: Empire's Medicine and the Life Thereafter (U California Press, 2024) chronicles the history and aftermaths of quinine. Harvested from cinchona bark, quinine was malaria's only remedy until the twentieth-century advent of synthetic drugs, and it was vital to the British Empire. Today, the cinchona plantations—and the roughly fifty thousand people who call them home—remain. Their futures, however, are unclear. The Indian government has threatened to privatize or shut down this seemingly obsolete and crumbling industry, but the plantation community, led by strident trade unions, has successfully resisted. Overgrown cinchona fields and shuttered quinine factories may appear the stuff of postcolonial and postindustrial ruination, but quinine's remains are not dead. Rather, they have become the site of urgent efforts to redefine land and life for the twenty-first century. Quinine's Remains offers a vivid historical and ethnographic portrait of what it means to forge life after empire. Rounak Bose is a doctoral student in History at the University of Delaware. His research explores questions of caste, religiosities, sacred infrastructures, and performance in the interstices of the colonial and postcolonial state, as well as mobilities and circulations across South Asia and Indian Ocean networks. Besides these specific interests, my disciplinary interests revolve around anthropology, literature, and public history, and the digital humanities. When not reading or writing in the university library, Rounak can be found running along Newark's hiking trails and petting the dogs he meets along the way. Link to twitter page Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/british-studies

When he hits you,—find a safe place; take all of your valuables quietly, and report your injuries to multiple. Agencies of authorities; keep the incident well documented, and do not let much time pass between this incident and its report. When he cheats; or you suspect him of cheating, do not confront him; do not look for further evidence. Simply walk away quietly, and do not return; do not give him the opportunity to convince you of anything beyond what you already know; the love you still may have left for him will blind you. Forgive him, but do not return to him: he will only learn better how to evade you, and take advantage of your willingness to forgive or reconcile: he will only alter your mind to believe that his actions were justified, when they were not. Do not stay in contact, as friends, or otherwise; if you work together, find a new job Do not argue or provoke him; keep his pride and ego intact by allowing him to believe he is right, and quietly exit the relationship. One argument is enough. Just break up. Do not stoop to any level below oneself to play mind games, cheat back, or seek vengeance—do not try to persuade friends and family one way or another; make a new life, with new friends—leave him out of it. Walk away. Say nothing. Man lives in a world in which he believes is his own, and yet still ponders on what woman only knows naturally and intrinsically—man's true fault is to believe that it is he from which he henceforth came, however—the toxic society from which in this sense of ‘knowledge' has been built, a society which has exceeded its forecedul oppression has nearly now halted the evolutionary potential of not only the human species, but of most the species known to inhabit the planet earth, as man takes not his ideology of destruction and consummation from nature, but from the darkness and void of confusion created from within, the separation of woman from his own self in the dissolution that the body portrays its own value by the perception of beauty, which marks his endeavors of perfection through material wealth, no such which has substance to any creature dwelling with higher consciousness and ability to change and create without the infliction of pain, in resistance to what itself Love is. What is Love? Love is God and therefore all things which make new upon themselfs to enforce change without limit, restriction, or the separation of ones oneself from all that is, was, or has become An energetic entity which has yet to be understood, as with such understanding, it becomes again as something new and unrecognizable to man, before he himself Men= destroy/ take/ burn love (((Spectrums))) Women= create, make love //Dynamics The imbalance in the world has become such so that almost the whole world has become blind to the truth of love, in only which man finds as a body, but not within himself, and in which women only finds in survival, within herself but bound to the will of man to live freely, which cannot be within his reign of these cruelties and harsh misjudgments. Man only finds value in that which he sees as aesthetically beautiful, which has harmed and entrapped the souls of those now for seen as “wicked”, encased in his blindness to love to any other thing than himself. TVP © The Complex Collective| ALL RIGHTS RESERVED SAM, often called “FAT SAM” is known by his eclectic fashion and heavy stature, and navigates deals and contracts between “the tv people”, or the network, and “the music people”— he is known for his off kilter antics, party culture conessouring, and unique charming laugh. Although a wild creature at best and the party animal of all party animals both off and sometimes even on the clock, often meeting and foreseeing the standards of his superstar clientele, he is kindhearted, honest, and brutally incredible at his job, known throughout the TV world and Music world as a hero, if not a living legend. The world was full of babies and pretty women, the trophy boys and husbands that seemed to worship them, and flock to their every aide—meanwhile, I had become quite frigid, and felt ugly amongst all things—nobody seemed to want me, and instead of wondering why, I alluded it to my features—the rich and poor in New York so horribly segregated that I might as seemed as more the latter, if not just from my skin color alone, let alone my style of dress. Other people's opinions of me, however, were less and less important by the day, and although I wanted more children, there was no settlement as to the kind of man I wanted to attract; Not just wealthy and talented, but handsome—an equation for disaster, but so long as I had my children and was kept well, I wouldn't mind. Another lazy, however arrogant and poor man was not what I needed—and there was power in the gestures of weak people around me that the world had become a hellish place for those who hadn't been given the opportunity to flourish. Am I in? What? Jennifer Aniston? Did it work?! —I—yeah— Pass. Thanks, Jim! You're the man! Watch this. Watch this. Good Shepard! My lord! Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn! Nice. I'm in. Fallon, I don't know how you did this but— Jimmy! You the man! What's up, Jim!!! Yo! *high fives* Yeah. [Jimmy Fallon Is Suddenly] YOU DA MAN “The Man” What in the fuck does that mean? I don't know yet. This guy is obnoxious. It appears to be some kind of magnet for something. Ooh, what is that? Lady, get out of here. Look what I found. I don't know: What is that. It says “iPod” You gotta be joshing me. Let me see that. What. What. What. What. What? … … Nothing. Nevermind. Let me back in! I can't, it's I got—- I'll give you 10 Million Ten million—what? Ten Million Dollars! For what. UGH. Fuck you, dude. F- you—dumb ass little— “Whatever, man” I had half a mind to move the alter into my studio and force myself to fall back asleep, complicit with the fact that I was two days away from spinach and whatever other vitamins I was lacking. I was so tired and sore, and had run out of multivitamins days ago. Maybe this was the lasting effect of ever having taken vitamins and then stopping, and it seemed a cruel gesture to do anything but soak, knowing over all I should walk away from the world entirely. It was beginning to feel a lot like there was no escape from the constant and persistent ask to the universe for peace, protection, and wealth—and no end to the work that had been done, but had yielded not much to prosper. I think that's the point though, so that you second guess your own judgement— That your intrinsic sense of energy Seems to have betrayed you And leaves you somewhat altered. I could have sworn she had blue eyes. She did. Maybe they change. That much?! Who knows. Maybe. One must only be bitten by a dog one good time to learn that dogs can be dangerous—and yet— I had been bitten by the blue eyed many a times and still had somehow found my way into forgiveness, if not for my own sake. Maybe she was wearing contacts. I used to. I had been thinking about investing in new colored contacts to make my eyes appear lighter, and a blonde wig to soften up the dark tan I had gotten unintentionally going about in the summer—still thought, it had been a long summer of not doing anything but going to the food bank, writing, and spinning in circles about how to make money. Long bouts of trying to shut out my old life from my new one, pushing my divorce, and becoming separated entirely from anything once having to do with my name at all. Within reason, I had suffered considerably over nothing, and despite my efforts, there seemed there was nothing I could do to find gains in my own creativity. There was only seeking and never really finding, the things I needed but none of the things I wanted. Everything I owned had been once owned by someone else, besides the few items I should have not even considered my own, but belonging to the world almost as much as I had. I was tired, consistently grief stricken, and felt unwelcome entirely by the entire world—or at least—an entire generation of people that were my own, but had learned not to respect what I had become— broke, and in turn, broken. Sometimes I want to cry like Marcy D'Arcy in the 6th season of Married With Children. I only smile when I see the color yellow and then dream of him, Seeking nothing but solace At the concourse, we converse momentarily And then go our separate ways Forever and always Forever and always Your secrets I smell like dirt And arrived in the real world Covered in blood And scraped over the, Over the knees, Yes I did Come recover then, What you've lost from the world Born in chaos, not quite But almost, as we're once swarmed the waters Keep it better quiet, now Keep it better quiet now, Keep it better quiet now, your secrets There lies no tru loyalty to bands tied On middle fingers Besides to one's own self And they who they shall Desire and claim as another Extension of God, In her Or their arms There is no claim to faith or mercy Than what comes between us, Bombshells As argued in chaos —mother, you're not listening To the call of the wild Then now, How am i bound to that besides being In sanctity The obnoxious obese man who drove the loud motorcycle up and down the street was obviously a very weak man—and he wanted the world to know it. His loud and obnoxious roaring must have overcompensated for his sloppy, fat and sagging body, which hung over the seat and sides of the motorcycle—the excessive revving of the engine must have been to let the world know that this was his power—having earned the money to ride a motorcycle; but in all other ways he was obviously lost, his slothemly and gluttonous blob of a body almost making the oversized Harley look like a play bike, his tiny penis probably covered to its top in whale blubber; he clearly had no other way to feel powerful, besides of course— being the leader of a gang of mindless peasant monkeys, who all would do anything for their own bikes—monkey see, monkey do. Perhaps his obesity to the third world unthinking drone slaves was a sign of his dominance—or they lived in fear that he would eat them. Obesity aside, it was his force of obnoxious harassment that had designated him as an obviously insufferably weak subhuman— much like a bully who dealt with his own faults by terrorizing others, such was the man with the Harley. There was nothing impressive about him besides his bike—and since he had abused that with such outright offense, even that made him look stupid. He raced his engine as if to say “look at ME! I have arrived!” But after actually glimpsing at the blob, it was hard to not laugh at it. He was hard to miss anyway, and probably should have opted for a truck or some sort of SUV to hide his intolerant and debilitating self-inflicted illness— the inability to control when and how much to eat, or how to do anything besides ride up and down the street on a motorcycle—perhaps a walk could do some good; in definite need of a jog, and a strict diet. I was embarrassed for him, and most people who weren't so obviously diseased and more in the like of self indulgent and lazy—I had once been like them, but no longer, and first and foremost I believed in respecting my neighbors, treating others as I wished to be treated. I wished to live in a quiet and safe neighborhood, but the obnoxious morbidly obese man alone was a symbol of the disastrous mark capitalism had made on the American empire—lazy, docile, greedy, potbellied idiots accounted for all too many of the world. I knew that with the desire to change, that one could change—now to force myself to believe that with the desire to succeed in something, one could succeed—I was at least trying. But the weak and uncontrolled idiots spawning from holes in the underworld and buzzing around like the pests and roaches they were reminded me that if anything, these imbiciles were decent at almost nothing but breeding other fucking idiots. Hopefully, one day my own blood would grow up to want to work out with me, eat well, and change from appearing as his weaker half— lazy, obese idiot just the same as these, however—at the very least, the roaches were fastidious. They buzzed around under the illusion that working for the American system would grant them anything besides a motorbike and some fresh looking street wear, the attention of girls too stupid to understand that 99% of men simply weren't worth wasting time with or on, and unknowing to this or their own worth, would still do it anyway, Some of the bikers had girls on the back; I always felt bad for the girl on the back of the motorcycle rather than jealous—I would rather be at the helm of the thing, riding it for myself. Then, thinking back to a time before I realized how crowded cities were, sighting that there should be laws against loud vehicles in urban areas such as this— there was at lot more open road than not in LA—highways, that is, and bikes were easy to maneuver through heavy traffic. New York was another story—congested, overpopulated, and now filled with a disease which added to its decay at a quicker rate than ever. The illegal immigration crisis was much like a rodent or insect infestation, but harder to control—one simply could not exterminate millions of actual humans, and yet, the problem was still the same— this was a disease, a pest infestation, as most of the immigrants weren't working, but simply subsisting on the taxpayers dollars they were allocated and finding ways not to work; they were parasites, many of them set to explode with more parasites. We had indeed been infiltrated, and made to pay for it, both in restlessness, and in dread. Culturally inept to most decencies as even the crudest Americans had been bred with, many although not all roamed around like feeble minded children in brand new Nike wear, munching on fast food and candy as if guests to some kind of amusement park—however, to the thoroughbred tax paying Americans, this was no amusement; it was a distressing, eye opening wake up call that something had gone terribly wrong, on the already overworked working class' time and hard earned money. It might have seemed cold and calloused to think of them as rodents—but, always observant, I also much believed in calling a duck a duck; most of them were not respectful, pushed and shoved, threw trash everywhere— and left their minor children to roam about or even put them to work, unaware of what child labor laws were; they used their unborn children as anchors to be able to stay where neither they were truly welcome or belonged, bloating the welfare system and benefitting from funds that had been laid to them with taxpayers dollars. The United States of America had its own problems, and its own citizens being overlooked, once again the needs of continually systemized blacks and other minorities falling victim to this new wave of people to care for. The capitalists had sold out the working class once and for all—the immigrants needed to go, and probably would, eventually tiring of the unattainable American dream we all had been sold, but they had been gimmicked into attempting to create— all to supplement an oncoming election. An election which really gave the people no choice at all, besides gawking, debating ignorantly about misinformation, and of course—intrinsically siding with the good old American narcissism which would force them to take the side of whoever supported who looked like them— the Latino vote was obviously an important factor—and of course the polished machismo and Latin pride of those being supplemented by the income of their friends and relatives come to stay, though unknowingly, chunks of money out of their own tax paying pockets, would vote for the most lenient immigration plans—probably the safest bet, the presidential office mere puppetry at all anymore. However, it had been obvious that the Right has set The Left up for disaster by allowing the black to have been shifted blue—though the rational explanation for the reallocated funding fell directly and logistically to the right. The Oval itself, empty and the actual control belonging to the wealthiest billionaires and corporations whose hopes of the thousands of migrants becoming their corporate slaves had mostly backfired terribly. With any hope, many of them would take what they could, and travel back below the border where life was simple, food was fresh, and without need to play the part of the facade of the American dream—no need for the material goods and fashionable street wear supplied by the American taxpayers—no need for iPhones and all of the decorations the taxpayers had supplemented for them—no need to live up to the ridiculous standards of actually being an “American”, which in reality, by now meant working so much that there was no peace, there was no rest, and there was no real freedom—and as a working class or poverty level citizen, having to compensate for everything and everyone around you, always working harder for less— and purposely being kept back and behind as the wealthy elite closed their circles tighter, shutting out the ugly, the brown and black, and those deemed unworthy out of their precious world. {Enter The Multiverse} Secret President Make the old man laugh– –make The Old Man break a sweat Make the old man dance (Make The Old Man Young Again) Make The Old Man dance, I said Wise Owl My server be your server; My proxy, thine proxy… WHOOPI GOLDBERG (as The Cosmic Owl) sits crouched over a nest of stone and earthen metals of precious kind, enchanting within the thick smoke of incense and fragrant oils, with a whispered chant, evoking with spirit and summoning with force–a spell of all spells; a worldly ritual. Her golden turban matches the embellishments; the royally fashioned robe and chains around her neck, bangles and ribbons of gold and silver draped with the hooded cape of which the grand sleeves, falling into the grand purple flowing train of the cascading draperies. Meanwhile… Come on, we don't got all day… –”we”? I don't got time! MEANWHILE, CHRISTOPHER WALKEN awaits at the corridor of an unknown marker, inside of a train station–which appears altogether to be in a different time; altogether a different place; the period of his dress appears perhaps late 1800's; his pocketwatch, which he checks sporadically–also golden. ALSO MEANWHILE So this is Casper, huh? This–yeah. The friendly ghost. Well– AGH. He used to be, anyway. Why are you not making any sense!? I asked for PROTECTION! I gave you LIGHT! That's not a protection! It's a target! What the fuck ar eyou talking about? *vampire* {instant kills vampire} *demon* {Instant kills demon} THESE THINGS EAT LIGHT. Well. I don't know how to help you. Get me out of here! I can't do that! i told u i was deadmau5, man. Wtf. wait , like, all of it? ya. shoot that nigga. LIVE: All the Niggaz is getting shooted at. EVERYONE ELSE …that was already happening, tho. WHITE SUPREMACISTS *shrugs* *drinks another bottle of coca cola* *trashes entire planet* *doesn't feel* Lol BLANG-BLANG. MEANWRHILE: DEADMAu5 NO, I'm TEsTPiLOT Whatever, dog. KILL THAT N– DEADMAU5 LOOK AT MA DIK. …ok. Wasn't there another scene after this? I dunno, I got dick-stracted. Yikes UNTIE ME. UNITY. UNITYYYYYYYYYYY. WHAT. UNTIE ME FROM THIS–THING. No, actually, I think you should stay there. The most bizzare thing happened this morning. The most bizzare thing ever, to have happened to me, ever—which is saying a lot l— but I was scratching my head, and all of a sudden, This tiny fingernail— An itty, bitty teeny-tiny fingernail, like, Dislodged itself from my soul or something— Fell out of my hair, Okay, God. What. This baby fingernail— Like, okay it could be like a newborn big toe nail or like, A one month's old like actual finger Aww, I just used to bite them. They were so little I didn't want to cut them with the clippers. Their little fingers You don't want to accidentally— You know, They're just so soft. Awws. What the fuck, God. That makes no sense. I've been primarily by myself for like—ever— And anytime I'm in public, I'm wearing a hat— My wash machine is only used by me, thank god and What the fuck does this mean? Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive. {Enter The Multiverse} GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could know where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” HOTDOG-HOTDOG. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Showrunner: Matt Weiner Peggy: Elizabeth Moss

When he hits you,—find a safe place; take all of your valuables quietly, and report your injuries to multiple. Agencies of authorities; keep the incident well documented, and do not let much time pass between this incident and its report. When he cheats; or you suspect him of cheating, do not confront him; do not look for further evidence. Simply walk away quietly, and do not return; do not give him the opportunity to convince you of anything beyond what you already know; the love you still may have left for him will blind you. Forgive him, but do not return to him: he will only learn better how to evade you, and take advantage of your willingness to forgive or reconcile: he will only alter your mind to believe that his actions were justified, when they were not. Do not stay in contact, as friends, or otherwise; if you work together, find a new job Do not argue or provoke him; keep his pride and ego intact by allowing him to believe he is right, and quietly exit the relationship. One argument is enough. Just break up. Do not stoop to any level below oneself to play mind games, cheat back, or seek vengeance—do not try to persuade friends and family one way or another; make a new life, with new friends—leave him out of it. Walk away. Say nothing. Man lives in a world in which he believes is his own, and yet still ponders on what woman only knows naturally and intrinsically—man's true fault is to believe that it is he from which he henceforth came, however—the toxic society from which in this sense of ‘knowledge' has been built, a society which has exceeded its forecedul oppression has nearly now halted the evolutionary potential of not only the human species, but of most the species known to inhabit the planet earth, as man takes not his ideology of destruction and consummation from nature, but from the darkness and void of confusion created from within, the separation of woman from his own self in the dissolution that the body portrays its own value by the perception of beauty, which marks his endeavors of perfection through material wealth, no such which has substance to any creature dwelling with higher consciousness and ability to change and create without the infliction of pain, in resistance to what itself Love is. What is Love? Love is God and therefore all things which make new upon themselfs to enforce change without limit, restriction, or the separation of ones oneself from all that is, was, or has become An energetic entity which has yet to be understood, as with such understanding, it becomes again as something new and unrecognizable to man, before he himself Men= destroy/ take/ burn love (((Spectrums))) Women= create, make love //Dynamics The imbalance in the world has become such so that almost the whole world has become blind to the truth of love, in only which man finds as a body, but not within himself, and in which women only finds in survival, within herself but bound to the will of man to live freely, which cannot be within his reign of these cruelties and harsh misjudgments. Man only finds value in that which he sees as aesthetically beautiful, which has harmed and entrapped the souls of those now for seen as “wicked”, encased in his blindness to love to any other thing than himself. TVP © The Complex Collective| ALL RIGHTS RESERVED SAM, often called “FAT SAM” is known by his eclectic fashion and heavy stature, and navigates deals and contracts between “the tv people”, or the network, and “the music people”— he is known for his off kilter antics, party culture conessouring, and unique charming laugh. Although a wild creature at best and the party animal of all party animals both off and sometimes even on the clock, often meeting and foreseeing the standards of his superstar clientele, he is kindhearted, honest, and brutally incredible at his job, known throughout the TV world and Music world as a hero, if not a living legend. The world was full of babies and pretty women, the trophy boys and husbands that seemed to worship them, and flock to their every aide—meanwhile, I had become quite frigid, and felt ugly amongst all things—nobody seemed to want me, and instead of wondering why, I alluded it to my features—the rich and poor in New York so horribly segregated that I might as seemed as more the latter, if not just from my skin color alone, let alone my style of dress. Other people's opinions of me, however, were less and less important by the day, and although I wanted more children, there was no settlement as to the kind of man I wanted to attract; Not just wealthy and talented, but handsome—an equation for disaster, but so long as I had my children and was kept well, I wouldn't mind. Another lazy, however arrogant and poor man was not what I needed—and there was power in the gestures of weak people around me that the world had become a hellish place for those who hadn't been given the opportunity to flourish. Am I in? What? Jennifer Aniston? Did it work?! —I—yeah— Pass. Thanks, Jim! You're the man! Watch this. Watch this. Good Shepard! My lord! Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn! Nice. I'm in. Fallon, I don't know how you did this but— Jimmy! You the man! What's up, Jim!!! Yo! *high fives* Yeah. [Jimmy Fallon Is Suddenly] YOU DA MAN “The Man” What in the fuck does that mean? I don't know yet. This guy is obnoxious. It appears to be some kind of magnet for something. Ooh, what is that? Lady, get out of here. Look what I found. I don't know: What is that. It says “iPod” You gotta be joshing me. Let me see that. What. What. What. What. What? … … Nothing. Nevermind. Let me back in! I can't, it's I got—- I'll give you 10 Million Ten million—what? Ten Million Dollars! For what. UGH. Fuck you, dude. F- you—dumb ass little— “Whatever, man” I had half a mind to move the alter into my studio and force myself to fall back asleep, complicit with the fact that I was two days away from spinach and whatever other vitamins I was lacking. I was so tired and sore, and had run out of multivitamins days ago. Maybe this was the lasting effect of ever having taken vitamins and then stopping, and it seemed a cruel gesture to do anything but soak, knowing over all I should walk away from the world entirely. It was beginning to feel a lot like there was no escape from the constant and persistent ask to the universe for peace, protection, and wealth—and no end to the work that had been done, but had yielded not much to prosper. I think that's the point though, so that you second guess your own judgement— That your intrinsic sense of energy Seems to have betrayed you And leaves you somewhat altered. I could have sworn she had blue eyes. She did. Maybe they change. That much?! Who knows. Maybe. One must only be bitten by a dog one good time to learn that dogs can be dangerous—and yet— I had been bitten by the blue eyed many a times and still had somehow found my way into forgiveness, if not for my own sake. Maybe she was wearing contacts. I used to. I had been thinking about investing in new colored contacts to make my eyes appear lighter, and a blonde wig to soften up the dark tan I had gotten unintentionally going about in the summer—still thought, it had been a long summer of not doing anything but going to the food bank, writing, and spinning in circles about how to make money. Long bouts of trying to shut out my old life from my new one, pushing my divorce, and becoming separated entirely from anything once having to do with my name at all. Within reason, I had suffered considerably over nothing, and despite my efforts, there seemed there was nothing I could do to find gains in my own creativity. There was only seeking and never really finding, the things I needed but none of the things I wanted. Everything I owned had been once owned by someone else, besides the few items I should have not even considered my own, but belonging to the world almost as much as I had. I was tired, consistently grief stricken, and felt unwelcome entirely by the entire world—or at least—an entire generation of people that were my own, but had learned not to respect what I had become— broke, and in turn, broken. Sometimes I want to cry like Marcy D'Arcy in the 6th season of Married With Children. I only smile when I see the color yellow and then dream of him, Seeking nothing but solace At the concourse, we converse momentarily And then go our separate ways Forever and always Forever and always Your secrets I smell like dirt And arrived in the real world Covered in blood And scraped over the, Over the knees, Yes I did Come recover then, What you've lost from the world Born in chaos, not quite But almost, as we're once swarmed the waters Keep it better quiet, now Keep it better quiet now, Keep it better quiet now, your secrets There lies no tru loyalty to bands tied On middle fingers Besides to one's own self And they who they shall Desire and claim as another Extension of God, In her Or their arms There is no claim to faith or mercy Than what comes between us, Bombshells As argued in chaos —mother, you're not listening To the call of the wild Then now, How am i bound to that besides being In sanctity The obnoxious obese man who drove the loud motorcycle up and down the street was obviously a very weak man—and he wanted the world to know it. His loud and obnoxious roaring must have overcompensated for his sloppy, fat and sagging body, which hung over the seat and sides of the motorcycle—the excessive revving of the engine must have been to let the world know that this was his power—having earned the money to ride a motorcycle; but in all other ways he was obviously lost, his slothemly and gluttonous blob of a body almost making the oversized Harley look like a play bike, his tiny penis probably covered to its top in whale blubber; he clearly had no other way to feel powerful, besides of course— being the leader of a gang of mindless peasant monkeys, who all would do anything for their own bikes—monkey see, monkey do. Perhaps his obesity to the third world unthinking drone slaves was a sign of his dominance—or they lived in fear that he would eat them. Obesity aside, it was his force of obnoxious harassment that had designated him as an obviously insufferably weak subhuman— much like a bully who dealt with his own faults by terrorizing others, such was the man with the Harley. There was nothing impressive about him besides his bike—and since he had abused that with such outright offense, even that made him look stupid. He raced his engine as if to say “look at ME! I have arrived!” But after actually glimpsing at the blob, it was hard to not laugh at it. He was hard to miss anyway, and probably should have opted for a truck or some sort of SUV to hide his intolerant and debilitating self-inflicted illness— the inability to control when and how much to eat, or how to do anything besides ride up and down the street on a motorcycle—perhaps a walk could do some good; in definite need of a jog, and a strict diet. I was embarrassed for him, and most people who weren't so obviously diseased and more in the like of self indulgent and lazy—I had once been like them, but no longer, and first and foremost I believed in respecting my neighbors, treating others as I wished to be treated. I wished to live in a quiet and safe neighborhood, but the obnoxious morbidly obese man alone was a symbol of the disastrous mark capitalism had made on the American empire—lazy, docile, greedy, potbellied idiots accounted for all too many of the world. I knew that with the desire to change, that one could change—now to force myself to believe that with the desire to succeed in something, one could succeed—I was at least trying. But the weak and uncontrolled idiots spawning from holes in the underworld and buzzing around like the pests and roaches they were reminded me that if anything, these imbiciles were decent at almost nothing but breeding other fucking idiots. Hopefully, one day my own blood would grow up to want to work out with me, eat well, and change from appearing as his weaker half— lazy, obese idiot just the same as these, however—at the very least, the roaches were fastidious. They buzzed around under the illusion that working for the American system would grant them anything besides a motorbike and some fresh looking street wear, the attention of girls too stupid to understand that 99% of men simply weren't worth wasting time with or on, and unknowing to this or their own worth, would still do it anyway, Some of the bikers had girls on the back; I always felt bad for the girl on the back of the motorcycle rather than jealous—I would rather be at the helm of the thing, riding it for myself. Then, thinking back to a time before I realized how crowded cities were, sighting that there should be laws against loud vehicles in urban areas such as this— there was at lot more open road than not in LA—highways, that is, and bikes were easy to maneuver through heavy traffic. New York was another story—congested, overpopulated, and now filled with a disease which added to its decay at a quicker rate than ever. The illegal immigration crisis was much like a rodent or insect infestation, but harder to control—one simply could not exterminate millions of actual humans, and yet, the problem was still the same— this was a disease, a pest infestation, as most of the immigrants weren't working, but simply subsisting on the taxpayers dollars they were allocated and finding ways not to work; they were parasites, many of them set to explode with more parasites. We had indeed been infiltrated, and made to pay for it, both in restlessness, and in dread. Culturally inept to most decencies as even the crudest Americans had been bred with, many although not all roamed around like feeble minded children in brand new Nike wear, munching on fast food and candy as if guests to some kind of amusement park—however, to the thoroughbred tax paying Americans, this was no amusement; it was a distressing, eye opening wake up call that something had gone terribly wrong, on the already overworked working class' time and hard earned money. It might have seemed cold and calloused to think of them as rodents—but, always observant, I also much believed in calling a duck a duck; most of them were not respectful, pushed and shoved, threw trash everywhere— and left their minor children to roam about or even put them to work, unaware of what child labor laws were; they used their unborn children as anchors to be able to stay where neither they were truly welcome or belonged, bloating the welfare system and benefitting from funds that had been laid to them with taxpayers dollars. The United States of America had its own problems, and its own citizens being overlooked, once again the needs of continually systemized blacks and other minorities falling victim to this new wave of people to care for. The capitalists had sold out the working class once and for all—the immigrants needed to go, and probably would, eventually tiring of the unattainable American dream we all had been sold, but they had been gimmicked into attempting to create— all to supplement an oncoming election. An election which really gave the people no choice at all, besides gawking, debating ignorantly about misinformation, and of course—intrinsically siding with the good old American narcissism which would force them to take the side of whoever supported who looked like them— the Latino vote was obviously an important factor—and of course the polished machismo and Latin pride of those being supplemented by the income of their friends and relatives come to stay, though unknowingly, chunks of money out of their own tax paying pockets, would vote for the most lenient immigration plans—probably the safest bet, the presidential office mere puppetry at all anymore. However, it had been obvious that the Right has set The Left up for disaster by allowing the black to have been shifted blue—though the rational explanation for the reallocated funding fell directly and logistically to the right. The Oval itself, empty and the actual control belonging to the wealthiest billionaires and corporations whose hopes of the thousands of migrants becoming their corporate slaves had mostly backfired terribly. With any hope, many of them would take what they could, and travel back below the border where life was simple, food was fresh, and without need to play the part of the facade of the American dream—no need for the material goods and fashionable street wear supplied by the American taxpayers—no need for iPhones and all of the decorations the taxpayers had supplemented for them—no need to live up to the ridiculous standards of actually being an “American”, which in reality, by now meant working so much that there was no peace, there was no rest, and there was no real freedom—and as a working class or poverty level citizen, having to compensate for everything and everyone around you, always working harder for less— and purposely being kept back and behind as the wealthy elite closed their circles tighter, shutting out the ugly, the brown and black, and those deemed unworthy out of their precious world. {Enter The Multiverse} Secret President Make the old man laugh– –make The Old Man break a sweat Make the old man dance (Make The Old Man Young Again) Make The Old Man dance, I said Wise Owl My server be your server; My proxy, thine proxy… WHOOPI GOLDBERG (as The Cosmic Owl) sits crouched over a nest of stone and earthen metals of precious kind, enchanting within the thick smoke of incense and fragrant oils, with a whispered chant, evoking with spirit and summoning with force–a spell of all spells; a worldly ritual. Her golden turban matches the embellishments; the royally fashioned robe and chains around her neck, bangles and ribbons of gold and silver draped with the hooded cape of which the grand sleeves, falling into the grand purple flowing train of the cascading draperies. Meanwhile… Come on, we don't got all day… –”we”? I don't got time! MEANWHILE, CHRISTOPHER WALKEN awaits at the corridor of an unknown marker, inside of a train station–which appears altogether to be in a different time; altogether a different place; the period of his dress appears perhaps late 1800's; his pocketwatch, which he checks sporadically–also golden. ALSO MEANWHILE So this is Casper, huh? This–yeah. The friendly ghost. Well– AGH. He used to be, anyway. Why are you not making any sense!? I asked for PROTECTION! I gave you LIGHT! That's not a protection! It's a target! What the fuck ar eyou talking about? *vampire* {instant kills vampire} *demon* {Instant kills demon} THESE THINGS EAT LIGHT. Well. I don't know how to help you. Get me out of here! I can't do that! i told u i was deadmau5, man. Wtf. wait , like, all of it? ya. shoot that nigga. LIVE: All the Niggaz is getting shooted at. EVERYONE ELSE …that was already happening, tho. WHITE SUPREMACISTS *shrugs* *drinks another bottle of coca cola* *trashes entire planet* *doesn't feel* Lol BLANG-BLANG. MEANWRHILE: DEADMAu5 NO, I'm TEsTPiLOT Whatever, dog. KILL THAT N– DEADMAU5 LOOK AT MA DIK. …ok. Wasn't there another scene after this? I dunno, I got dick-stracted. Yikes UNTIE ME. UNITY. UNITYYYYYYYYYYY. WHAT. UNTIE ME FROM THIS–THING. No, actually, I think you should stay there. The most bizzare thing happened this morning. The most bizzare thing ever, to have happened to me, ever—which is saying a lot l— but I was scratching my head, and all of a sudden, This tiny fingernail— An itty, bitty teeny-tiny fingernail, like, Dislodged itself from my soul or something— Fell out of my hair, Okay, God. What. This baby fingernail— Like, okay it could be like a newborn big toe nail or like, A one month's old like actual finger Aww, I just used to bite them. They were so little I didn't want to cut them with the clippers. Their little fingers You don't want to accidentally— You know, They're just so soft. Awws. What the fuck, God. That makes no sense. I've been primarily by myself for like—ever— And anytime I'm in public, I'm wearing a hat— My wash machine is only used by me, thank god and What the fuck does this mean? Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive. {Enter The Multiverse} GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could know where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” HOTDOG-HOTDOG. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Showrunner: Matt Weiner Peggy: Elizabeth Moss

When he hits you,—find a safe place; take all of your valuables quietly, and report your injuries to multiple. Agencies of authorities; keep the incident well documented, and do not let much time pass between this incident and its report. When he cheats; or you suspect him of cheating, do not confront him; do not look for further evidence. Simply walk away quietly, and do not return; do not give him the opportunity to convince you of anything beyond what you already know; the love you still may have left for him will blind you. Forgive him, but do not return to him: he will only learn better how to evade you, and take advantage of your willingness to forgive or reconcile: he will only alter your mind to believe that his actions were justified, when they were not. Do not stay in contact, as friends, or otherwise; if you work together, find a new job Do not argue or provoke him; keep his pride and ego intact by allowing him to believe he is right, and quietly exit the relationship. One argument is enough. Just break up. Do not stoop to any level below oneself to play mind games, cheat back, or seek vengeance—do not try to persuade friends and family one way or another; make a new life, with new friends—leave him out of it. Walk away. Say nothing. Man lives in a world in which he believes is his own, and yet still ponders on what woman only knows naturally and intrinsically—man's true fault is to believe that it is he from which he henceforth came, however—the toxic society from which in this sense of ‘knowledge' has been built, a society which has exceeded its forecedul oppression has nearly now halted the evolutionary potential of not only the human species, but of most the species known to inhabit the planet earth, as man takes not his ideology of destruction and consummation from nature, but from the darkness and void of confusion created from within, the separation of woman from his own self in the dissolution that the body portrays its own value by the perception of beauty, which marks his endeavors of perfection through material wealth, no such which has substance to any creature dwelling with higher consciousness and ability to change and create without the infliction of pain, in resistance to what itself Love is. What is Love? Love is God and therefore all things which make new upon themselfs to enforce change without limit, restriction, or the separation of ones oneself from all that is, was, or has become An energetic entity which has yet to be understood, as with such understanding, it becomes again as something new and unrecognizable to man, before he himself Men= destroy/ take/ burn love (((Spectrums))) Women= create, make love //Dynamics The imbalance in the world has become such so that almost the whole world has become blind to the truth of love, in only which man finds as a body, but not within himself, and in which women only finds in survival, within herself but bound to the will of man to live freely, which cannot be within his reign of these cruelties and harsh misjudgments. Man only finds value in that which he sees as aesthetically beautiful, which has harmed and entrapped the souls of those now for seen as “wicked”, encased in his blindness to love to any other thing than himself. TVP © The Complex Collective| ALL RIGHTS RESERVED SAM, often called “FAT SAM” is known by his eclectic fashion and heavy stature, and navigates deals and contracts between “the tv people”, or the network, and “the music people”— he is known for his off kilter antics, party culture conessouring, and unique charming laugh. Although a wild creature at best and the party animal of all party animals both off and sometimes even on the clock, often meeting and foreseeing the standards of his superstar clientele, he is kindhearted, honest, and brutally incredible at his job, known throughout the TV world and Music world as a hero, if not a living legend. The world was full of babies and pretty women, the trophy boys and husbands that seemed to worship them, and flock to their every aide—meanwhile, I had become quite frigid, and felt ugly amongst all things—nobody seemed to want me, and instead of wondering why, I alluded it to my features—the rich and poor in New York so horribly segregated that I might as seemed as more the latter, if not just from my skin color alone, let alone my style of dress. Other people's opinions of me, however, were less and less important by the day, and although I wanted more children, there was no settlement as to the kind of man I wanted to attract; Not just wealthy and talented, but handsome—an equation for disaster, but so long as I had my children and was kept well, I wouldn't mind. Another lazy, however arrogant and poor man was not what I needed—and there was power in the gestures of weak people around me that the world had become a hellish place for those who hadn't been given the opportunity to flourish. Am I in? What? Jennifer Aniston? Did it work?! —I—yeah— Pass. Thanks, Jim! You're the man! Watch this. Watch this. Good Shepard! My lord! Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn! Nice. I'm in. Fallon, I don't know how you did this but— Jimmy! You the man! What's up, Jim!!! Yo! *high fives* Yeah. [Jimmy Fallon Is Suddenly] YOU DA MAN “The Man” What in the fuck does that mean? I don't know yet. This guy is obnoxious. It appears to be some kind of magnet for something. Ooh, what is that? Lady, get out of here. Look what I found. I don't know: What is that. It says “iPod” You gotta be joshing me. Let me see that. What. What. What. What. What? … … Nothing. Nevermind. Let me back in! I can't, it's I got—- I'll give you 10 Million Ten million—what? Ten Million Dollars! For what. UGH. Fuck you, dude. F- you—dumb ass little— “Whatever, man” I had half a mind to move the alter into my studio and force myself to fall back asleep, complicit with the fact that I was two days away from spinach and whatever other vitamins I was lacking. I was so tired and sore, and had run out of multivitamins days ago. Maybe this was the lasting effect of ever having taken vitamins and then stopping, and it seemed a cruel gesture to do anything but soak, knowing over all I should walk away from the world entirely. It was beginning to feel a lot like there was no escape from the constant and persistent ask to the universe for peace, protection, and wealth—and no end to the work that had been done, but had yielded not much to prosper. I think that's the point though, so that you second guess your own judgement— That your intrinsic sense of energy Seems to have betrayed you And leaves you somewhat altered. I could have sworn she had blue eyes. She did. Maybe they change. That much?! Who knows. Maybe. One must only be bitten by a dog one good time to learn that dogs can be dangerous—and yet— I had been bitten by the blue eyed many a times and still had somehow found my way into forgiveness, if not for my own sake. Maybe she was wearing contacts. I used to. I had been thinking about investing in new colored contacts to make my eyes appear lighter, and a blonde wig to soften up the dark tan I had gotten unintentionally going about in the summer—still thought, it had been a long summer of not doing anything but going to the food bank, writing, and spinning in circles about how to make money. Long bouts of trying to shut out my old life from my new one, pushing my divorce, and becoming separated entirely from anything once having to do with my name at all. Within reason, I had suffered considerably over nothing, and despite my efforts, there seemed there was nothing I could do to find gains in my own creativity. There was only seeking and never really finding, the things I needed but none of the things I wanted. Everything I owned had been once owned by someone else, besides the few items I should have not even considered my own, but belonging to the world almost as much as I had. I was tired, consistently grief stricken, and felt unwelcome entirely by the entire world—or at least—an entire generation of people that were my own, but had learned not to respect what I had become— broke, and in turn, broken. Sometimes I want to cry like Marcy D'Arcy in the 6th season of Married With Children. I only smile when I see the color yellow and then dream of him, Seeking nothing but solace At the concourse, we converse momentarily And then go our separate ways Forever and always Forever and always Your secrets I smell like dirt And arrived in the real world Covered in blood And scraped over the, Over the knees, Yes I did Come recover then, What you've lost from the world Born in chaos, not quite But almost, as we're once swarmed the waters Keep it better quiet, now Keep it better quiet now, Keep it better quiet now, your secrets There lies no tru loyalty to bands tied On middle fingers Besides to one's own self And they who they shall Desire and claim as another Extension of God, In her Or their arms There is no claim to faith or mercy Than what comes between us, Bombshells As argued in chaos —mother, you're not listening To the call of the wild Then now, How am i bound to that besides being In sanctity The obnoxious obese man who drove the loud motorcycle up and down the street was obviously a very weak man—and he wanted the world to know it. His loud and obnoxious roaring must have overcompensated for his sloppy, fat and sagging body, which hung over the seat and sides of the motorcycle—the excessive revving of the engine must have been to let the world know that this was his power—having earned the money to ride a motorcycle; but in all other ways he was obviously lost, his slothemly and gluttonous blob of a body almost making the oversized Harley look like a play bike, his tiny penis probably covered to its top in whale blubber; he clearly had no other way to feel powerful, besides of course— being the leader of a gang of mindless peasant monkeys, who all would do anything for their own bikes—monkey see, monkey do. Perhaps his obesity to the third world unthinking drone slaves was a sign of his dominance—or they lived in fear that he would eat them. Obesity aside, it was his force of obnoxious harassment that had designated him as an obviously insufferably weak subhuman— much like a bully who dealt with his own faults by terrorizing others, such was the man with the Harley. There was nothing impressive about him besides his bike—and since he had abused that with such outright offense, even that made him look stupid. He raced his engine as if to say “look at ME! I have arrived!” But after actually glimpsing at the blob, it was hard to not laugh at it. He was hard to miss anyway, and probably should have opted for a truck or some sort of SUV to hide his intolerant and debilitating self-inflicted illness— the inability to control when and how much to eat, or how to do anything besides ride up and down the street on a motorcycle—perhaps a walk could do some good; in definite need of a jog, and a strict diet. I was embarrassed for him, and most people who weren't so obviously diseased and more in the like of self indulgent and lazy—I had once been like them, but no longer, and first and foremost I believed in respecting my neighbors, treating others as I wished to be treated. I wished to live in a quiet and safe neighborhood, but the obnoxious morbidly obese man alone was a symbol of the disastrous mark capitalism had made on the American empire—lazy, docile, greedy, potbellied idiots accounted for all too many of the world. I knew that with the desire to change, that one could change—now to force myself to believe that with the desire to succeed in something, one could succeed—I was at least trying. But the weak and uncontrolled idiots spawning from holes in the underworld and buzzing around like the pests and roaches they were reminded me that if anything, these imbiciles were decent at almost nothing but breeding other fucking idiots. Hopefully, one day my own blood would grow up to want to work out with me, eat well, and change from appearing as his weaker half— lazy, obese idiot just the same as these, however—at the very least, the roaches were fastidious. They buzzed around under the illusion that working for the American system would grant them anything besides a motorbike and some fresh looking street wear, the attention of girls too stupid to understand that 99% of men simply weren't worth wasting time with or on, and unknowing to this or their own worth, would still do it anyway, Some of the bikers had girls on the back; I always felt bad for the girl on the back of the motorcycle rather than jealous—I would rather be at the helm of the thing, riding it for myself. Then, thinking back to a time before I realized how crowded cities were, sighting that there should be laws against loud vehicles in urban areas such as this— there was at lot more open road than not in LA—highways, that is, and bikes were easy to maneuver through heavy traffic. New York was another story—congested, overpopulated, and now filled with a disease which added to its decay at a quicker rate than ever. The illegal immigration crisis was much like a rodent or insect infestation, but harder to control—one simply could not exterminate millions of actual humans, and yet, the problem was still the same— this was a disease, a pest infestation, as most of the immigrants weren't working, but simply subsisting on the taxpayers dollars they were allocated and finding ways not to work; they were parasites, many of them set to explode with more parasites. We had indeed been infiltrated, and made to pay for it, both in restlessness, and in dread. Culturally inept to most decencies as even the crudest Americans had been bred with, many although not all roamed around like feeble minded children in brand new Nike wear, munching on fast food and candy as if guests to some kind of amusement park—however, to the thoroughbred tax paying Americans, this was no amusement; it was a distressing, eye opening wake up call that something had gone terribly wrong, on the already overworked working class' time and hard earned money. It might have seemed cold and calloused to think of them as rodents—but, always observant, I also much believed in calling a duck a duck; most of them were not respectful, pushed and shoved, threw trash everywhere— and left their minor children to roam about or even put them to work, unaware of what child labor laws were; they used their unborn children as anchors to be able to stay where neither they were truly welcome or belonged, bloating the welfare system and benefitting from funds that had been laid to them with taxpayers dollars. The United States of America had its own problems, and its own citizens being overlooked, once again the needs of continually systemized blacks and other minorities falling victim to this new wave of people to care for. The capitalists had sold out the working class once and for all—the immigrants needed to go, and probably would, eventually tiring of the unattainable American dream we all had been sold, but they had been gimmicked into attempting to create— all to supplement an oncoming election. An election which really gave the people no choice at all, besides gawking, debating ignorantly about misinformation, and of course—intrinsically siding with the good old American narcissism which would force them to take the side of whoever supported who looked like them— the Latino vote was obviously an important factor—and of course the polished machismo and Latin pride of those being supplemented by the income of their friends and relatives come to stay, though unknowingly, chunks of money out of their own tax paying pockets, would vote for the most lenient immigration plans—probably the safest bet, the presidential office mere puppetry at all anymore. However, it had been obvious that the Right has set The Left up for disaster by allowing the black to have been shifted blue—though the rational explanation for the reallocated funding fell directly and logistically to the right. The Oval itself, empty and the actual control belonging to the wealthiest billionaires and corporations whose hopes of the thousands of migrants becoming their corporate slaves had mostly backfired terribly. With any hope, many of them would take what they could, and travel back below the border where life was simple, food was fresh, and without need to play the part of the facade of the American dream—no need for the material goods and fashionable street wear supplied by the American taxpayers—no need for iPhones and all of the decorations the taxpayers had supplemented for them—no need to live up to the ridiculous standards of actually being an “American”, which in reality, by now meant working so much that there was no peace, there was no rest, and there was no real freedom—and as a working class or poverty level citizen, having to compensate for everything and everyone around you, always working harder for less— and purposely being kept back and behind as the wealthy elite closed their circles tighter, shutting out the ugly, the brown and black, and those deemed unworthy out of their precious world. {Enter The Multiverse} Secret President Make the old man laugh– –make The Old Man break a sweat Make the old man dance (Make The Old Man Young Again) Make The Old Man dance, I said Wise Owl My server be your server; My proxy, thine proxy… WHOOPI GOLDBERG (as The Cosmic Owl) sits crouched over a nest of stone and earthen metals of precious kind, enchanting within the thick smoke of incense and fragrant oils, with a whispered chant, evoking with spirit and summoning with force–a spell of all spells; a worldly ritual. Her golden turban matches the embellishments; the royally fashioned robe and chains around her neck, bangles and ribbons of gold and silver draped with the hooded cape of which the grand sleeves, falling into the grand purple flowing train of the cascading draperies. Meanwhile… Come on, we don't got all day… –”we”? I don't got time! MEANWHILE, CHRISTOPHER WALKEN awaits at the corridor of an unknown marker, inside of a train station–which appears altogether to be in a different time; altogether a different place; the period of his dress appears perhaps late 1800's; his pocketwatch, which he checks sporadically–also golden. ALSO MEANWHILE So this is Casper, huh? This–yeah. The friendly ghost. Well– AGH. He used to be, anyway. Why are you not making any sense!? I asked for PROTECTION! I gave you LIGHT! That's not a protection! It's a target! What the fuck ar eyou talking about? *vampire* {instant kills vampire} *demon* {Instant kills demon} THESE THINGS EAT LIGHT. Well. I don't know how to help you. Get me out of here! I can't do that! i told u i was deadmau5, man. Wtf. wait , like, all of it? ya. shoot that nigga. LIVE: All the Niggaz is getting shooted at. EVERYONE ELSE …that was already happening, tho. WHITE SUPREMACISTS *shrugs* *drinks another bottle of coca cola* *trashes entire planet* *doesn't feel* Lol BLANG-BLANG. MEANWRHILE: DEADMAu5 NO, I'm TEsTPiLOT Whatever, dog. KILL THAT N– DEADMAU5 LOOK AT MA DIK. …ok. Wasn't there another scene after this? I dunno, I got dick-stracted. Yikes UNTIE ME. UNITY. UNITYYYYYYYYYYY. WHAT. UNTIE ME FROM THIS–THING. No, actually, I think you should stay there. The most bizzare thing happened this morning. The most bizzare thing ever, to have happened to me, ever—which is saying a lot l— but I was scratching my head, and all of a sudden, This tiny fingernail— An itty, bitty teeny-tiny fingernail, like, Dislodged itself from my soul or something— Fell out of my hair, Okay, God. What. This baby fingernail— Like, okay it could be like a newborn big toe nail or like, A one month's old like actual finger Aww, I just used to bite them. They were so little I didn't want to cut them with the clippers. Their little fingers You don't want to accidentally— You know, They're just so soft. Awws. What the fuck, God. That makes no sense. I've been primarily by myself for like—ever— And anytime I'm in public, I'm wearing a hat— My wash machine is only used by me, thank god and What the fuck does this mean? Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive. {Enter The Multiverse} GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could know where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” HOTDOG-HOTDOG. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Showrunner: Matt Weiner Peggy: Elizabeth Moss

Understanding your state's squatter rights, learn why it is essential to know your property rights. We explore winter folklore theories, such as the Wooly Bear Caterpillar and Farmers Almanac, plus have gift ideas to order now! Join radio hosts Rebecca Wanner aka 'BEC' and Jeff ‘Tigger' Erhardt (Tigger & BEC) with The Bend Radio Show & Podcast, your news outlet for the latest in Outdoors & Western Lifestyle News!   Episode 204 Details   Understanding Property Rights: Protect Against Squatter Rights & Gift Ideas To Order Now How to Avoid Squatter Rights on Private Property What Are Squatter Rights? Squatter rights, often referred to as "adverse possession," allow individuals who occupy land without the owner's permission to potentially gain legal ownership after a certain period. Each state has different laws governing how and when squatter rights apply. States That Recognize Squatter Rights California: Under California law, a squatter can claim adverse possession if they possess the property openly, continuously, and without permission for five years. Texas: In Texas, squatters can gain rights after ten years of continuous, visible, and notorious possession. New York: New York allows squatters to claim adverse possession after ten years of uninterrupted possession. Florida: In Florida, a squatter must occupy the property for seven years and demonstrate "color of title" to claim adverse possession. Illinois: Illinois requires a squatter to possess the property for 20 years without permission. Federal Law Regarding Squatter Rights While squatter rights are primarily governed by state law, certain federal laws can play a role in property ownership disputes, especially concerning eviction procedures. The Homestead Act of 1862 allowed individuals to claim land under specific conditions, although this act is rarely invoked today. Federal law typically supports state regulations, which is why understanding your state's laws is critical. How to Avoid Squatter Rights on Your Property Here are some practical strategies to help you protect your property from squatters: 1. Regular Property Inspections Conduct regular inspections of your property, especially if it's vacant. Frequent visits can deter squatters and help you spot any unauthorized occupancy early. 2. Secure Your Property Invest in strong locks, security systems, and fencing. Make your property less accessible to prevent potential squatters from taking residence. 3. Maintain Your Property Keep your property well-maintained and visibly occupied. Overgrown lawns or dilapidated buildings can attract squatters. Regular maintenance can convey that the property is cared for and monitored. 4. Post No Trespassing Signs Clearly mark your property with "No Trespassing" signs. While this won't guarantee protection, it can serve as a legal deterrent and demonstrate that you do not consent to unauthorized entry. 5. Utilize Surveillance Cameras Installing surveillance cameras can deter squatters and provide evidence if you need to take legal action. Make sure the cameras are visible to enhance their deterrent effect. 6. Engage Neighbors Communicate with your neighbors about your property. They can help monitor it and notify you of any suspicious activity. 7. Quick Legal Action If you discover someone squatting on your property, take immediate legal action. Consult an attorney specializing in property law to understand your rights and options for eviction. References https://leavethekey.com/blog/what-are-squatters-rights/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squatting_in_the_United_States Gift Ideas: Books To Order Now! Children Book: All Fish Are Awesome Picture Book by Noel Vick This great gift suggestion was brought to us by Heather Krohe, Owner of Little Rack Taxidermy. A great picture book that describes how big or small, predator or prey, colorful or drab... that every fish plays an important role. Order Here from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/All-Fish-Awesome-Noel-Vick/dp/1962202739 Agriculture Book: "Anthology" Photos, Poems, Essays & Devotionals "Anthology" from the popular Author Photographer, Richelle Barrett known best as The Prairie Crocus Creative on social media. A collection of photos, poems, essays, and devotionals dedicated to agriculture and those who yearn to get back to their roots and a simpler life. Order Here: https://www.prairie-crocus.com/store/p/3n4fxsjoq0l0riayadtplfnex0p6u0 Follow Prairie Crocus Creative on Facebook: @theprairiecrocus https://www.prairie-crocus.com/ FIELD REPORTS & COMMENTS Call or Text your questions, or comments to 305-900-BEND or 305-900-2363 Or email BendRadioShow@gmail.com FOLLOW Facebook/Instagram: @thebendshow https://www.facebook.com/thebendshow SUBSCRIBE to The Bend YouTube Channel. Website: TheBendShow.com https://thebendshow.com/ #catchBECifyoucan #tiggerandbec #outdoors #travel #cowboys The Outdoors, Rural America, And Wildlife Conservation are Center-Stage. AND how is that? Because Tigger & BEC… Live This Lifestyle. Learn more about Jeff ‘Tigger' Erhardt & Rebecca Wanner aka BEC here: TiggerandBEC.com https://tiggerandbec.com/   WESTERN LIFESTYLE & THE OUTDOORS Jeff 'Tigger' Erhardt & Rebecca 'BEC' Wanner are News Broadcasters that represent the Working Ranch world, Rodeo, and the Western Way of Life as well as advocate for the Outdoors and Wildlife Conservation. Outdoorsmen themselves, this duo strives to provide the hunter, adventurer, cowboy, cowgirl, rancher and/or successful farmer, and anyone interested in agriculture with the knowledge, education, and tools needed to bring high-quality beef and the wild game harvested to your table for dinner. They understand the importance in sharing meals with family, cooking the fruits of our labor and fish from our adventures, and learning to understand the importance of making memories in the outdoors. Appreciate God's Country. United together, this duo offers a glimpse into and speaks about what life truly is like at the end of dirt roads and off the beaten path. Tigger & BEC look forward to hearing from you, answering your questions and sharing in the journey of making your life a success story. Adventure Awaits Around The Bend.

Any tips on how to keep a Venus fly trap alive? How do I successfully grow a cucumber? What unusual fruit or vegetable do the panel think is underrated? Kathy Clugston and a panel of horticultural experts are in the hot seat, as they answer the gardening queries from an audience in Hull. On the panel are head gardener Matthew Pottage, garden designer Bunny Guinness and curator of RHS Bridgewater Marcus Chilton-Jones.Later, Hull-born panellist Matthew Pottage meets with Cllr Henry from Hull City Council, to learn more about their ‘Right to Grow' initiative which allows people to grow on public land for the first time.Producer: Dominic Tyerman Assistant Producer: Rahnee Prescod Executive Producer: Carly MaileA Somethin' Else production for BBC Radio 4

Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive {Enter The Multiverse} {Mad Men} (A Happy Accidents Mix) GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could no where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive {Enter The Multiverse} {Mad Men} (A Happy Accidents Mix) GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could no where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive {Enter The Multiverse} {Mad Men} (A Happy Accidents Mix) GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could no where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Cinder Well is the musical project of singer and songwriter Amelia Baker, who is from California but who fell under the spell of Irish folk music and eventually moved to County Clare on Ireland's west coast. Cinder Well's music often has a haunted, nocturnal quality – her 2020 album No Summer was widely referred to as “doom folk” - where the drone, darkness, and space may overlap with that in the metal world. Her latest record, Cadence, is full of evocative, often elusive imagery and her quietly intense vocals.  Set list: 1. Two Heads, Grey Mare 2. Overgrown 3. From Behind the Curtain

That’s the view of the Association of Farm and Forestry Contractors in Ireland. Its policy director Michael Moroney spoke to Treasa.

It's evening, just after midsummer's day, and a walk has taken you down a winding lane to a tiny medieval church. In the churchyard, lichen-crusted gravestones emerge from what has been left to become a flower-filled meadow. Only a few goldfinches break the mellow stillness. BBC Countryfile Magazine's Sound Escapes are a weekly audio postcard from the countryside to help you relax and transport you somewhere beautiful, wherever you happen to be. Recorded by Fergus Collins, introduced by Hannah Tribe. Email the Plodcast team – and send your sound recordings of the countryside – to: theplodcast@countryfile.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Overgrown tropicals, Hydrangea leaf-tiers and white fly on Hibiscus. Disappearing trilliums and beans being munched by rabbits. It's a busy show full of pesky pests! Listen live every Saturday at 9am on Zoomer Radio

The Box Tree Moth is wreaking havoc on many gardens in southern Ontario and beyond. We discuss identifying the pest, pesticides (BTK) to control, and callers chime in with best replacements for boxwood. Overgrown lilac, and the search for Campanula isophylla also covered this week on the Garden Show. Listen live every Saturday at 9am on Zoomer Radio

Steep grassy meadows. Grazing sheep. Overgrown hedgerows. Thickets. Narrow stony streams, sometimes with sandy banks. Grit stone walls, with tumbled stones where weather and animals have made a way through. Thistles. Clumps of dense nettles. Patches of tall, well established woodland. A muddy farm beyond. And another behind. And hours, if you want, if you allow yourself, to lean elbows upon damp timbered gates, Put aside what's to do, and focus every part of your conscious mind on taking the landscape in.  Here, in the presence of trees, nestled half way up a Derbyshire moorland by a babbling stream, is a good place to practice  taking in the landscape. Where the non-human and the human worlds blend. It may look and often sound bucolic. but this is not in a strict sense wilderness. It's an edgeland. Farm machinery, A-roads, the flight paths to Manchester's ringway airport, though quite feint, are in range of hearing. But not distractingly so. Far off. Worlds, in a kind of pleasantly acceptable balance. This hour, is daytime. A bright morning in August. Clean. Sharp. In a country sort of way. Looking out onto the steep meadow in front, with sheep grazing, and under these tall well established trees, each fresh eddy of the clean flowing stream, reflects off the broad leaves above. Reflects, as soft shifting shadows do. And creates a sense of intimate, tree shaped, space.  

The Daily Shower Thoughts podcast is produced by Klassic Studios. [Promo] Check out the Daily Dad Jokes podcast here: https://dailydadjokespodcast.com/ [Promo] The Daily Facts Podcast. Get smarter in less than 10 minutes a day. Pod links here Daily Facts website. [Promo] The Daily Life Pro Tips Podcast. Improve your life in less than 10 minutes a day. Pod links here Daily Life Pro Tips website. [Promo] Check out the Get Happy Headlines podcast by my friends, Stella and Mickey. It's a podcast dedicated to bringing you family friendly uplifting stories from around the world. Give it a listen, I know you will like it. Pod links here Get Happy Headlines website. Shower thoughts are sourced from reddit.com/r/showerthoughts Shower Thought credits: BigOlBlimp, SeattleStudent4, solace1234, Crabman_123, snillpuler, GreatWhiteBuffalo888, crimsonsnow0017, PhisheadS1, mystrymaestro, justdoyourownthing, 3shotsb4breakfast, magicmushrooms554, Comprehensive_Lemon5, TENG-2012, Unc1eD3ath, LeviSalt, skippy_mcdippy, Abhilash_Adunuri, Vast-Intention, , big_poppa_000, FaxTimeMachine, Abhilash_Adunuri, Shamon_Yu, will-read, e-bio, Saurondur Podcast links: Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/3ZNciemLzVXc60uwnTRx2e Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/daily-shower-thoughts/id1634359309 Stitcher: https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/daily-dad-jokes/daily-shower-thoughts iHeart: https://iheart.com/podcast/99340139/ Amazon Music: https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/a5a434e9-da18-46a7-a434-0437ec49e1d2/daily-shower-thoughts Website: https://cms.megaphone.fm/channel/dailyshowerthoughts Social media links Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DailyShowerThoughtsPodcast/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/DailyShowerPod Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/DailyShowerThoughtsPodcast/ TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@dailyshowerthoughtspod Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hosts: Gus, Rommel and JD Fresh Guest: James Aragon of OVERGROWN San Mateo Production: Jan Wayne Swayze https://www.instagram.com/overgrown.sm/ https://overgrown.glossgenius.com/

Creepypasta Scary Story

Men grow up as far as age, looks, features etc…. But so many do not have the mental maturity to match their age and looks!!! This is mostly DIRECTLY RELATED TO THE WOMEN IN IN THIER LIVES!!! --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/savage-lifestyle1/support

The three-hundred seventy-first episode of the DSR Daily Brief. Stories Cited in this episode: Tens of thousands of ethnic Armenians rush to flee Nagorno-Karabakh How did the Maui fire spread so quickly? Overgrown gully, stubborn embers may be key to probe More than 100 people killed after fire breaks out at Iraq wedding After Brexit, Britain and Europe embrace ever-closer union What is the Khalistan movement? How is it linked to India-Canada tensions? Donald Trump liable for business fraud, says judge in New York civil case Canadian man eats 135 Carolina reaper peppers in one sitting Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The three-hundred seventy-first episode of the DSR Daily Brief. Stories Cited in this episode: Tens of thousands of ethnic Armenians rush to flee Nagorno-Karabakh How did the Maui fire spread so quickly? Overgrown gully, stubborn embers may be key to probe More than 100 people killed after fire breaks out at Iraq wedding After Brexit, Britain and Europe embrace ever-closer union What is the Khalistan movement? How is it linked to India-Canada tensions? Donald Trump liable for business fraud, says judge in New York civil case Canadian man eats 135 Carolina reaper peppers in one sitting Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The three-hundred seventy-first episode of the DSR Daily Brief. Stories Cited in this episode: Tens of thousands of ethnic Armenians rush to flee Nagorno-Karabakh How did the Maui fire spread so quickly? Overgrown gully, stubborn embers may be key to probe More than 100 people killed after fire breaks out at Iraq wedding After Brexit, Britain and Europe embrace ever-closer union What is the Khalistan movement? How is it linked to India-Canada tensions? Donald Trump liable for business fraud, says judge in New York civil case Canadian man eats 135 Carolina reaper peppers in one sitting Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The party faces off against the wildlife on Candlemere Island.Personnel: Bill Beard, Chris Bergman, Mike Fessinger, Donny Gore, and Brad JarrettWebsiteDiscordTwitterPathfinder Second Edition and the Kingmaker Adventure Path are published by Paizo."Take the Lead" and other featured music were composed by Kevin MacLeod and licensed under Creative Commons by: Attribution 4.0 License.All ambiances were composed by Michael Ghelfi Studios.The Zero Check are committed to providing an inclusive and respectful experience to all listeners, but we also recognize and acknowledge that we are limited by our individual frames of reference. If we misstep, please let us know. Email all feedback to feedback@zerocheckpodcast.com.Thank you for listening to The Zero Check.

The American federal system only works when we are operating within the US Constitution. A guest joins us to discuss the creeping feeling that America has lost that foundational framework. This has been a dark week for the country and we are only midway through the week. Joined by: https://twitter.com/seniorchiefexw ____________________________________________________ Today's podcast supported by https://CatholicVote.Org If you are interested in supporting the going litigation against the FBI over religious liberties, you can visit https://CatholicVote.Org. SUSPENDABLES MERCH: http://The-Suspendables.com Visit http://PatriotCoolers.com/discount/KYLE and use Promo code "KYLE" for 10% off and free shipping over $50.

A Margate thief who went on a one man crime spree has filmed his arrest and posted it on Tik Tok. Over the course of six months he terrorised shops and attacked police - his video has racked up thousands of view on social media. Also in today's podcast, we have a full list of the Kent schools impacted by the crumbling concrete crisis. Students across the country are facing disruption to the new school year over fears some buildings could collapse. A Chatham woman who has spent the last 14 years trying to get an alleyway overgrown by bramble and bushes cleared is calling on neighbours to do it themselves. No-one has been willing to take responsibility for the maintenance of the walkway and locals say it's become a dumping ground. A mother and daughter team who run an ice-cream shop in Dymchurch say they fear for the future of their business if they can't stay open for longer. The owners say they're missing out on trade by having to close at 5pm and have applied for permission to stay open until 10pm. And in sport, a disappointing day away for Gillingham after they suffered defeat in their League 2 clash at Grimsby Town. You can hear the reaction of manager Neil Harris.   

In Keep Canada Weird Jordan and his pal Aaron Airport seek out and explore offbeat Canadian news stories from the past week. Tonight your hosts discuss; the sale of that donair costume the Canadian lockpick who picked an american lock an overgrown sign in Kitchener KEEP CANADA WEIRD apple podcast reviews Series Links Keep Canada Weird Series: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com/keep-canada-weird Join the Keep Canada Weird Discussion Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/keepcanadaweird Send a weird news tip: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com/contact Provide feedback and comments on the episode: nighttimepodcast.com/contact Subscribe to the show: premium feed: https://www.patreon.com/Nighttimepodcast apple podcasts: https://applepodcasts.com/nighttime Contact: Website: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/NightTimePod Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NightTimePod Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nighttimepod Support the show: https://www.patreon.com/nighttimepodcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In Keep Canada Weird Jordan and his pal Aaron Airport seek out and explore offbeat Canadian news stories from the past week. Tonight your hosts discuss; the sale of that donair costume the Canadian lockpick who picked an american lock an overgrown sign in Kitchener KEEP CANADA WEIRD apple podcast reviews Series Links Keep Canada Weird Series: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com/keep-canada-weird Join the Keep Canada Weird Discussion Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/keepcanadaweird Send a weird news tip: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com/contact Provide feedback and comments on the episode: nighttimepodcast.com/contact Subscribe to the show: premium feed: https://www.patreon.com/Nighttimepodcast apple podcasts: https://applepodcasts.com/nighttime Contact: Website: https://www.nighttimepodcast.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/NightTimePod Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NightTimePod Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nighttimepod Support the show: https://www.patreon.com/nighttimepodcast Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Late businesswoman and first wife of former President Donald Trump, Ivana Trump, was buried at the Trump National Golf Club in Bedminster, New Jersey — but the cordoned-off grave site has become barely visible after overgrown grass has nearly covered the tombstone, RadarOnline.com has learned.Advertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Today's poem is by Matthea Harvey, the author of five books of poetry—If the Tabloids are True What Are You?, Of Lamb (an illustrated erasure with images by Amy Jean Porter), Modern Life (a finalist for the National Book Critics Cirlcle Award and a New York Times Notable Book), Sad Little Breathing Machine and Pity the Bathtub Its Forced Embrace of the Human Form. She has also published two children's books, Cecil the Pet Glacier, illustrated by Giselle Potter and The Little General and the Giant Snowflake, illustrated by Elizabeth Zechel. She teaches poetry at Sarah Lawrence and lives in Brooklyn.Snowflake (2009), illustrated by Elizabeth Zechel. In 2017, Harvey was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship.—Bio via MattheaHarvey.info This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Fred favors saving several overgrown shrubs

Fred gives some advice to a new gardener on overgrown plants.

How do we ensure fair prices for farmers and consumers while building climate resilience, protecting the environment and sustaining rural communities? And what happens when Farm Bill policies incentivize the opposite approach? Hear from IATP's Ben Lilliston and Karen Hansen-Kuhn in Episode One of the Farm Bill Uprooted, which dives into Farm Bill basics, and how it's shaped a food and farm system dominated by commodity production and overgrown corporate agribusiness interests.   References and further reading: USDA ERS, Food Access Research Atlas USDA ERS, Key Statistics and Graphics About half of US water 'too polluted' for drinking, swimming or fishing, report finds. The Hill. Shirin Ali, 2022.  Food fight: The Citizen's Guide to the Next Food and Farm Bill. Daniel Imhoff, 2012. The new deal's impacts on sharecropping and tenant farming in the US South: a history  Michael Sligh, 2021. Crisis by Design: A Brief Review of U.S. Farm Policy. Mark Richie & Kevin Ristau, 1987.

Enjoy! --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/thinkgreen/message

Today I talk with TTRPG/DnD Content Creator, Game Designer (Cybertopia) and GM of the Actual Play show 'Cybertopia' - Ben Newbon.We discuss their TTRPG designs, moving into the Actual Play space, content creation for DnD, and much more.You can find Ben, Cybertopia and all of their associated content via the links below.Twitter:https://twitter.com/BenNewbonhttps://twitter.com/CybertopiaAPWebsite:https://bennewbon.itch.io/https://bennewbon.itch.io/cybertopia-ttrpgOther:https://www.youtube.com/@ben_newbonhttps://www.twitch.tv/boysfromthebalticstar/video/1423224566Calibration Tools:https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/114jRmhzBpdqkAlhmveis0nmW73qkAZCjPlease leave reviews on ITunes to help us to learn and grow as a PodcastYours Sincerely,Adam 'Cosy' Powell~~~~~~~~~~CAST & CREWHost: Adam PowellGuest: Ben NewbonSound Design: Adam PowellEdited by: Adam PowellMusic: Epidemic SoundCover Art: Tim Cunningham - www.Wix.com~~~~~~~~~~Website:https://linktr.ee/snydersreturnhttp://snydersreturn.squarespace.comhttps://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIoZ8iiYCp919UHXUYGghbwhttps://www.redbubble.com/shop/?query=Roscoe%27s%20Chimkin&ref=search_boxBuy us a TTRPG Source Book: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/SnydersReturnAre you on DISCORD? Come hang out in our server! https://discord.gg/QgU5UNf Join us in the Snyder's Return Facebook Group!Visit https://www.patreon.com/snyders_return?fan_landing=true~~~~~~~~~~~Social Media:Twitter - https://twitter.com/ReturnSnyderInstagram -  Snyder's Return (@snyders_return)Email - snydersreturn@gmail.com~~~~~~~~~~~Support the showFind us on:Twitter https://twitter.com/ReturnSnyderInstagram https://www.instagram.com/snyders_return/Website https://www.snydersreturn.squarespace.com Linktree https://linktr.ee/snydersreturn

We all unlock our voices at just the right time. As if by fate, we recognize the value of speech and utilize it to, ultimately, connect to one another. Earth Groans have fully realized their voice as an aggressive sonic outlier steeped in both metallic precision and hardcore chaos. As the vision of frontman Jeremy Schaeffer, the South Dakota outfit emerges with a potent and personal signature style that's equally catchy and cathartic. After tallying millions of streams and building a devout fan base, the band amplifies its message louder than ever on the 2023 Tongue Tied EP [Solid State Records]. The EP holds a special significance for Schaeffer as it tells his story via the very title…“I was actually born tongue tied,” he states. “I had skin all the way up to my teeth, and I couldn't move my tongue at all. They performed the surgery right away and freed my tongue completely. Throughout my life, it has been a metaphor. I've always had a hard time fitting into the community I'm in. This whole record refers to a person finding his or her voice. I found my voice through music. It's how I've been able to communicate what's on my heart and find my true calling. My dad always said, ‘Ironically, you don't talk a whole lot, but your music is really loud'.”Earth Groans initially incited shockwaves through heavy music out of South Dakota with the Renovate EP in 2017. They buzzed out of the local scene and clawed their way into the international consciousness with the Rahab EP [2018], Prettiest of Things EP [2020], Waste EP [2020], and The Body EP [2021]. The latter gained traction on streaming platforms as the band earned plugs from HM Magazine, The PRP, Lambgoat, and many more. Along the way, they performed with the likes of August Burns Red on the popular Christmas Burns Red Festival and packed venues on tour coast-to-coast. Working with producer Ryan Leitru [For Today], Earth Groans honed their sound in 2022.“Ryan helped us preserve the heavy and chaotic elements, while enabling us to cast a wider net,” he goes on. “It's Earth Groans, but it could appeal to a bigger audience with a little more atmosphere and melody.”The first single “Overgrown” seesaws between a trudging groove and wrecking ball riffing enhanced by airy sonics. It culminates on a crushing chorus with the blunt force of a battering ram.“It's about feeling stuck in the position you are in and not being able to fully use your talents,” he explains. “I've gotten to a place where I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life. I got stuck in this complacency, and I wasn't really progressing. It's a song of frustration.”Then, there's “Over The Edge.” The song's bulldozing barrage subsides on a melodic riff and hummable hook with a message of empowerment as he promises, “I won't let this passion turn to poison.”“It's about staying true to what you're doing and not losing the passion,” he elaborates. “For me, I started doing music because of the passion I had behind it. You can't let that go.”On “Same Blood,” mangled synths dissolve into pummeling guitar and a punk-style gallop. It confronts “racism, homophobia, and discrimination” head-on. The title track “Tongue Tied” commences with a clean intro only to snap into a frenetic onslaught of double-bass, jarring screams, and head-spinning fretwork. “It's the literal story of coming into this world without the ability to speak and finally finding it,” he says.Tongue Tied culminates on the aural exorcism of “Discordant Symphony,” which projects the central theme at full blast with a guttural growl.“This track brings the EP full circle,” he notes. “It's all about using the abilities that God gave you to do good and make the world a better place. When we do, iThis episode is sponsored by www.betterhelp.com/TheBarn and presented to you by The Barn Media Group.

It's 3:16 Day!! Give me a HELL YEAH!!! We have T3 and The Over Grown Third Graders stopping by, to help us celebrate! Get ready to crack open a cold one!Head to Marvelous Collectiables, after the stream, for the after party!https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ve2hIOQW4DYT3:IG: https://www.instagram.com/t3collects/YT:https://www.youtube.com/@T3COLLECTSTwitter: https://twitter.com/t3collectsOvergrown Third Graders:YT:https://www.youtube.com/@overgrownthirdgraderspodcastIG: https://www.instagram.com/cyborg_soda_toys/IG: https://www.instagram.com/beastieradio/

In this episode of Deserts to Mountaintops, Jessica interviews Gentry Jones, author of the anthology chapter titled "Overgrown Ivy," where she details her desert to mountaintop experience from contemplating suicide to thriving sober, single mom.Deserts to Mountaintops is a limited series podcast created by Top 1% ranking podcast host, Jessica Kidwell, she lifts the author off the page as she holds conversations with co-authors of this inaugural anthology released in January 2023 by Soul Speak Press.This series is meant to give readers of DTM a deeper insight into the authors that brought their experiences to the page and hopes to inspire it's audience to a place of transformational healing.Deserts to Mountaintops: Our Collective Journey to (re)Claiming Our Voice is available now on Amazon.For more information on Deserts to Mountaintops, Soul Speak Press and upcoming anthologies, please visit www.desertstomountaintops.com.  For more information Jessica Buchanan, please visit www.jessbuchanan.com or follow her on instagram at @jessicacbuchananMeet Gentry:On May 1, 2018, Gentry drove into her garage broken, defeated, and convinced there was no way to stop the train wreck she had become. It was in that moment of feeling like there was no way out that Gentry finally submitted to the only way out. After struggling with alcohol abuse for over ten years, she surrendered to sobriety. Since that day she has been dedicated to learning as much as she can about her addiction, mental health, and personal development so she can use her voice to help bring support and community to others suffering. Gentry built her social media platformsaround her life as a sober single mom and sharing the joy and confidence that can come after addiction. After receiving so much love and support from sharing her journey online, she wanted to do more to give back to the sober community andbecame trained as a certified life and recovery coach. Being from a long line of well-respected educators and coaches, she's using her natural abilities and continued education to teach others how to get and stay sober and reclaim their lives. A few months before getting sober, Gentry decided to only focus on making small habit changes. She started by making her bed every day and strongly believes habitshelped get and keep her sober. She has since created a twelve-week healthy habit bootcamp to help other men and women experience their own transformation to a happier and healthier life. Gentry is dedicated to inspire, entertain, and end the stigma of addiction. You can follow Gentry under the handle @lifewithgentry on all social media platforms. You will also find links to her twelve-week course on those platforms as well.The theme song is courtesy of the The Mystic Chics.Instagram @themysticchics

Content Warning: Dark Themes, Language, Violence ------ Gullacochica! is ready to fight for the survival of the Overgrown. It's the beginning of the end, and the tide is rising. There's no longer any reason for Ari, Sara, or Ray to hold anything back. ------ Join our Shrimp and Crits Discord server for the official listening parties. These are every release day at 8:30PM EST. https://discord.gg/qCHktpeTDG ------ Support us on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ShrimpandCrits ------ Follow us on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok @shrimpandcrits. You can follow our linktree (https://linktr.ee/ShrimpandCrits) to our website, merch store, and much much more. Please subscribe, rate and review us on any podcatchers where you listen. If you'd like to get in touch, feel free to do so by email (shrimpandcritspodcast@gmail.com) or post (PO Box 60934 Nashville TN, 37206) ------ All music written and produced by Shrimp and Crits except "A Clumsy Psychiatrist" by L'Orange. 

In classic 1940s Hollywood, aspiring screenwriter Fiona Cross discovers the pitfalls of writing remakes - including, perhaps, romance with an undying legend of the silver screen. Written and Produced by Julie Hoverson Cast List Fiona Cross - E. Vickery Victor Malacard - Cole Hornaday George - Jerry Bennett Margie - Kristina Yuen Andy - Michael Faigenblum Additional Voices - Rhea Lutton, Julie Hoverson,  Reynaud LeBoeuf Music:  Gabriel Garcea (gagamusic.eu) (also available on Jamendo) 19 Nocturne Theme:  Kevin MacLeod (Incompetech.com) Editing and Sound:   Julie Hoverson Sound effects found on Soundsnap.com Recorded with the assistance of Ryan Hirst of Neohoodoo Studio Cover Photos:  (courtesy of Stock Xchange.com) "What kind of a place is it?  Why, it's a movie studio office - can't you tell? Where else would you find... a screenwriter?" _______________________________________________     HOUSEWARMING Cast:   [opening credits/Olivia] Fiona Cross, screenwriter   George Webber, producer   Victor Malacard, actor/director   Margie, best friend   Mason, butler   Andy, a Messenger   Instructor voice, on P.A. Landlady   OLIVIA Did you have any trouble finding it? What  do you mean, what kind of a place is it?  Why, it's a film producer's office, can't  you tell?   SCENE 1 MUSIC SOUND EFFICIENT TYPING, PHONES IN THE BACKGROUND GEORGE The bad news is -it's really very good. FIONA [excited] Wonderful! [waitaminute] That's  the bad news? GEORGE Yup. Because we can't use it. SOUND SHEAF OF PAPERS TOSSED ONTO TABLE. FIONA What? But ...but Mr. Webber, you said it  was GEORGE Practically brilliant. I'll even read your  next one, and I don't say that often.  [pauses, thinks] Ever. But, Miss Cross...  you should know by now that writing remakes  is a complete waste of time. There's all  sorts of issues. We don't want to get sued. FIONA But The House on the Peak was made- GEORGE Twenty-odd years ago. It's still dicey.  Whoever owns it could sue us, and after that  fiasco at Champion pictures last year...  We're taking no chances. We're not Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, you know. FIONA If ... what if I could make an arrangement  with the owner? Would you still be  interested? GEORGE [cagey] Well, I said it was good, but I  never actually said I was interested.  [beat] Come back when you've got a  signature. MUSIC BRIDGE   SCENE 2 SOUND TINNY PHONOGRAPH MUSIC INSTRUCTOR [off mike throughout] And lift. One. Two. FIONA [puffing slightly throughout] All that  work! MARGIE [puffing slightly throughout] Goodness,  Fiona, didn't anyone ever tell you never  adapt? INSTRUCTOR ...five and six. Arms up! FIONA I guess I figured the studio would handle  all that. MARGIE [teasing] Did you just drop off the turnip  truck -Oh, sorry, the porkchop truck. INSTRUCTOR ...seven and eight -keep them up! FIONA [teasing back] You just watch it, we  Piggottsville girls are tough! [puffs a  bit] Now I just have to get up the nerve. MARGIE [sarcastic] Nerve? YOU? I can't imagine! INSTRUCTOR [off] I hear someone talking! FIONA [whispered] Enough nerve to go and talk to  Victor Malacard. MUSIC BRIDGE   SCENE 3 SOUND CAR DRIVES AWAY. WOODSY NOISES FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. FIONA OK, Fee. Let's see what you've got. Scene:  Heroine walks up to big spooky house. She  is nervous. Almost trembling -wait, no  scratch that. She is resolved, plucky.  Much better. SOUND CREAK OF WOOD, BIRD CALL FIONA [slightly spooked] Or not. Come on, Fee.  You can DO this. Plucky heroine, for  goodness sake. Pluck up. SOUND FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. FIONA What a scene. Artfully disheveled garden.  Overgrown and dried out fountain. Huge  mansion in exactly the proper state of  dilapidation. [tries to laugh] I should be  taking notes. SOUND FOOTSTEPS ON WOOD STAIRS FIONA [practicing] Mr. Malacard, I am such a big  fan of--No, I'm sure he hears THAT all  the- SOUND FOOTSTEPS SLOW DOWN, THEN STOP. FIONA [firm] Mr. Malacard. I have a proposition  for--Oh pooh! [ingratiating] Mr.  Malacard. How wonderful to finally meet- SOUND DOOR CREAKS OPEN. FIONA [gasp] MASON [spooky and unwelcoming] May I help you? FIONA [muttered] I bet you get a lot of these  roles. MASON Hmm? FIONA Sorry. Nothing. I would like to speak to  Mr. Malacard. MASON No. SOUND DOOR SLAMS SHUT. FIONA What? Aren't you supposed to say something  like [aping his voice] "I'm afraid Mr.  Malacard... isn't himself today." [normal  voice] and give me a chance to argue with  you? [pause] Huh? SOUND TWO FOOTSTEPS ON WOOD, THEN SHE SITS ON THE  STAIR WITH A CREAK. FIONA [calling over her shoulder] Very well,  then. I'm not leaving. I'll just sit here  until the spiderwebs grow up over me and I  become part of the set! SOUND BIRDS. FIONA [muttered] Or at least until I get up the  nerve to walk back to town. [sigh] Well,  it's kind of nice here, anyway. Peaceful.  [takes a couple of deep breaths] SOUND FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL APPROACH VICTOR [coming on mike] Can I help you? FIONA What? Oh! [noises, as she stands] Mr.  Mal--Wait. You can't be--I'm confused. VICTOR [chuckles] I look just like him, don't I?  I'm Victor Malacard the lesser. Call me  Vic. FIONA Fiona Cross. I'm so pleased! I'm a writer,  you see, and-15            VICTOR [cold] So sorry. Father doesn't give  interviews. FIONA Oh, no -I'm a screenwriter. I wrote a  wonderful script- VICTOR [perturbed] He doesn't act any more,  either. FIONA Does he let people finish their sentences? VICTOR [chuckling in spite of himself] All right.  Just point to me when it's my cue. FIONA [deep breath] I wrote a new version of The  House on the Peak, your father's  masterpiece, and I would very much like to  get it produced- FIONA --because I spent a lot of time on it, and  I know he would be flattered if he could  only read it, because, well, the original  was brilliant, but most people DO like sound  nowadays, and this would bring his work back  for more people to see, and if I could just  get his permission, I have a studio which is  VERY interested. VICTOR [pause] My turn? Then... all right. FIONA All right then, what? VICTOR Let me read it. I'll see if it's all you  say it is. FIONA But your father- VICTOR Is old and very ill -one reason I cannot  let anyone into the house. I have all the  authority necessary. I assume you brought your script? FIONA Oh, yes! SOUND SNAPS OPEN SHOULDERBAG, PULLS OUT SHEAF OF  PAPERS. FIONA Really, I'm a much better writer than I must  sound like, from the way I talk. I just get  really- SOUND A COUPLE OF PAGES FLIP VICTOR Come back in a couple of days. Saturday. FIONA Oh, no! I've heard that one before. It's  not so late, I'll wait while you read it.  [BEAT] Besides, I need to borrow your phone  to call a cab. VICTOR [cold] I'm afraid you're doomed to  disappointment on many levels, Miss Cross.  I refuse to read on demand, and you cannot  come in. FIONA But it's miles to the nearest- VICTOR You'd better start walking. I will see you  on Saturday. MUSIC TIME PASSES   SCENE 4 SOUND DOOR OPENS. CRACKLE OF WAXED PAPER. VICTOR [warning] I am not going to--[surprised]  What is that? FIONA Lunch. You're not going to what? VICTOR You brought - FIONA If there's one thing that Hollywood taught  me, it's come prepared for a siege. You're  lucky I didn't have time to make pastrami  and onion sandwiches, though they work a  whole lot better in an office. VICTOR Work... better? FIONA Nothing like the chance you might stink up  someone's office to motivate them to give  you five minutes. VICTOR [chuckles] FIONA Want some? VICTOR What? Oh, no -I've eaten. FIONA [snort] Hospital food, I bet -all bland and  toothless. It's always like that when  someone in the house is sick. VICTOR No, [sighs, then, resigned] no -if there's  one thing Mason makes certain of, it's that  the food is good. FIONA That your butler? Or is he some kind of  nurse? VICTOR Some kind... um, something. FIONA [bright, teasing] So, did you read it yet? VICTOR There's hardly been time- FIONA [Sweetly] Then why waste it talking to me? VICTOR [sad] It's not something I get to do very  often. Talking. To someone. FIONA Read the script, and I promise I'll come  back and talk up a storm. SOUND DISTANT THUNDER VICTOR [sigh, pause] Speaking of storms, it looks  like rain. If you need to walk back to  town, you'd best get started. FIONA I'm a farm girl. We're built tough. And  reasonably waterproof. VICTOR [chuckle ruefully] SOUND DOOR SHUTS. MUSIC TIME PASSES   SCENE 5 SOUND CRICKETS, NIGHT SOUNDS, RAIN [a beat] DOOR  OPENS VICTOR Tsk. Do you know what time it is? FIONA Judging from the position of the stars, what  little I can see of them -my watch says  about 9. VICTOR [a beat, then] I read it. FIONA [gasps, then tight] And? VICTOR It's brilliant. FIONA Really? VICTOR Here's your release. My lawyer can validate  it in the morning. FIONA Oh! I could kiss you [SHE DOES] VICTOR [shaken] I... Miss Cross...! FIONA Fiona. You know, you really do look like  your father. You're lucky. He was really  something, back in the day. It's those  eyes. VICTOR Yes, I... [with emphasis] He... SOUND CAR APPROACHES, STOPS. VICTOR What? Who the devil--? FIONA My cab. I arranged for it to pick me up at 9. Siege or not, I'm not sleeping on  anyone's doorstep but my own. Thanks again! SOUND RUNNING FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. FIONA [off] ...and if you're ever in town...! VICTOR [yelling slightly] Of course...! SOUND CAR DOOR SLAMS SOUND HOUSE DOOR SQUEAKS OPEN. VICTOR [sadly to self] ...not. SOUND SLOW FOOTSTEPS ACROSS THE PORCH. MUSIC   SCENE 6 SOUND TENNIS, CROWD, IN BACKGROUND THROUGHOUT. MARGIE So, they loved it. Did you write yourself a  part? FIONA What? MARGIE Oh, come on-don't tell me you only aspire  to be the pen and not the face? FIONA I just enjoy writing. I'm in complete  control of the world. Everyone in my story  has to listen to me and do what I say. MARGIE But acting is where the fame is. FIONA Who wants fame? VOICE ON P.A. [filter] Number 33, Court 1 is open. MARGIE Are we getting close? SOUND RUSTLE OF PAPER FIONA Should be next. MARGIE So you're in it for the money? FIONA No... I guess... I'm in it to ... to see it  happen. MARGIE [pause] Are you explaining or should I order  another drink? FIONA I want to see things from my imagination up  there on the screen. I want to create  something that people will remember. MARGIE And you don't want to be famous or rich?  You're nuts. FIONA Rich would be OK, but famous just means you  never get away. That must be why Mr.  Malacard lives out in the country -to get  away from the craziness. MARGIE Craziness? In Hollywood? Perish the  thought! [pause] So, can I have your part? FIONA [laughs] There aren't really any good  female roles in the House on the Peak. MARGIE Will I sound hopelessly undereducated if I  admit I've never actually seen this fabulous  item? FIONA You never--? Where did you grow up, a cave?  I mean even in Piggottsville, it showed for  three whole nights -and then each year near  Halloween. I think the theater proprietress musta had a thing for Malacard. MARGIE Spare me the down home gossip and tell me  about this masterpiece. FIONA Well, it's sort of modeled on this story by  Edgar Allen Poe- MARGIE Didja have to get permission from him, too? FIONA Shush. He's been dead for -I dunno, a  century? Besides, it's not really the same  idea, just the tone. See, there's this guy  who goes home after his father's death, to  see his twin brother who he hasn't seen in  years- MARGIE Which one was your mysterious actor? FIONA Oh, Victor Malacard played both brothers.  It was groundbreaking at the time -using  cutaways and doubles- MARGIE Is this important? FIONA [chuckles] I guess not. But the brother  who'd been away was a man of the world, very  caught up in business, and the one who  stayed was a strange lonely man who talked  to himself- MARGIE [sarcastic] In a silent film, no less. FIONA [agreeing] Malacard was a genius. They've  got their eye on this new fellow -he was in  that film, "Laura"- MARGIE Stick to the point! FIONA Tsk. So it turns out the house is alive,  and must have a family member in residence  or it will die. But the one who stayed  would live forever, barring falling out of a  window, which is what'd happened to their  father. MARGIE Foul play? FIONA You got it -turns out one of the sons had  killed dear old dad to take his place as  head of the family, and live forever. MARGIE Was it the creepy one? VOICE ON P.A. [filter] Number 34, court 3 is open. SOUND GLASS PUT DOWN, BAGS SNATCHED UP FIONA I'll tell you whodunnit... but only if you  beat me. MUSIC   SCENE 7 SOUND CAR DOOR SLAMS. FEET ON GRAVEL. FEET SLOW DOWN. FIONA Oh. Hullo! SOUND CAB DRIVES AWAY VICTOR I heard you coming. FIONA Oh, and here I thought old Igor your butler  was a warlock or something. VICTOR Mason is a lot of things, but--[pause]  What's that? More scripts? FIONA No, silly. It's a picnic. VICTOR A what--? FIONA Pic. Nic. Food to eat outside so as not to  bother those inside whom shall not be named. VICTOR But, you- FIONA I promised I would talk up a storm, didn't  I? If Hollywood taught me one thing, it's  to keep my promises. VICTOR Well. [bemused, but pleased] Very well,  then. SOUND FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. DOOR OPENS [OFF]. MASON [off] Sir? VICTOR [calling] Don't worry, I'll stay where you  can see me. MASON [off] Very good, sir. FIONA Wow, he sure keeps you on a short leash. VICTOR [deep with meaning] So true. FIONA Well, this looks good -and see, there's a  window right there where your keeper can  peep out and make sure nothing improper  happens. SOUND BLANKET SPREAD, THINGS BEING TAKEN OUT OF  PICNIC BASKET VICTOR [deep sigh] FIONA [sincere] I do understand. My gramma raised  me -she was from the old country, very wild  Irish, and hospitals would never, never do.  So when she took ill at the end, I had to  look after her. And the farm. Just the two  of us, right up til she passed. VICTOR So being tired of the sticks, you came right  out to Hollywood, no training wheels or  anything? FIONA Oh, I figure I'll go back someday -not to  the farm, but to the country. Being down  here -well, down there -is tough -there  are so many people everywhere. VICTOR Better than being lonely- FIONA You can be lonely in a crowd just as easy as  on a farm, and it's much noisier. The  crowd, I mean. VICTOR More material for your writing. FIONA I don't agree. I figure growing up pretty  much alone is why I have such a good  imagination. Keeping myself occupied,  making up folks to talk to. VICTOR [moving in romantically] And you enjoyed my  --my father's film so much that you decided  to put words to it? FIONA [slightly breathless] I... I didn't so much  write them as sort of translate what he  already said. VICTOR [deep and husky] And very well too. FIONA [gasp, deeply important] Before this goes  any further, I have to say something. VICTOR [snapping out of it] I--we--of course, we  shouldn't- FIONA Since the studio is picking up the cost of  lunch, we have to talk business. I hope you  don't mind. VICTOR [vastly relieved, deep breath] Of course.  Mm, that smells good. No pastrami and  onions? FIONA [laughing] No. [serious] See, the studio  wants to know if we can add a girl -a  romance -to the story. Seems everything  just has to have a love interest these days. VICTOR [sharp] A what? FIONA And a happy ending. They don't want- VICTOR No! Under no circumstances! They're not  going to ruin my--[through gritted teeth]  my... father's vision -with sentimental  claptrap. FIONA [teasing] Really? Sentimental claptrap is  all the rage nowadays. [change of tone,  satisfied] Good. That's what I thought,  but they won't listen to me. Business over. VICTOR But you- FIONA Oh, don't get me wrong, I like romance as  much as the next girl, but it would weaken  the drama. Try a taste of this. VICTOR Um, yes. [takes a bite] That's -mmm,  that's delicious. The drama, you say? Have  you been writing for very long? FIONA This is my first script. That I've  completed, anyway. I've got lots of ideas,  but this one just sort of made me finish it.  It's a bit of an obsession, I guess. VICTOR You should write more. It was very good.  [pause, then throaty] Maybe... romance...  next time. FIONA [oblivious] Maybe. I guess it's easier to  write what you know, though. VICTOR [still making his move] Really? No romance  on the horizon, no beau back home on the  farm? FIONA [reacting, almost breathless] No -no one.  I've ... never... not really, anyway... Oh.  [long indrawn breath, then a teasing  whisper] Your butler's watching us. VICTOR [breaks away] Blast! I can't even--!  [muttered growl] Look at him. [heavy sigh,  then businesslike] This has been very  pleasant, Miss Cross, but I must go- SOUND GETS UP, FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL, MOVING QUICKLY FIONA Hmph? SOUND BITING A CARROT MUSIC   SCENE 8 SOUND BUSY LUNCH COUNTER MARGIE So do you make a habit of scaring off men? FIONA Well -there was this boy back at Jefferson  junior high ... No, I'm teasing. I've  never had much of a chance to try -guess  I'm just a natural. MARGIE And he was circling in for the kill, ready  to land a knockout, when- FIONA The ref appeared and he threw in the towel.  You don't usually think of grown men as  needing a chaperone. MARGIE Maybe he's old fashioned and is trying to  look out for your reputation or something. FIONA Old fashioned I would buy. He's got this  courtly way about him...just like his  father, at least the way he was on the  screen. This sort of graceful way of moving  that expresses so much. MARGIE And what was he expressing just before the  bell rang to call the match? FIONA Well... [blushing] He wasn't afraid -I can  say that for sure. MUSIC   SCENE 9 SOUND CAR DRIVES AWAY, FEET ON GRAVEL VICTOR You found your way back? FIONA The picnic was to thank you. Now I'm  buttering you up in case I want to remake  another one of your father's films. VICTOR So what's in the bag this time? Dare I  guess? FIONA No, silly. It's a surprise. I figure, not  leaving the house much, you don't get to  have a lot of fun. VICTOR My... father- FIONA Exactly. So, I figured I'd bring the some  to you. VICTOR Fun? FIONA I remembered you had a swimming pool. VICTOR Pool? But--But there's no water- FIONA And swimsuits don't clank. SOUND CLANK OF SOMETHING METAL IN BAG VICTOR Then, what--? FIONA We-e-ell, can we go look at the pool? VICTOR Uh--yes? SOUND FEET ON GRASS FIONA I hope you don't mind my coming up here like  this. I'm just so exuberant. Or is that  the right word? VICTOR Well, you sound exuberant to me. FIONA Aha, the pool. Oh, good, it's nice and  clean. VICTOR Mason sees to the grounds as well as the  house. FIONA So, here. SOUND CLANK AS BAG IS SET DOWN, UNTYING OF KNOT VICTOR I--I'm intrigued. What do you have there? FIONA Keep in mind, I'm kind of unsophisticated,  here. Another girl might have brought  champagne or something. I hope this isn't  too disappointing. SOUND METAL CLANK VICTOR I can't even tell what those are -I see  metals and wheels, and- FIONA Silly, it's roller skates! MUSIC   SCENE 10 MARGIE Roller skates? You had a chance to romance  a bigwig, and you took him roller skates? FIONA The pool was perfect -I couldn't resist. MARGIE And the two of you rolled around the bottom  of the pool like children? FIONA More or less. Well, mostly me. He was a  bit too dignified to give it a fair shake. MARGIE But you didn't roll around like grownups? FIONA What? MARGIE Nothing. MUSIC   SCENE 11 SOUND CAR DRIVES AWAY, FEET ON GRAVEL FIONA Hello? [beat, then chuckles] Maybe he  didn't see me coming, for once? SOUND FOOTSTEPS IN LEAVES FIONA Hello? How tragic. A perfectly good cab  ride wasted. [worried] Maybe his father's  not doing well. SOUND DOOR OPENS MASON Miss? FIONA Oh, gosh -sorry! I guess I kind of  expected Vic to be around somewhere. He  usually is. MASON He's busy. Inside. [ominous] Would you  like to come in? FIONA Oh, Vic said it's- MASON It's no problem. Really. FIONA Sure. Thanks a lot. SOUND FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL FIONA I can always, go, you know. I don't want to  be a bother. MASON No bother. You're quite welcome here. SOUND FOOTSTEPS SLOW A BIT ON THE WOODEN STAIRS FIONA It'll be interesting to see inside. VICTOR [distant] Fiona? Is that you? SOUND RUNNING FEET APPROACH VICTOR [angry, worried] What's going on? Mason?  [beat] Fiona? FIONA Just looking for you. Mason said you might  be inside. VICTOR [angry hiss] Inside? Get out of here,  Fiona. Just go. We'll be talking about  this, Mason. SOUND FOOTSTEPS DOWN STAIRS INTO GRAVEL FIONA [puzzled] Victor? VICTOR [whispered] I don't want you going in and...  catching anything. Understand? FIONA All right. Um, sorry? VICTOR [cold] Goodbye. [up] Mason! MUSIC   SCENE 12 GEORGE [very serious] Thank you for coming in, Miss  Cross. We have a bit of a problem. FIONA You couldn't get that actor, Price? GEORGE More serious than that. [heavy pause]  Mr. Malacard. FIONA What happened? Is Vic's dad OK? GEORGE Sorry, I meant the son. He rang up  yesterday and said, well... said you've been  pestering him. FIONA [shocked] ...pestering? GEORGE Yes. He said he'll pull the permission for  the film if you bother him again. FIONA [nearly in tears] B-but... I--He never  said- GEORGE [fatherly] Just lay off, at least until the  film is finished. Once it's in  distribution, you can pester him all you  want. FIONA Oh! [sobbing] SOUND CHAIR SCRAPE, RUNNING FOOTSTEPS, DOOR BANGS  OPEN. MUSIC   SCENE 13 SOUND COCKTAIL LOUNGE, MANY ROWDY PEOPLE IN  BACKGROUND FIONA [very down] Pestering. That's what he  said. Apparently. Vic couldn't even tell  me to my face, [breaking down into tears] he  had to send it through- MARGIE There, there. [calls] Waiter! Bring  another one. [half whispered] A double. FIONA No. I really shouldn't. [moping again] I  guess I deserve it -he didn't say I could  come back, but... The picnic was NICE.  Everything was nice. He was nice. Real  nice. I thought. MARGIE They all seem nice -say, you didn't let him  ... have his wicked way with you, didja? FIONA What? No! [melting] I mean, he almost  kissed me at the picnic, but the butler was  watching. MARGIE That's it, then. The butler did it.  Probably threatened to quit or something.  Good help is a lot harder to find in this  town than pretty girls. [lecturing] Most  servants are just actors waiting to be  discovered -they're just not very good, or  they'd be able to act like servants. FIONA [almost a laugh] Hmph. MARGIE That's better. What you need is a night at  a dance hall -meet some nice guys, wear  yourself out, then you can sleep. I  promise, all you'll be worrying about in the  morning is your bunions. MUSIC   SCENE 14 SOUND PERSISTENT CITY NIGHT NOISES. SOUND PHONE RINGS, OFF [PAUSE] THEN POUNDING ON A  DOOR FIONA [waking] Yes? Mm-what? LANDLADY [very annoyed] Phone for you. MUSIC   SCENE 15 SOUND CAB PULLS UP, DOOR SLAMS, RUNNING FEET ON  GRAVEL FIONA [panting] SOUND FEET RUN UP WOOD STAIRS, POUNDING ON DOOR FIONA Hello? Hello? SOUND DOOR SWINGS OPEN MASON [very calm] Oh, good. Come in. FIONA Mason? What happened? You said it was an  emergency? SOUND FOOTSTEPS, DOOR CLOSES, FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE  UNDER MASON This way, miss. FIONA [getting more panicky] But, is Vic hurt?  Did his father...? What could he --what  could he want me here for? MASON Through here. SOUND DOOR OPENS MASON The master will be right in, Miss. SOUND DOOR SLAMS SHUT. FIONA [gasp, then yelling] You could at least  turn on a light! [to herself] Which  master? Maybe I'll finally- SOUND DOOR OPENS MASON [off] Just through here, sir. SOUND RELUCTANT FOOTSTEPS MASON [off, condescending] I think this will help  with your --mood, sir. VICTOR [coming on] I can't think of anything worth  getting me up in the middle of the--Fiona?  [truly upset] MASON [off, condescending] Now everything will be  better. FIONA Oh, Vic, I shouldn't have come. I'm so  sorry! Please don't- VICTOR Oh, no! No! FIONA But Mason called me. He said- VICTOR Mason! That filthy--!! SOUND DOOR SLAM CUTS HIM OFF FIONA What is it? VICTOR We must get you out of here! SOUND RUNNING FEET, POUNDING ON WINDOWS, TRYING TO  GET THEM TO OPEN FIONA I don't understand, Vic? VICTOR Blast it Fiona, help me. FIONA No. I want to know what's going on. VICTOR Is this one of those things Hollywood taught  you? Take a bad situation and make it  worse? FIONA No. Oh, here [grunt as she helps try and  push] I wasn't going to ... to not help.  I'm just confused. VICTOR [grunt, then angry noise] No use, they're  sealed. FIONA They are glass. There must be a chair or  something- VICTOR It's never that easy -trust me. This way.  Come on. SOUND RUNNING FEET, SLAM AGAINST CLOSED DOOR BOTH are getting BREATHLESS FIONA Locked! VICTOR Maybe down here! SOUND MORE RUNNING FOOTSTEPS FIONA Don't you know your own house? VICTOR [harsh laugh] Don't slow down. SOUND RUNNING, SCRAMBLE, RATTLE OF LOCKED DOOR FIONA Victor, wait! VICTOR No! I will NOT let him get you! SOUND POUNDING ON DOOR, BUT SLOWER VICTOR [sobs] I won't let IT! FIONA Victor. Breathe, Victor! VICTOR I'm so sorry, Fiona. I don't understand why  it brought you here. FIONA It? Oh! [dawning] Um, I guess everyone  agreed the story needed a bit of romance. VICTOR What? FIONA Your house. It's just like the film -or  close to it -isn't it? VICTOR How could you think--How could you know? FIONA I told you I have a good imagination. VICTOR But you- FIONA And you're the one and only Victor Malacard. VICTOR You're mad! I would have to be- FIONA Almost 60. I looked it up. And you don't  look a day over 35. Coincidentally, the age  you were when you went into seclusion. You  look like him, move like him -even the way  your lips move when you talk -not even  father and son can be THAT much alike. VICTOR It's... the house. FIONA And Mason? VICTOR Mason's not a... person. Just part of it.  The house. He... speaks for it. FIONA And watches over you. VICTOR Keeps me prisoner, you mean. [sadly] And  now, you too. Fiona, I am so dreadfully- FIONA Shh. [calling] Mason? I want to talk to  you -whatever you are. MASON [deep, on filter] Yes miss? VICTOR [yelling] You let her go, you wretch! FIONA Shh. Victor. It'll be fine. VICTOR No...! FIONA Yes. [SOUND -brief kiss] If there's one  thing I learned in Hollywood, it's there's  always room for negotiation. [calling,  sweetly] Mason? MUSIC, fades into-   SCENE 15 MUSIC 1960S BUBBLEGUM POP ON A TINNY RADIO,  DISTANT, WITH BIRDS AND OUTDOOR NOISES.   SOUND MOTORCYCLE APPROACHES, STOPS FIONA [coming on] Ah! Over here, Bobby! Oh! I  was expecting- ANDY Sorry! I'm Andy -Bobby retired. FIONA [chuckles] It's so hard to keep track.  Well, then, Andy. Do you have my packages? SOUND LOADING UP WITH PACKAGES AS HE SPEAKS ANDY Yup, packages from Woolworth's and Mays, a  big bundle of magazines, and here's one from  the studio -a film canister -gee do you  have your own theater? That's way out  there, man, I mean ma'am. FIONA [chuckles] Just leave everything on the  porch. The butler will see that it all gets  inside in one piece. And here's my latest  screenplay -hardly a fair trade, but an  easier trip, eh? Get it to George -no,  wait... I mean Harold, don't I? Harold  Mills is in production these days, right? SOUND SCRIPT CHANGES HANDS ANDY Umm... [working up to say something] So  you're Fiona Cross Malacard? The one who  wrote Trapped by Love? That was a groovy  flick, even if it is kind of ancient. FIONA Well, thank you, Andy. [chuckles] I guess. ANDY But you don't look--I mean, you're really  much--oh, criminee. I mean to say- FIONA You're trying not to say I must be older  than I look? ANDY Uh-huh. FIONA I'll take the compliment. I put it down to  clean country air, good healthy food... VICTOR [way off] Fiona? Was that the deliveries? FIONA ...and a wonderful husband. ANDY Having servants don't hurt neither, eh? FIONA [ironic] No -no, it don't. MUSIC TO END  

In West Virginia stands a desolate area that even in daylight, looks eerie and creepy. Overgrown amusement rides, broken down cars and school buses, and abandoned buildings are scattered across the grounds of Lake Shawnee Amusement Park, which is often labeled as one of the top ten most haunted places in the world. Join us as talk about this creepy place and cover some of our true crime updates! Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wik https://www.wvlakeshawnee.com/faq/visitor-stories/i/Lake_Shawnee_Amusement_Park https://the-line-up.com/lake-shawnee-amusement-park https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/west-virginia/lake-shawnee-wv/ https://www.facebook.com/lakeshawneeevents/ https://www.roadunraveled.com/blog/lake-shawnee-amusement-park/ https://www.theconstantrambler.com/lake-shawnee-amusement-park-abandoned-haunted/#:~:text=The%20abandoned%20Lake%20Shawnee%20Amusement%20park%20has%20a,investigations%2C%20and%20during%20October%20its%20annual%20%E2%80%9CDark%20Carnival%E2%80%9D. https://www.wvlakeshawnee.com/ --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/tacosandtekillyapodcast/support

Overgrown government, Chinese spies, satanic rituals, woke robots, and being fearless. Enjoy and don't forget to rate the podcast!

Become a subscriber at MikeyPodcast.com Get more exclusive content commercial free! Save 20% at HigherElevation.com with promo code MIKEY Start your own podcast HERE In this episode I'm bringing the FACTS about Brandon And Ye is still saying crazy stuff f*ck you Money = about 10 grand And a woman beats another woman with her own meat This is a weird one