Podcasts about Paar

Thanks to our partners Promotive and Wicked FileAre you rewarding your team, or paying extra taxes to do it? Could a few words on your payroll save you thousands a year?In this episode, Hunt Demarest, CPA with Paar, Melis & Associates, explains why the difference between an allowance and a reimbursement could save both you and your employees thousands of dollars a year.From cars and cell phones to tool truck payments, Hunt breaks down how changing just a few words on your payroll setup can turn a taxable perk into a tax-free benefit. Through clear examples and real-shop math, he reveals how to keep Uncle Sam's cut out of your employee bonuses and put that money back where it belongs — in your business.If you've ever handed out end-of-year bonuses, paid mileage, or covered employee phone bills, this episode will show you a smarter, legally compliant way to do it.Shop owners, service advisors, and bookkeepers who want to reward staff without paying unnecessary payroll taxes.What you'll discover…(02:00) How a small change in wording saves 25–30% in taxes(04:10) Why giving an “auto allowance” is the same as providing a raise (07:10) Cellphone allowance insights(11:00) Tools allowance and reimbursement insights(11:40) How a $200 tool payment becomes $150 after taxes, and how to make it a full $200 with one form(14:10) What the IRS calls “fringe benefits” and how to use them responsibly to benefit both sides(14:30) Turning bonuses into reimbursements so your team keeps 100% of their moneyThanks to our partner PromotiveIt's time to hire a superstar for your business; what a grind you have in front of you. Introducing Promotive, a full-service staffing solution for your shop. Promotive has over 40 years of recruiting and automotive experience. If you need qualified technicians and service advisors and want to offload the heavy lifting, visit https://gopromotive.com/Thanks to our Partner WickedFileTurn chaos into clarity with WickedFile, the AI for auto repair shops. Transform invoices into insights, protect cash flow, and stop losing parts, cores, or credits to maximize your bottom line. visit https://info.wickedfile.com/Paar Melis and Associates – Accountants Specializing in Automotive RepairVisit us Online: www.paarmelis.comEmail Hunt: podcast@paarmelis.comText Paar Melis @ 301-307-5413Download a Copy of My Books Here:Wrenches to Write-OffsYour Perfect Shop The Automotive Repair Podcast Network: https://automotiverepairpodcastnetwork.com/Remarkable Results Radio Podcast with Carm Capriotto: Advancing the Aftermarket by Facilitating Wisdom Through Story Telling and Open DiscussionDiagnosing the Aftermarket A to Z with Matt...

Diese Folge ist kein Coaching. Wir lassen im Zweiergespräch die 4 Jahre, die es diesen Podcast gibt, Revue passieren und erklären dabei, was wir da eigentlich so machen in diesen Provokativen Coachings. Ein bißchen Metaebene. Wer von uns im Podcast gecoacht werde möchte, meldet sich gerne unter kontakt@charlottecordes.de. Wir zeichnen regelmässig auf. Ihr könnt einzeln kommen oder als Paar. Was eben gerade ansteht.  Das Podcastcoaching ist kostenlos und wird dafür veröffentlicht. Wer ein Coaching möchte, das nicht veröffentlicht wird, kann uns gerne kontaktieren, dann sagen wir Euch, was eine Stunde kostet.Und wenn euch gefällt, was wir machen, gebt uns gerne Sterne auf Spotify oder Apple Podcasts und schreibt uns eine Bewertung.Last, but not least: Wer diese Art von Coaching lernen möchte: Wir bieten Seminare im Deutschen Institut für Provokative Therapie zum Provokativen Ansatz an (www.provokativ.com).Weitere Veröffentlichungen zum Provokativen Ansatz: www.provokativ.com/veroeffentlichungenTermine für Coachingmarathons auf der Bühne: https://provokativ.com/coachingmarathon/Foto: Barbara Donaubauer

Heute sprechen wir über Märchen für Menschen, denn sie sind sowohl Kulturgut als auch Sprachförderung und Sterbebegleitung. Wir erfahren, wie wir über Volks- und Kunstmärchen den Umgang mit Triggern lernen können und Rumpelstilzchen zum Sympathieträger wird. Gefahrenerlebnisse für Kinder werden wandelbar und zu einer wichtigen Ressource, besonders dann, wenn unser Stargast Rita erzählt und nicht Bilder von außen zerstören. Dafür lernt die holde Rita viel auswendig und lässt ihr Glöckchen hell erklingen. Wir sind uns sicher, sie ist keine Pechmarie und muss keine Wackersteine in Wolfsmägen stecken und wir sind uns sicher – alles wird gut. Claudijas Hoffnung, dass Hänsel nie sterben wird, hat sich millionenfach erfüllt und Gesellschaftskritik kann, wie Königsbilder auch höchst individuell sein und findet sicher ein gerechtes Ende. Wir drei haben verstanden, dass die Bibel kein Mythos ist, obwohl sich viele mythische Charaktere darin befinden und solange Claudija von kroatischen Baba Jagas angelächelt wird, machen innere Prozesse jede Grausamkeit zu einer Lernaufgabe. Solange Kinder begleitet werden, kann auch Blut spritzen und Aschenputtel an einer Erbse ersticken. Fallada wird uns davon erzählen und uns Co-regulieren, wenn die Fantasie mit uns durchgeht und Kindheitserinnerungen in blauem Licht dramatischer erscheinen, als sie gewesen sein mögen. Wir leben in unseren süßen Erinnerungen und vermeiden es allzu viele Eisbrocken anzufassen. Deshalb trägt Claudija beim Eisbaden auch Neoprenhandschuhe, denn dann bleiben die Hände heil und sie kann auf vier Hochzeiten und einem Todesfall ihrem märchengeprägten schönen Sohn beim Geigespielen unterstützen oder ihm den Koffer tragen oder die Zügel der Mäuse führen, die die güldene Kürbiskutsche zur Hochzeit des anderen Sohnes ziehen mögen. Denn bald schon läuten die Glocken und das holde Paar feiern am magischen Meer seine Vermählung. Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann scheinen Sie noch heute. Shine On! Kontakt zu Rita kontakt@fascinabor.de Claudija Stolz https://www.claudijastolz.com https://fruehe-bindung.de Dr. Anke Elisabeth Ballmann https://www.ankeelisabethballmann.de https://www.lernmeer.de https://www.stiftung-gewaltfreie-kindheit.de

Die fünf Gesprächsformen sind ein Kompass, der Paaren hilft, Nähe zu kultivieren, Missverständnisse zu klären und ein gemeinsames Gefühl für das „Wir“ zu bewahren.Hier findest du mehr Informationen zur ⁠Paar- und Einzeltherapie bei mir und meinem Team ⁠(online und in Bonn vor Ort)Wenn du mich und den Podcast unterstützen möchtest, dann bewerte den Podcast gerne und schicke ihn an jemanden weiter, der sich auch dafür interessieren würde. ⁠Mein neues Buch⁠ hilft dir besser zu kommunizieren, deine Muster zu verändern und wieder Nähe herzustellen. Du hast Feedback oder Fragen? Dann schreib mir auf ⁠Instagram⁠.

Luisa war einen Tag lang im FKK-Club – etwas, das schon lange auf ihrer Liste stand, und was dort passiert ist, übertrifft jede Vorstellung. In dieser Folge erzählt sie, wie es dazu kam, warum sie es unbedingt ausprobieren wollte und wie nervös sie schon auf dem Parkplatz war – inklusive der Sprachnachricht, die sie dort an Lenia geschickt hat. Wie läuft so etwas eigentlich ab? Kann man wirklich einfach im Club anrufen und sagen: „Ich würde gern einen Tag bei euch arbeiten“? Ihr erfahrt es. Im Club selbst ist Luisa eine von etwa 40 Frauen. Die Stimmung in der Umkleide ist anfangs eher angespannt – bis sie mit einem potenziellen Kunden ins Gespräch kommt. Fünf Minuten später haben sie Sex. Luisa merkt schnell, dass Schaulaufen eine gängige und überraschend effektive Methode ist, um Kundschaft zu bekommen. Und die Begegnungen bleiben nicht bei einem Mann: Eine Gruppe junger Österreicher findet Gefallen an ihr – und daraus entsteht unter anderem der vielleicht beste Dreier, den Luisa je hatte. Insgesamt landet sie an diesem Tag mit sieben Männern auf einem Zimmer. Beim Rubrikenwecker gibt's heute Lob und Tadel – es geht um Dirtytalk. Konkret um die Frage: Darf man(n) beim Sex „Komm für mich“ sagen? Am Ende zieht Luisa ein ehrliches Fazit. Das Anstrengende waren nicht die Männer – die waren höflich und respektvoll. Anstrengend waren die Frauen.

Hast Du Dich heute schon genug bewegt? Genug Proteine gegessen? Wie war Deine Schlafqualität? Und reicht die Body Battery für den ganzen Tag?  Noch nie war es so einfach, sich selbst zu überwachen, Daten über den eigenen Gesundheitszustand zu sammeln und Statistiken über allfällige Veränderungen zu führen. Die gute Seite dieser Entwicklung: Viele bewegen sich mehr, achten auf gesunde Ernährung und sind sich ihrer Handlungsoptionen bewusst. Wo aber ist die Grenze zum Fitnesswahn und zum zwanghaft gesunden Leben? Wo schlägt die bewusste Ernährung um und wird zu einer Essstörung wie Orthorexie? Und wer sind die eigentlichen Profiteure dieses gesteigerten Gesundheitsbewusstsein?  Healthismus ist eine Ideologie, die Gesundheit primär als eine persönliche und moralische Verpflichtung ansieht und als Belohnung für vorbildliches Verhalten. Wer krank wird, ist nach dieser Auffassung selber schuld. Faktoren wie Genetik, Klasse, Herkunft oder Lebensbedingungen werden ausgeblendet.  In dieser Folge des Beziehungspodcast «Beziehungskosmos» diskutieren die Journalistin Sabine Meyer und die Psychotherapeutin Felizitas Ambauen, wie man mit besserwisserischen Smartwatches umgehen kann, was es mit konsumorientierter Selbstfürsorge auf sich hat und ab wann ein Gesundheitsbewusstsein in einen Gesundheitswahn umschlägt. Bücher zur Folge:Schorb Friedrich: Healthismus – Gesundheit als Gesellschaftliche Obession, Psychosozialverlag, 2024Kessler, Verena: Gym, Hanser Berlin, 2025 Buch zum Podcast: Ambauen Felizitas & Meyer Sabine: Beziehungskosmos – eine Anleitung zur Selbsterkenntnis, Aris Verlag, 2023Wir sind ein unabhängiger Podcast und finanzieren uns allein durch den Support unserer Community. Wenn Ihr unsere Arbeit unterstützen möchtet, geht auf www.beziehungskosmos.comUnter «Support us» könnt Ihr mit ein paar Klicks ein Abo einrichten.Einmaligen Support ist auch via Twint 0795553950 möglich.Beziehungskosmos LIVE? Alle Events findet Ihr hier! 

Eine schwere Erkrankung, ein unerfüllter Kinderwunsch oder der Verlust eines lieben Menschen: Manchmal sind die Lebensumstände so herausfordernd, dass Beziehungen darüber in die Brüche gehen, weil die Kraft ausgeht, die Konflikte nicht enden wollen - oder man sich als Paar einfach aus den Augen verliert. Und dann gibt es diese Paare, die gestärkt selbst aus schwersten Krisen hervorgehen. So wie das Paar, um das es heute geht. Was läuft in diesen Fällen anders? Was ist das „Erfolgsrezept“ dieser Paare? Ann-Marlene hat da einen schweren Verdacht ;-)

In dieser Folge sprechen wir darüber, warum unser Geduldsfaden im Familienalltag manchmal einfach reisst – und weshalb Kinder gleichzeitig das Schönste und Anstrengendste im Leben sind. Wir tauchen ein in die sinkende Geburtenrate, den Kulturkampf rund um Unisex-WCs und die Frage, warum viele Menschen heute unsicher sind, ob sie Kinder wollen. Dazu beantworten wir sehr persönliche Hörer*innenfragen zu Kinderwunsch und Sexualität nach der Geburt. Und natürlich gibt's wie immer ehrliche Einblicke aus unserem eigenen Alltag als Paar und Eltern.Zudem gibt es neu den

Jana ist Ende 50 und kann gut 1:1 Gespräche führen, aber vor großen Gruppen schafft sie es nicht. Da kriegt sie Schweißausbrüche, Blockaden, usw. Sie will das unbedingt machen und ihre Angst davor verlieren. Hört euch an, was uns eingefallen ist!Wer von uns im Podcast gecoacht werde möchte, meldet sich gerne unter kontakt@charlottecordes.de. Wir zeichnen regelmässig auf. Ihr könnt einzeln kommen oder als Paar. Was eben gerade ansteht.  Das Podcastcoaching ist kostenlos und wird dafür veröffentlicht. Wer ein Coaching möchte, das nicht veröffentlicht wird, kann uns gerne kontaktieren, dann sagen wir Euch, was eine Stunde kostet.Und wenn euch gefällt, was wir machen, gebt uns gerne Sterne auf Spotify oder Apple Podcasts und schreibt uns eine Bewertung.Last, but not least: Wer diese Art von Coaching lernen möchte: Wir bieten Seminare im Deutschen Institut für Provokative Therapie zum Provokativen Ansatz an (www.provokativ.com).Weitere Veröffentlichungen zum Provokativen Ansatz: www.provokativ.com/veroeffentlichungenCoachingmarathon auf der Bühne: 20.10.25, 20h, München. Details und Tickets: https://provokativ.com/coachingmarathon/Foto: Barbara Donaubauer

In de nacht van 23 op 24 november 2024 wordt in Heers de wagen van een cipier in brand gestoken. In zijn brievenbus ligt een dreigbrief die een duidelijke link legt met zijn werk in de gevangenis van Leuven-Centraal. Het onderzoek brengt zes verdachten in beeld, waaronder de twee vermoedelijke opdrachtgevers die in de gevangenis zitten waar de cipier werkte. Het proces startte op donderdag 20 november. ­ Dit is een podcast aflevering van HBVL Crimi met host Tom Verstappen en journalist Phillip Pergens. ­ CREDITS: Journalist: Phillip Pergens. Host en redactie: Tom Verstappen. Opname en montage: Siebe Vanheusden en Geert Nies. Muziek: Pieter Santens (House of Media). Chef podcast: Geert Nies.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Wir sprechen über Silvester und wieso das Neujahr der Montag des Jahres ist. Außerdem fragen wir uns wie sinnvoll Neujahresvorsätze sind und wie man es schafft, seine Vorsätze erfolgreich umzusetzen und beizubehalten. Ein Tipp vorab: Nicht zu extrem einsteigen hilft! Ein guter Vorsatz für das neue Jahr 2026 wäre es, weniger Fleisch zu konsumieren. Das Problem beim Fleischkonsum ist doch, dass man viel zu viel davon herstellt und viel zu viel davon am Ende des Tages in der Tonne landet. Vielleicht müssen wir einfach wieder lernen, dass nicht immer von allem genug für alle da ist? (00:00:00) - Teaser/Intro (00:00:46) - Geplauder zum Anfang (00:05:14) - Silvester zu Hause verbringen (00:09:31) - Der Neujahres-Blues (00:14:15) - Silvester als Paar zwingend zusammen feiern? (00:20:09) - Neujahresvorsätze was für Weicheier? (00:32:29) - Vorsätze besser umsetzen ohne Verbote! (00:38:44) - Fleischproduktion im Überfluss (00:43:15) - Nahrungsmittelverschwendung beim Film (00:57:13) - In seinen Möglichkeiten konsumieren hilft schon

Das hochaktuelle Stück von Lucy Kirkwood zeigt, wie ein Paar in ein Netz aus Erzählungen gerät - und beleuchtet die Macht von Verschwörungsmythen.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Was passiert, wenn ein ängstlicher und ein vermeidender Bindungsstil aufeinandertreffen und beide endlich aussprechen würden, was in ihnen wirklich vorgeht. Ich zeige, warum sich Nähe und Distanz für diese beiden Menschen so unterschiedlich anfühlen und weshalb Missverständnisse entstehen, obwohl beide eigentlich nur Sicherheit möchten.Hier findest du mehr Informationen zur ⁠Paar- und Einzeltherapie bei mir und meinem Team ⁠(online und in Bonn vor Ort)Wenn du mich und den Podcast unterstützen möchtest, dann bewerte den Podcast gerne und schicke ihn an jemanden weiter, der sich auch dafür interessieren würde. ⁠Mein neues Buch⁠ hilft dir besser zu kommunizieren, deine Muster zu verändern und wieder Nähe herzustellen. Du hast Feedback oder Fragen? Dann schreib mir auf ⁠Instagram⁠.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Ein junges Paar verliert seinen Sohn kurz vor dem Entbindungstermin. Der aus Breisach stammende Autor Yannic Han Biao Federer hat dieses Katastrophenerlebnis auf ebenso dramatische wie berührende Weise in seiner Erzählung „Für immer seh ich Dich wieder“ festgehalten.

Katharina und Rayan sind ein ungewöhnliches Paar, wenn sie gemeinsam den Friedhof besuchen: Verschiedene Herkunft, verschiedene Generationen - aber doch ganz tief verbunden.

In der neuen Folge von „Hubis Hafenschlack“ spricht Hubi mit Schauspieler Stephan A. Tölle über seine Karriere auf Bühne, TV und in Hörspielen. Er erzählt, wie er aus dem Münsterland nach Hamburg kam, warum der Hafen ihn inspiriert und wie er die Hamburger Theaterszene erlebt. Außerdem spricht er über seine Rollen in „Nord bei Nordwest“ und „Nord-Nord-Mord“ sowie die Premiere der Komödie Ein seltsames Paar am 27. November im Ernst-Deutsch-Theater.

Heute geht's um Brüste. Lenia und Luisa starten mit einer ganzen Sammlung an Begriffen dafür und sortieren direkt aus: Welche Namen fühlen sich schön an – und welche gehen gar nicht? Von dort aus landen sie bei der Frage, wie wohl sie sich mit ihren eigenen Brüsten fühlen. Lenia war lange unzufrieden und hätte früher sofort eine Vergrößerung gewählt. Luisa hatte ihre Brüste jahrelang im Push-up eingesperrt, bis plötzlich die Befreiung kam – seitdem liebt sie BH-frei. Auch oben ohne bekommt Raum: schwimmen, Sonne, FKK-Vibes. Luisa gönnt ihren Brüsten gern frische Luft, Lenia genauso. Und natürlich geht es um Berührungen: Lenia reagiert sofort, wenn ihre Brüste „aus Versehen“ gestreift werden und mag es im Verlauf intensiver. Luisa hingegen liebt Nippelkontakt beim Masturbieren, braucht beim penetrativen Sex aber gar keine Brustberührungen. Der Rubrikenwecker klingelt: In Lob und Tadel gibt's heute ein dickes Lob für einen Lover aus der Community – für die perfekte Kombination aus Audio und Berührung. Zum Schluss kommen zwei von Luisas Escort-Kolleginnen zu Wort und erzählen, was Brüste für sie bedeuten und wie sie sie gern berühren lassen.

Tobi schenkt seiner Freundin Steffi zum Geburtstag einen Vibrator. Das geht komplett nach hinten los. Steffi findet das Geschenk schrecklich und denkt "der Sex mit mir ist langweilig". Sind Sextoys, Dessous, Sexspiele etc. ein gutes Geschenk? Oder führt das schnell zu Streit? Wie sieht das die total versext Community? Ich weiß, solche Geschenke können heikel sein, deswegen habe ich ein Spiel entwickelt, dass euch als Paar wieder näher zusammenbringt. Ganz ohne Druck. Und von diesem Spiel gibt es jetzt auch eine Erweiterung, die sich super für unterwegs eignet."Liebesreise zur Venus - The next Level"In diesem Podcast mit dabei Psychotherapeutin Dr. Monika Wogrolly.Mich findest du auf INSTAGRAM bei Fragen oder Ideen für diesen Podcast.Du willst auch mal das Podcast Thema bestimmen? Schreib mir auch gern ne Mail: sandra@totalversext.com

Alina und Svenja leben seit zweieinhalb Jahren zusammen – in einer offenen Beziehung. Doch als Svenja zu einer weiteren Person stärkere Gefühle entwickelt, geraten Vertrauen, Sicherheit und Verantwortung ins Wanken. Zusammen mit Paartherapeut Eric Hegmann sprechen die beiden Frauen in dieser spannenden Sitzung über Schwärmerei vs. Verliebtheit, Regeln & Hierarchien, Verantwortung vs. Fürsorge, und wagen sogar das Gedankenexperiment "Beziehung zu dritt“. Wie viel Offenheit hält eine Liebe aus – und was braucht es, damit sie sich trotzdem sicher anfühlt? Erics Tipps: Lachen ist nicht nur ein Ausdruck von Heiterkeit und Gelöstheit, sondern es ist eine Technik, um Spannung abzubauen. Ich finde es großartig, wenn jemand in einer Beziehung Verantwortung übernimmt. Die Frage ist, wie weit darf es gehen? Und ab wann gerät die Balance aus dem Gleichgewicht? Auch ein offenes Beziehungsmodell hat so viele Facetten – das ist niemals zu Ende gelebt und es gibt immer neue Möglichkeiten. Es gibt einen Unterschied zwischen Fürsorge und Verantwortung übernehmen, weil das manchmal auch in den Bereich der Kontrolle gehen kann und das wiederum ist dann nicht hilfreich. Es kann einem Paar guttun, auch mal eine Schwärmerei zuzulassen. Natürlich kann es gleichzeitig auch gefährlich sein, wenn es in eine Verliebtheit übergeht. Lässt sich das verhindern? Wahrscheinlich kaum. Aber das zulassen zu können, finde ich sehr mutig. Dokuserie “Die Paartherapie” in der Mediathek: http://1.ard.de/Die_Paartherapie_Staffel_3?pd=paartherapie Alle Folgen und Infos: https://www.ndr.de/paartherapie Ihr erreicht uns per Mail an: paartherapie@ndr.de ©NDR 2 Host und Autorin: Maria Richter Formatidee: Kathrin Lindemann, Nele Pasch Formatentwicklung: Kira Drössler, Laura Leick Distribution: Nina Wietholz, Julia Hercka Sound-Design: Isola Music & Warner Chappell Production Music Produktion: Oliver Kleist Redaktion: Sascha Sommer Podcast Tipp: Frag dich fit http://www.wdr.de/k/podcast-fragdichfit

Greg and Dan talk to Leslie Rothan, President of PAAR (Peoria Area Association of Realtors), about the trends and insights they’ve seen throughout the third quarter. Leslie explains how they are beginning to see the market pendulum shift, and how PAAR stays tuned in to national, state, and especially local housing patterns. She also talks about evaluating Peoria’s citywide needs and how those needs are shaping PAAR’s latest initiatives and developments to better support the community and real estate professionals. For more information, visit www.309mls.comSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

liebeschip #blackfriday 25% mit dem Code NOVEMBER25; einfach in der Kaufabwicklung eingeben. Gilt für fast alle Online Kurse, Bundles, auch mehrfach verwendbar. Gilt bis Sonntag 23. November.Heute geht es um eine Zuschauerin in einem #Paar. Sie sind schon lange zusammen und haben #Kinder. Wie lange probiert man es noch, bevor man Richtung #Trennung geht.Mein neues Buch "Darum funktioniert dein Gehirn wie TikTok"https://amzn.to/45tye7cRelease Party / Lesung neues Buch in Berlin, Köln & Hamburg sowie Bootcamp in Stuttgart & Hamburg: https://www.liebeschip.de/store?tag=9.%20veranstaltungenLiebeschip KI Bot: https://www.liebeschip.de/store/opCfF4GXLizenz-Kurse: https://www.liebeschip.de/store?tag=7.%20lizenz-kurse%20für%20berater%20und%20therapeutenMeine Dating Kurse: https://www.liebeschip.de/store/K8Csuxf6Vlog / Podcast von Dipl.-Psych. Christian Hemschemeier, Institut für Integrative Paartherapie in Hamburg / Berlin. (Wichtige Hinweise findest Du unten im Text.)(Online) Kurse: https://www.liebeschip.deKurse zu toxischen Beziehungen, Umprogrammierung deines Beuteschemas, Bindungsangst, Verlustangst, Dating, Selbstliebe, Eifersucht, Glück, Dating und ganz vieles mehr! Schau einfach mal vorbei!Wichtige Informationen zu unseren AngebotenIn diesem Online-Angebot werden keine psychotherapeutischen Leistungen angeboten. Die Videos wurden mit größtmöglicher Sorgfalt und durch einen erfahrenen Paartherapeuten erstellt. Sie enthalten jedoch keine Diagnosen, Ratschläge oder Empfehlungen hinsichtlichErkrankungen und darauf bezogener Therapien. Die Videos ersetzen somit keine psychotherapeutische Behandlung. Weitere wichtige Informationen zu unseren Angeboten finden Sie hier: https://www.liebeschip.de/infoImpressum: https://www.liebeschip.de/pages/impressum Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In dieser Folge sprechen Franzi und Hebamme Maike ehrlich über das, was viele Paare nach der Geburt erleben: weniger Nähe, mehr Stress und ein neues „Wir“, das erst gefunden werden will und manchmal auf sich warten lässt…Warum man sich plötzlich häufiger streitet, was mentale Load wirklich bedeutet und wie man trotz Schlafmangel und Alltagschaos wieder Team Eltern wird – mit ungefilterten Einblicken, Hebammenwissen und kleinen Tipps für mehr Leichtigkeit im Beziehungsalltag.

Was tun, wenn dein:e Partner:in einer anderen Person näher ist, als dir lieb ist und das ganz offiziell „nur Freundschaft“ heißt? In dieser Folge spreche ich mit Mika über die Momente, in denen unser innerer Kompass wackelt: Wenn wir spüren, dass da Nähe entsteht, die nicht mehr eindeutig einzuordnen ist. Wir öffnen den Blick für die kleinen Dynamiken, die entstehen können, wenn jemand vom anderen Geschlecht außerhalb der Beziehung eine besondere Rolle spielt. Und die Frage, ob diese Freundschaft eine Bedrohung für uns, unsere Wünsche und unsere Nähe zueinander ist. Wir reden über das Unausgesprochene, das zwischen zwei Menschen entstehen kann, über Vertrauen, das plötzlich auf die Probe gestellt wird, und über den Reflex, Grenzen ziehen zu wollen, wo vielleicht erstmal nur Gesprächsbedarf ist. Eine Folge, die dir helfen kann, euch als Paar näher zusammenzubringen. Gerade in Situationen, die irritieren können. Wenn dir die Folge gefallen hat, würden wir uns freuen, wenn du uns 5 Sterne gibst und den Podcast abonnierst. Damit hilfst du, unseren Podcastcast für noch mehr Menschen sichtbar zu machen. Vielen Dank.

In dieser Folge spreche ich mit Bianca Rütter und Schauspieler Sven Martinek über ihren Weg aus alten Mustern hin zu echter Verbundenheit. Offen erzählen die beiden von Sucht, Flucht, Verletzungen und dem Mut zur radikalen Ehrlichkeit – und wie daraus eine tiefe, ehrliche Beziehung entstanden ist. Ein Gespräch über Heilung, Vertrauen und die Kraft, sich selbst wirklich zu begegnen. In dieser Folge erfährst du: Die persönliche und inspirierende Geschichte von Sven und Bianca als Paar. Warum radikale Ehrlichkeit der Schlüssel zu echter Nähe ist. Wie alte Verletzungen und Kindheitsmuster Beziehungen prägen. Wie Heilung möglich wird, wenn beide bereit sind, hinzuschauen. Und vieles mehr. Über unseren Gast: Instagram Bianca: https://www.instagram.com/bianca_ruetter_lifetrustcoach/ Instagram Sven: https://www.instagram.com/svenmartinek/ Instagram Bianca & Sven: https://www.instagram.com/daspaarcoachingpaar/   Weitere Links für dich: Website: https://www.herz-kopf.com Coaching-Ausbildung: https://go.greator.com/greator-life-coaching-ausbildung/ Bücher: https://www.herz-kopf.com/unsere-buecher/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/christina.hommelsheim/ Weiteres: https://linktr.ee/christina.walter.hommelsheim

+++ Weimar: Busfahrer wirft aggressives Paar aus Linienbus +++ Eichsfeld: Warnung vor fliegenden Eisplatten +++

Soziale Medien sind überall - und manchmal auch zwischen uns. Wir scrollen, reagieren und vergleichen. Und manchmal merken wir: Es berührt unsere Beziehung, subtil, aber deutlich. In dieser Folge sprechen wir darüber, wie soziale Medien unsere Partnerschaften und Beziehungen beeinflussen. Dabei beleuchten wir sowohl die positiven als auch die herausfordernden Seiten von Facebook, Instagram und Co.: Wie können soziale Medien zu Neid, Unsicherheiten oder Konflikten führen? In welchen Momenten kann das Teilen von Erlebnissen online unsere Verbundenheit sogar stärken? Wir tauschen uns offen über unsere persönlichen Perspektiven aus, teilen Anregungen für einen bewussten Umgang als Paar – und geben Tipps, wie ihr soziale Medien für eure Beziehung nutzen könnt, ohne dass der digitale Alltag zwischen euch steht. Egal, ob ihr selbst gerne postet oder lieber nur schaut, hier bekommt ihr Denkanstöße, wie ihr gemeinsam einen guten Weg im Umgang mit sozialen Medien finden könnt. Viel Spaß beim Zuhören! Herzliche Grüße Hanser und Maren podcast(at)raumfuereuch.com

Kinder wünschen sich viele, aber bei jedem fünften Paar in der Schweiz geht dieser Wunsch nicht in Erfüllung. Wie umgehen mit Unfruchtbarkeit – und welche Möglichkeiten stehen überhaupt offen? «Puls» besucht drei Paare mit unterschiedlichen Geschichten, Erfahrungen und Resultaten. Vom Kinderwunsch zur Wissenschaft – Madeleine Bernets Mission «Puls»-Host Tama James-Vakeesan begleitet die Pflegewissenschaftlerin Madeleine Bernet und ihre Familie. Die Bernerin musste fünf Jahre lang für ihren Kinderwunsch kämpfen. Heute nutzt sie ihre Erfahrungen, um aufzuklären, Forschung voranzutreiben und die Betreuung von Menschen im Reproduktionsprozess zu verbessern. Wunder geschehen – Marc und Laras langer Weg zum Familienglück Marc und Lara teilen ihre persönliche Reise zum langersehnten Familienglück. Nachdem bei Marc eine schlechte Spermienqualität diagnostiziert wurde, war klar: Ohne Unterstützung ist ein eigenes Kind unmöglich. Die Behandlungen waren für Lara sehr hart, doch ihr Kampf zahlte sich aus – sie wurde mit Ari schwanger. Und als das Paar am wenigsten damit rechnete, klappte es auf natürlichem Weg erneut. Der Abschied vom Kinderwunsch – Katrin und Fabians neuer Weg Katrin und Fabian wünschten sich eine eigene Familie. Nach mehreren Fehlgeburten und dem belastenden Prozess einer erfolglosen künstlichen Befruchtung musste Katrin aber schliesslich eine schmerzhafte Entscheidung treffen und den Traum vom eigenen Kind begraben. Dass sich Fabian die Möglichkeit eröffnete, in den USA zu arbeiten, kam gelegen. Fernab des alten Lebens ist es den beiden gelungen, sich vom unerfüllten Kinderwunsch zu verabschieden und neue, erfüllende Aufgaben zu finden. Schlappe Spermien – Schweizer Rekruten unter der Norm Eine Genfer Studie zeigt auf, dass die Spermienqualität junger Schweizer Männer oft unter der Norm liegt. Demnach erfüllen nur 38 Prozent der untersuchten Schweizer Rekruten alle Kriterien der Weltgesundheitsorganisation WHO für eine gute Spermienqualität. Die Forschenden nennen als Ursachen Lebensstil und Umwelteinflüsse. 17 Prozent der Rekruten gelten medizinisch gar als unfruchtbar: Eine Zeugung ist zwar nicht gänzlich ausgeschlossen, der Weg zum Wunschkind kann aber beschwerlich sein. «Puls»-Chat zum Thema Kinderwunsch Will es mit dem Wunschkind nicht klappen? Haben Sie Angst, mit ihrem Partner/ihrer Partnerin darüber offen zu reden oder wissen nicht, wo anfangen mit der Ursachensuche? Haben Sie Fragen zur künstlichen Befruchtung? Möchten Sie wissen, welche Kosten dabei von der Krankenkasse übernommen werden? Die Fachrunde weiss am Montag von 21.00 bis 23.00 Uhr Rat – live im Chat. Fragen können vorab eingereicht werden.

Hannes und Niklas sitzen in einem Hotel in Ingolstadt, reden erst über umfallende Sektgläser, Business-Hotels und absurde Dinner in West-Berlin – und landen dann mitten in den großen Fragen des Elternseins:Wie schafft man es als Papa, geduldig zu bleiben?Wie bleibt man als Paar verbunden, wenn Schlaf fehlt, die Nerven dünn sind und plötzlich alles anders ist?Wie geht man damit um, wenn das Baby schreit – und einer von beiden fast explodiert, während der andere versucht, ruhig zu bleiben?Aus einer Hörerinnenfrage entwickeln die beiden ein langes, ehrliches Gespräch über Einschlafbegleitung, Überforderung, Trigger, Erwartungen – und die neue Realität, die mit einem Baby in die Beziehung einzieht.Alle Infos zu unseren aktuellen Werbepartnern findet ihr hier:KoroMit dem Code PAPAS bekommt ihr bei Koro 5% Rabatt auf Eure nächste Bestellung. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

++++ Hier könnt ihr Mitglied im Klub Reflektor werden, Jans Reflektor-Mitgliederbereich mit vielen Extras ++++ In dieser Doppelfolge zu Gast: Isabella Streifeneder und Markus Harbauer von der Münchner Band Mola. Viele von euch kennen MOLA vermutlich durch ihren Hit „Vino Bianco“.Nun haben MOLA jüngst ihr drittes Album mit dem Titel „Liebe Brutal“ veröffentlicht, worüber Jan mit Isa und Markus sprach.Im Gespräch ging es außerdem um die Anfänge der Band, ihre künstlerische Orientierung, kreatives Schaffen als Paar, um München, das Nachtleben und ihre Erfahrungen auf Tour.Euch erwartet ein sehr schönes Gespräch. Viel Spaß beim Hören und danke für eure Unterstützung! Die in dieser Folge angesprochenen Musiktitel findet ihr in der Reflektor-Streaming-Playlist. Hier findet ihr die Tour-Termine von MOLA. Hier findet ihr Reflektor bei Instagram. Und hier findet ihr Jan bei Instagram. Schreibt uns gerne unter reflektor@cloudshill.com++++++++++Ob Pop, Rock, Rap, Punk oder Klassik – Musik ist immer einzigartig. So wie die Künstler:innen, die sie erschaffen. Was macht einen guten Song aus? Wie politisch darf oder sollte Pop sein? Und wie geht man mit plötzlichem Ruhm oder dem unvermeidlichen Absturz um? In Reflektor + Subline sucht Jan Müller, selbst Musiker und seit nahezu 30 Jahren Bassist der Band Tocotronic, authentische Gespräche mit jenen, die es am besten wissen müssen: den Musiker:innen selbst. Ob Olli Schulz, Jan Delay, Feine Sahne Fischfilet, Alli Neumann, Joy Denalane oder Doro – geprägt von gegenseitigem Interesse und Respekt spricht er mit seinen Gästen über ihre Karriere, ihre größten Hits und die schmerzhaftesten Rückschläge. Immer auf Augenhöhe, immer überraschend. Neue Episoden von Reflektor erscheinen wöchentlich, immer freitags – also hört unbedingt rein und abonniert den Podcast, um keine Folge mehr zu verpassen. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Ein Paar will in Las Vegas heiraten. Am Check-In-Schalter ist der Flug des Mannes aber nicht auffindbar. Die Hochzeit droht zu platzen. +++ Weiteres Thema: Gemüsebouillons auf dem Prüfteller – ein günstiges Produkt schmeckt am besten.

Ein Kind – und danach klappt es nicht mehr mit der Schwangerschaft: Der Schock ist oft groß, das Mitgefühl eher gering. Sekundärer Unfruchtbarkeit ist wenig bekannt, obwohl viele Paar betroffen sind. Autorin: Lena Gilhaus Von Lena Gilhaus.

In the misty hills of Kasauli, a man riding home after midnight stops when he sees a woman standing across the road. What begins as a moment of curiosity turns into a night of terror when he realizes the road itself hides the dead. The chilling twist: he's already one of them.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Wie bleibt man ein Paar, wenn das Baby gerade erst zwei Monate alt ist – und man gleichzeitig schon ein Schulkind hat?Niklas und Hannes sprechen in dieser Folge über die Kunst, trotz Schlafmangel, Stillzeiten und Abendchaos füreinander da zu bleiben.Über den Sprung von Freiheit zurück in den Ausnahmezustand, über kleine Gesten, große Müdigkeit – und warum Wertschätzung im Alltag manchmal mehr bedeutet als ein Dateabend.Es geht um radikale Akzeptanz, die neue Definition von „Me-Time“ (Spoiler: sie heißt Rückbildungskurs oder entspannt duschen) – und eben um die Frage, wie man zwischen Fläschchen, Hausaufgaben und Freundesbesuch überhaupt noch Paar bleibt.Alle Infos zu unseren aktuellen Werbepartnern findet ihr hier:KoroMit dem Code PAPAS bekommt ihr bei Koro 5% Rabatt auf Eure nächste Bestellung. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda Lausche dem Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda gesungen von Shankara S. während eines Samstagabend Satsangs bei Yoga Vidya in Bad Meinberg. Radhe Radhe Govinda – so beginnen verschiedene Kirtans. Radha und Krishna sind das göttliche Paar. Radha, die Manifestation der Liebe, Krishna, die reine Freude. Radha und Krishna sind Herzensöffnung, göttliche Ekstase. Begib dich auf eine herzerwärmende Reise mit diesem Kirtan gesungen von Shankara S. Diese Mantras verbinden uns mit der göttlichen Präsenz von Govinda und Radhe – liebevolle Namen Gottes, die Schutz, Fürsorge und Hingabe symbolisieren. Genieße die wiederholenden Klänge, die zum Mitsingen, Meditieren oder einfach Der Beitrag Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda mit Shankara erschien zuerst auf Yoga Vidya Blog - Yoga, Meditation und Ayurveda.

Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda Lausche dem Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda gesungen von Shankara S. während eines Samstagabend Satsangs bei Yoga Vidya in Bad Meinberg. Radhe Radhe Govinda – so beginnen verschiedene Kirtans. Radha und Krishna sind das göttliche Paar. Radha, die Manifestation der Liebe, Krishna, die reine Freude. Radha und Krishna sind Herzensöffnung, göttliche Ekstase. Begib dich auf eine herzerwärmende Reise mit diesem Kirtan gesungen von Shankara S. Diese Mantras verbinden uns mit der göttlichen Präsenz von Govinda und Radhe – liebevolle Namen Gottes, die Schutz, Fürsorge und Hingabe symbolisieren. Genieße die wiederholenden Klänge, die zum Mitsingen, Meditieren oder einfach Der Beitrag Radhe Radhe Govinda Govinda mit Shankara erschien zuerst auf Yoga Vidya Blog - Yoga, Meditation und Ayurveda.

Die Themen: Ein Bräutigam finanziert seine Hochzeit durch Werbeanzeigen auf dem Anzug; Kann Kanzler Merz seinen »Freund Jo« retten?; Julia Klöckner nennt Deutschland den „Puff Europas“; der linke Demokrat Zohran Mamdani wird erster muslimischer Bürgermeister New Yorks; Dänemarks Außenminister schenkt seinem ägyptischen Kollegen eine Lego-Pyramide; in Düsseldorf beleidigt ein Museumsführer seine Gäste und ein Paar sorgt mit Sex bei Tempo 140 auf der Autobahn für Aufsehen Du möchtest mehr über unsere Werbepartner erfahren? Hier findest du alle Infos & Rabatte: https://linktr.ee/ApokalypseundFilterkaffee

++++ Hier könnt ihr Mitglied im Klub Reflektor werden, Jans Reflektor-Mitgliederbereich mit vielen Extras ++++ In dieser Doppelfolge zu Gast: Isabella Streifeneder und Markus Harbauer von der Münchner Band Mola. Viele von euch kennen MOLA vermutlich durch ihren Hit „Vino Bianco“.Nun haben MOLA jüngst ihr drittes Album mit dem Titel „Liebe Brutal“ veröffentlicht, worüber Jan mit Isa und Markus sprach.Im Gespräch ging es außerdem um die Anfänge der Band, ihre künstlerische Orientierung, kreatives Schaffen als Paar, um München, das Nachtleben und ihre Erfahrungen auf Tour.Euch erwartet ein sehr schönes Gespräch. Viel Spaß beim Hören und danke für eure Unterstützung! Die in dieser Folge angesprochenen Musiktitel findet ihr in der Reflektor-Streaming-Playlist. Hier findet ihr die Tour-Termine von MOLA. Hier findet ihr Reflektor bei Instagram. Und hier findet ihr Jan bei Instagram. Schreibt uns gerne unter reflektor@cloudshill.com++++++++++++++Ob Pop, Rock, Rap, Punk oder Klassik – Musik ist immer einzigartig. So wie die Künstler:innen, die sie erschaffen. Was macht einen guten Song aus? Wie politisch darf oder sollte Pop sein? Und wie geht man mit plötzlichem Ruhm oder dem unvermeidlichen Absturz um? In Reflektor + Subline sucht Jan Müller, selbst Musiker und seit nahezu 30 Jahren Bassist der Band Tocotronic, authentische Gespräche mit jenen, die es am besten wissen müssen: den Musiker:innen selbst. Ob Olli Schulz, Jan Delay, Feine Sahne Fischfilet, Alli Neumann, Joy Denalane oder Doro – geprägt von gegenseitigem Interesse und Respekt spricht er mit seinen Gästen über ihre Karriere, ihre größten Hits und die schmerzhaftesten Rückschläge. Immer auf Augenhöhe, immer überraschend. Neue Episoden von Reflektor erscheinen wöchentlich, immer freitags – also hört unbedingt rein und abonniert den Podcast, um keine Folge mehr zu verpassen. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Michi und Marc haben im Urlaub in Südafrika einen schweren Verkehrsunfall. Als das Paar im Krankenhaus ankommt, merkt Marc, dass Michi sich nichts merken kann. Erst später wird klar: Bei diesem Unfall verliert Michi ihr Gedächtnis und alle Erinnerungen, die sie in den letzten 2 Jahren gesammelt hat. Oleg spricht mit den beiden darüber, wie es ist, wenn plötzlich zwei Jahre Erinnerungen ausgelöscht werden. Können Michis Erinnerungen jemals zurückkommen oder kann Marc die Erinnerungen für sie beide aufbewahren?

Sie sind gar kein Paar, aber tun so. Warum - nennen wir sie mal - Anke und Brayden das machen? Für ihre Traumwohnung. Und nur vor ihrer Vermieterin. Die ist eigentlich recht nett, hat sich zu den beiden allerdings eingeladen. Und jetzt müssen Anke und Brayden die Lüge aufrecht erhalten… Oder wie kommen sie da raus?Wenn auch ihr einen Ratschlag braucht – von Menschen, die selbst keine Ahnung haben –, dann schreibt uns eine Mail an hallo@zsvpodcast.deUnseren Instagram-Account findet ihr hier: https://www.instagram.com/zsvpodcastUnd hier geht's direkt zu TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@zumscheiternverurteiltZur ZSV-Playlist geht HIER lang. +++ Du möchtest mehr über unsere Werbepartner erfahren? Hier findest du alle Infos & Rabatte: LINK +++

Die Themen: Lehrer aus NRW tritt in Kochshows auf, obwohl er seit langer Zeit krankgeschrieben ist; Katy Perry und Justin Trudeau sind ein Paar; Deutsche Firmen verraten Geschäfts-Geheimnisse an China; Latino-Wähler:innen wenden sich von Trump ab; Münchens Bürger:innen sagen ja zu Olympia; Hausdurchsuchung bei Norbert Bolz; Deutscher YouTuber Simon Desue in Dubai wegen Drogenbesitzes festgenommen; Netflix-Serie „Boots“ entfacht hitzige Debatte. Du möchtest mehr über unsere Werbepartner erfahren? Hier findest du alle Infos & Rabatte: https://linktr.ee/ApokalypseundFilterkaffee

#277: In ein paar Tagen ist Halloween – und was heißt das traditionell bei Mord auf Ex? Halloweenspecial!

Thanks to our partners Promotive and Wicked FileAfter years of waiting, many shop owners are discovering that their long-anticipated Employee Retention Tax Credit (ERTC) checks may never come — and worse, some are facing IRS audits they didn't see coming. In this week's episode of Business by the Numbers, Hunt Demerist, CPA at Paar, Melis & Associates, breaks down the chaos behind the ERTC delays, what triggers an audit, and what every business owner should be doing right now to protect themselves.This Week, Hunt takes listeners inside the IRS's renewed crackdown on ERTC claims. From delayed payments and disappearing credit firms to official audit questionnaires, Hunt shares real client examples, reveals the riskiest filing groups, and explains why quarter three of 2021 has become the IRS's favorite target. He also offers actionable advice on what to do if you're still waiting for your refund—or worse, if you've received an audit letter.In This Conversation:(04:10) The truth about ERTC payment delays and why checks have slowed since mid-2024 (08:35) Why the IRS is focusing on third quarter 2021 claims (13:40) How credit firms and PEO companies like BBSI became audit magnets (18:55) What the official IRS audit questionnaire looks like — and how to prepare (23:22) Key warning signs your ERTC claim could be flagged(27:10) Why smaller, direct filers are less likely to face audits (31:00) What to do (and not do) if you haven't received your ERTC payment (35:45) Hunt's cautious outlook for 2025 and what it means for shop financesIf you're ready to protect your shop from ERTC chaos and stay informed on what the IRS is really doing behind the scenes, this episode is essential listening.IRS Official ERTC Audit Questionnaire: https://info.paarmelis.com/hubfs/Employer%20Response%20to%20IRS%20Document%20Request%20Form.docxThanks to our partner PromotiveIt's time to hire a superstar for your business; what a grind you have in front of you. Introducing Promotive, a full-service staffing solution for your shop. Promotive has over 40 years of recruiting and automotive experience. If you need qualified technicians and service advisors and want to offload the heavy lifting, visit https://gopromotive.com/Thanks to our Partner WickedFileTurn chaos into clarity with WickedFile, the AI for auto repair shops. Transform invoices into insights, protect cash flow, and stop losing parts, cores, or credits to maximize your bottom line. visit https://info.wickedfile.com/Paar Melis and Associates – Accountants Specializing in Automotive RepairVisit us Online: www.paarmelis.comEmail Hunt: podcast@paarmelis.comText Paar Melis @ 301-307-5413Download a Copy of My Books Here:Wrenches to Write-OffsYour Perfect Shop The Automotive...

Sie waren das berühmteste Paar der deutschsprachigen Literatur: Ingeborg Bachmann und Max Frisch. Ihre Briefe sprechen allerdings von einer unglücklichen Liebesbeziehung. Um das Ende dieser Liebe geht es heute in den Gedanken für den Tag der Philosophin und Autorin Mirjam Metze: Gestaltung: Alexandra Mantler – Eine Eigenproduktion des ORF, gesendet in Ö1 am 22.10 .2025

Paar Padosan, ਪਾੜ ਪੜੋਸਣਿ (Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ang 657 Sabad 1726)

Joanne Lees und Peter Falconio sind Ende 20. Sie sind verliebt und wollen auf ihrer Weltreise ganz Australien kennenlernen. Am 14. Juli 2001 macht sich das Paar auf, den fast 3000km langen Stuart Highway von Süden nach Norden entlangzufahren. Doch Peter und Joanne ahnen nicht, dass die Reise ihres Lebens für einen von ihnen den Tod bedeuten wird. Denn hinter ihnen fährt ein Mann, der nichts Gutes im Sinn hat. ** CW: sexualisierte Gewalt (gegen Minderjährige), EntführungWerde Komplizi und unterstütze diese Arbeit! ** Hier findest du alle Rabatte und Promocodes "Darf's ein bisserl Mord sein?" ist der #1 True Crime Podcast aus Österreich. Egal ob deutsche, österreichische oder internationale Fälle: mit Flair, Charme und Wiener Schmäh spricht Franziska Singer über kuriose, ungelöste und längst vergessene Kriminalfälle aus der ganzen Welt. Ob Serienmörder, Entführungen, ein Bankraub oder Femizide - bei Darf's ein bisserl Mord sein? wird jeden Montag je ein Kriminalfall ausführlich behandelt und durchleutet. Von diesen Verbrechen habt ihr bestimmt noch nie gehört! Darf's ein bisserl Mord sein? ist eine Produktion der Wake Word Studios. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In hierdie episode gesels Arno en Louis oor die president se berugte ontmoeting voor 'n korrupsiepaleis in Sandton en die Tshwane Metro se besluit om die "City cleansing levy"-uitspraak te appelleer. 'n Paar korter nuusbrokkies kom aan die beurt.Die Podlitiek-span bestaan uit:Louis BoshoffArno RoodtErnst van Zyl