Podcasts about Prod

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2025 8:52

I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had caused the forests and winds to suffer from her art, therefore. There is no homeland, now or here or either, Shall I wonder? And then frayed her mark and also frayed this flag did fly for shame and horror. So there, did also Chaos sit and lack and gripping rope upon there crosses, also did my eye to mind, Him to a rope, but had departed. So I watched him hang from the noose, Though loosened grasp from known the ballet dancer, also then became the rabbit This of past and present. Ah, Fuck with me. I want you to. Aye aye. What is his power? Just wait for it… I don't think this is what you want it to— Just wait. Just listen? Listen to what? The man is just— blabbering. The cadence in his voice though; it's a rhythm. What, The cadence! In his voice— Mm. McDonald's. Okay?! But why are you saying—? Wait a minute. Wait what?! Play the tape back, and boost the audio. What for. Just do it, Mark. This costs a fortune and he's taking up all of our— THE MAN IN THE BOX has exploded. — time. What just happened. I told you he would do it. And we missed it. I don't get it. Where is he? There's no way of knowing yet. Check the grid. It's not… that simple…. Well then! Check the cadence. Or something ! Whatever you said. Jesus, I hate these alien motherfuckers! He's not an “alie What—? He's just— I mean— I do not understand. —he's human he's just— these ancients are gifted with— [sort of] Gifted?! You call that gifted?! He exploded into a fireball of feathers and— whatever this is— what is it?! It appears to be volcanic ash, sir. WHAT?! I'm moving backwards, forwards, backwards— forward time and time is dust from now on, I am in the end of my shattered and half lived life, Though bonded body to not my soul, which seeks not love and light, the morsels of the marker of my kind, And this to fill my aching desire to—- — now you've gotta run. From what? THE— AAAAhahsHAHSHjhabdbsnNadbdbamamBSBDNAGAGHAHghahsbabahaa!! WHAT WAS THAT. I DONT KNOW. I JUST HAD SIX ORGASMS. [BLACKOUT.] {Enter The Multiverse} DANE COOK wakes up from a VERY HARD NAP. …what just happened? This is your fault. You caused that. Okay. Gun in my face. I've had things, but not that. Get up. Jesus Christ. Just calm down. This is my calm. [The Festival Project ™] Do not panic. What the fuck are you telling me. Just stay calm. Do not panic. Don't panic what! That. Oh. You showed us what you are. No I did not. You want that? Uh… CC Just when you think you have me all figured out, I promise, it's not that. He has a gun! Fall back! Oh shitsauce, what in the fuck is going on! I may have had to stop and think for a moment ‘Where the fuck was I going?” The problem was I knew I already had the answer, and it was “Nowhere, fast.” Maybe even faster than ever. That hollow pit inside my stomach was calm now because most of all, I wasn't on the subway, I was on autopilot somewhere way far off from my body. Train me not, For this I die as one and always Sure to come for what is known and also for my martyr. Soon to fall I, bitter from the rock And drifting intermittent conscious, The constant not to known, But just a trough to all our horses. So this shame and guilt and rit and raft which I whitewater, so then to shall be betrayed as so they say I am, for now and onward. So her force is death and her tip have sung and those caves we made were of not fortune, but gloom and pity, merriment and pepper peer to socket and For now, my broken. Withered here and there And for to curse, But not to save my cycle, Dim this light for this I offer sacrament, Married waves and crevices of canyons I had watered, and then to twist of pine and though my time was won as always, want. The tip and twist of time would trim her down of those as slaughtered. Giving time and giving hate, and giving twins, And giving tin and giving golden graves, for maids And golden trophies. Giving taste and giving waste and giving ghosts wool coats for courthouses, Giving dim and dinner to these flames for which were ordered, have I. Giving those is taste and giving those is feasts, and giving those is masonry, created in her honor; Giving those is peace and wars, And to left ties, a peril force And giving these is tales and miners Trapped in these there caves as though you drift in barren lands. Well! Well. If I don't know who it is And I don't know what it is What I can't catch Man, Just leave the the fuck alone already, Would you? I have to wonder why I even come here, Full frozen How I'm running on low fuel, But just a sure to fact— (((Huh.))) Yeah, I recognize that dudes voice at this point Alright, maybe I am being followed. Yeah, that can't be a coincidence. It could. It is the rock. No it couldn't, Cause it's the rock. INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. SUNRISE Okay, it's pretty from every angle! My fingers are frozen. Can I go inside now?! Yes. Here is the entrance. Jesus Christ! {Enter The Multiverse} Jesus All Day Christ. What are you looking at? I don't know yet. L E G E N D S It's pizza time. It's Kimmel time. [redacted] These are dangerous thoughts. Oh no, I turned my mind off. I love Kimmel, but I lost focus. Maybe this was the hour I needed without timing my life out. Then again, I did just recently watch him burst into flames in my living room. I have to wonder what that's about. Socumopolus Open On The Operating Table. Symposium, 2025/2026 TBA -Ū. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Symposium is a concept album that reinterprets the ancient Greek tradition of philosophical dialogue for the modern age. Taking its name from Plato's seminal text, which structured profound conversations about Love (Eros) as a series of distinct speeches, this album presents a series of intense, mythic narratives—the tracks—that each serve as a unique speech on the nature of consciousness, suffering, and transcendence. The album's unconventional structure, with initial tracks sporting double titles (e.g., forgetmenots.//follow through.), reflects the complex philosophical dualism explored throughout the work—the conflict between the body and the mind, the real and the dream, the past and the imperative to move forward. Each long-form track is a deep dive into an extreme mental state, an attempt to define the core truth of existence through an absurd or heightened reality. [Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table] This track is a visceral representation of the album's Platonic core. It is a grueling philosophical thought experiment set to music made to be experienced as though sifting through a gallery; as interpretive art rather than festival minded electronic dance music. ‘Socumolopus' opens in the uncomfortable and disjointed stairway of becoming undone at the midst of a medical mercy— unable to move or act with the understanding and awareness of a total loss of autonomy and control. A complete paralysis, but not of thought. Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table tells the story of a man undergoing high-risk, life-saving surgery. Due to a failure in anesthesia, he is trapped in a state of conscious paralysis—unable to alert the surgeons, yet fully aware as the operation unfolds. Indeed he reaches a certain purgatory of sorts and a certain death, as he becomes outward of himself enough to realize he knows nothing of this self, even his own name which he is called. He is now only Socumopolus. He is forced to watch his own body being opened, simultaneously experiencing the surgery from the table and from an out-of-body perspective above., however, once the initial shock of the blood and gore of his organs unraveling on the table before him, he drifts between lucid galaxies and worlds, traveling beyond all known time. His consciousness drifts in a purgatory spanning what is hours, but is rather eons in his own unaligned infinite outer consciousness, mingling the visceral reality of the operating room with non-sequitur dreams and the background noise of the hospital's televisions, and in and out of worlds alike; but also unknown. Symposium: A Concept Theory The track is a direct musical translation of Plato's Dualism—the belief that the mind/soul is separate from the physical body. [The Body] The character's physical being is the object of suffering (the operating table), imperfect and subject to the knife. [The Soul] His consciousness detaches, viewing the scene from above—this is the transcendent perspective, attempting to find "The Form of Truth" outside the confines of the suffering body. The character's hours-long, suspended state—neither fully alive nor dead, neither fully conscious nor dreaming—is the album's metaphor for the Ladder of Ascent in the Symposium. He is stuck in the intermediate steps, struggling between the earthly, mortal reality and the potential for a higher, purer vision, while the surrounding hospital noise and fragmented dreams represent the strange, sometimes absurd "speeches" (like Aristophanes' myth) that interrupt the pursuit of ultimate truth. In Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table, the operating room becomes the stage for a private, intense symposium on what it means to be aware when the self is literally dismantled. The surreality is not in the musicality, but the concept of the artwork itself, which reads most like an awkward statue or sculpture stationed distinctly in the way of a place you least expected, or perhaps even dead-center your normal course. It blocks the path with the cause to force you to think of creating an alternate route, or to travel or explore beyond what is familiar or known— or perhaps— just to force you to think at all when you may suppose the rest can just be turned off, as you cross out or autopilot and into a newfound structure for your own immortal cause. Thank You for Listening. Chroma 111. The Shoestring Theory. 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

Socumopolus Open On The Operating Table

[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2025 8:52

I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had caused the forests and winds to suffer from her art, therefore. There is no homeland, now or here or either, Shall I wonder? And then frayed her mark and also frayed this flag did fly for shame and horror. So there, did also Chaos sit and lack and gripping rope upon there crosses, also did my eye to mind, Him to a rope, but had departed. So I watched him hang from the noose, Though loosened grasp from known the ballet dancer, also then became the rabbit This of past and present. Ah, Fuck with me. I want you to. Aye aye. What is his power? Just wait for it… I don't think this is what you want it to— Just wait. Just listen? Listen to what? The man is just— blabbering. The cadence in his voice though; it's a rhythm. What, The cadence! In his voice— Mm. McDonald's. Okay?! But why are you saying—? Wait a minute. Wait what?! Play the tape back, and boost the audio. What for. Just do it, Mark. This costs a fortune and he's taking up all of our— THE MAN IN THE BOX has exploded. — time. What just happened. I told you he would do it. And we missed it. I don't get it. Where is he? There's no way of knowing yet. Check the grid. It's not… that simple…. Well then! Check the cadence. Or something ! Whatever you said. Jesus, I hate these alien motherfuckers! He's not an “alie What—? He's just— I mean— I do not understand. —he's human he's just— these ancients are gifted with— [sort of] Gifted?! You call that gifted?! He exploded into a fireball of feathers and— whatever this is— what is it?! It appears to be volcanic ash, sir. WHAT?! I'm moving backwards, forwards, backwards— forward time and time is dust from now on, I am in the end of my shattered and half lived life, Though bonded body to not my soul, which seeks not love and light, the morsels of the marker of my kind, And this to fill my aching desire to—- — now you've gotta run. From what? THE— AAAAhahsHAHSHjhabdbsnNadbdbamamBSBDNAGAGHAHghahsbabahaa!! WHAT WAS THAT. I DONT KNOW. I JUST HAD SIX ORGASMS. [BLACKOUT.] {Enter The Multiverse} DANE COOK wakes up from a VERY HARD NAP. …what just happened? This is your fault. You caused that. Okay. Gun in my face. I've had things, but not that. Get up. Jesus Christ. Just calm down. This is my calm. [The Festival Project ™] Do not panic. What the fuck are you telling me. Just stay calm. Do not panic. Don't panic what! That. Oh. You showed us what you are. No I did not. You want that? Uh… CC Just when you think you have me all figured out, I promise, it's not that. He has a gun! Fall back! Oh shitsauce, what in the fuck is going on! I may have had to stop and think for a moment ‘Where the fuck was I going?” The problem was I knew I already had the answer, and it was “Nowhere, fast.” Maybe even faster than ever. That hollow pit inside my stomach was calm now because most of all, I wasn't on the subway, I was on autopilot somewhere way far off from my body. Train me not, For this I die as one and always Sure to come for what is known and also for my martyr. Soon to fall I, bitter from the rock And drifting intermittent conscious, The constant not to known, But just a trough to all our horses. So this shame and guilt and rit and raft which I whitewater, so then to shall be betrayed as so they say I am, for now and onward. So her force is death and her tip have sung and those caves we made were of not fortune, but gloom and pity, merriment and pepper peer to socket and For now, my broken. Withered here and there And for to curse, But not to save my cycle, Dim this light for this I offer sacrament, Married waves and crevices of canyons I had watered, and then to twist of pine and though my time was won as always, want. The tip and twist of time would trim her down of those as slaughtered. Giving time and giving hate, and giving twins, And giving tin and giving golden graves, for maids And golden trophies. Giving taste and giving waste and giving ghosts wool coats for courthouses, Giving dim and dinner to these flames for which were ordered, have I. Giving those is taste and giving those is feasts, and giving those is masonry, created in her honor; Giving those is peace and wars, And to left ties, a peril force And giving these is tales and miners Trapped in these there caves as though you drift in barren lands. Well! Well. If I don't know who it is And I don't know what it is What I can't catch Man, Just leave the the fuck alone already, Would you? I have to wonder why I even come here, Full frozen How I'm running on low fuel, But just a sure to fact— (((Huh.))) Yeah, I recognize that dudes voice at this point Alright, maybe I am being followed. Yeah, that can't be a coincidence. It could. It is the rock. No it couldn't, Cause it's the rock. INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. SUNRISE Okay, it's pretty from every angle! My fingers are frozen. Can I go inside now?! Yes. Here is the entrance. Jesus Christ! {Enter The Multiverse} Jesus All Day Christ. What are you looking at? I don't know yet. L E G E N D S It's pizza time. It's Kimmel time. [redacted] These are dangerous thoughts. Oh no, I turned my mind off. I love Kimmel, but I lost focus. Maybe this was the hour I needed without timing my life out. Then again, I did just recently watch him burst into flames in my living room. I have to wonder what that's about. Socumopolus Open On The Operating Table. Symposium, 2025/2026 TBA -Ū. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Symposium is a concept album that reinterprets the ancient Greek tradition of philosophical dialogue for the modern age. Taking its name from Plato's seminal text, which structured profound conversations about Love (Eros) as a series of distinct speeches, this album presents a series of intense, mythic narratives—the tracks—that each serve as a unique speech on the nature of consciousness, suffering, and transcendence. The album's unconventional structure, with initial tracks sporting double titles (e.g., forgetmenots.//follow through.), reflects the complex philosophical dualism explored throughout the work—the conflict between the body and the mind, the real and the dream, the past and the imperative to move forward. Each long-form track is a deep dive into an extreme mental state, an attempt to define the core truth of existence through an absurd or heightened reality. [Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table] This track is a visceral representation of the album's Platonic core. It is a grueling philosophical thought experiment set to music made to be experienced as though sifting through a gallery; as interpretive art rather than festival minded electronic dance music. ‘Socumolopus' opens in the uncomfortable and disjointed stairway of becoming undone at the midst of a medical mercy— unable to move or act with the understanding and awareness of a total loss of autonomy and control. A complete paralysis, but not of thought. Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table tells the story of a man undergoing high-risk, life-saving surgery. Due to a failure in anesthesia, he is trapped in a state of conscious paralysis—unable to alert the surgeons, yet fully aware as the operation unfolds. Indeed he reaches a certain purgatory of sorts and a certain death, as he becomes outward of himself enough to realize he knows nothing of this self, even his own name which he is called. He is now only Socumopolus. He is forced to watch his own body being opened, simultaneously experiencing the surgery from the table and from an out-of-body perspective above., however, once the initial shock of the blood and gore of his organs unraveling on the table before him, he drifts between lucid galaxies and worlds, traveling beyond all known time. His consciousness drifts in a purgatory spanning what is hours, but is rather eons in his own unaligned infinite outer consciousness, mingling the visceral reality of the operating room with non-sequitur dreams and the background noise of the hospital's televisions, and in and out of worlds alike; but also unknown. Symposium: A Concept Theory The track is a direct musical translation of Plato's Dualism—the belief that the mind/soul is separate from the physical body. [The Body] The character's physical being is the object of suffering (the operating table), imperfect and subject to the knife. [The Soul] His consciousness detaches, viewing the scene from above—this is the transcendent perspective, attempting to find "The Form of Truth" outside the confines of the suffering body. The character's hours-long, suspended state—neither fully alive nor dead, neither fully conscious nor dreaming—is the album's metaphor for the Ladder of Ascent in the Symposium. He is stuck in the intermediate steps, struggling between the earthly, mortal reality and the potential for a higher, purer vision, while the surrounding hospital noise and fragmented dreams represent the strange, sometimes absurd "speeches" (like Aristophanes' myth) that interrupt the pursuit of ultimate truth. In Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table, the operating room becomes the stage for a private, intense symposium on what it means to be aware when the self is literally dismantled. The surreality is not in the musicality, but the concept of the artwork itself, which reads most like an awkward statue or sculpture stationed distinctly in the way of a place you least expected, or perhaps even dead-center your normal course. It blocks the path with the cause to force you to think of creating an alternate route, or to travel or explore beyond what is familiar or known— or perhaps— just to force you to think at all when you may suppose the rest can just be turned off, as you cross out or autopilot and into a newfound structure for your own immortal cause. Thank You for Listening. Chroma 111. The Shoestring Theory. 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

Socumopolus On The Operating Table

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2025 8:52

I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had caused the forests and winds to suffer from her art, therefore. There is no homeland, now or here or either, Shall I wonder? And then frayed her mark and also frayed this flag did fly for shame and horror. So there, did also Chaos sit and lack and gripping rope upon there crosses, also did my eye to mind, Him to a rope, but had departed. So I watched him hang from the noose, Though loosened grasp from known the ballet dancer, also then became the rabbit This of past and present. Ah, Fuck with me. I want you to. Aye aye. What is his power? Just wait for it… I don't think this is what you want it to— Just wait. Just listen? Listen to what? The man is just— blabbering. The cadence in his voice though; it's a rhythm. What, The cadence! In his voice— Mm. McDonald's. Okay?! But why are you saying—? Wait a minute. Wait what?! Play the tape back, and boost the audio. What for. Just do it, Mark. This costs a fortune and he's taking up all of our— THE MAN IN THE BOX has exploded. — time. What just happened. I told you he would do it. And we missed it. I don't get it. Where is he? There's no way of knowing yet. Check the grid. It's not… that simple…. Well then! Check the cadence. Or something ! Whatever you said. Jesus, I hate these alien motherfuckers! He's not an “alie What—? He's just— I mean— I do not understand. —he's human he's just— these ancients are gifted with— [sort of] Gifted?! You call that gifted?! He exploded into a fireball of feathers and— whatever this is— what is it?! It appears to be volcanic ash, sir. WHAT?! I'm moving backwards, forwards, backwards— forward time and time is dust from now on, I am in the end of my shattered and half lived life, Though bonded body to not my soul, which seeks not love and light, the morsels of the marker of my kind, And this to fill my aching desire to—- — now you've gotta run. From what? THE— AAAAhahsHAHSHjhabdbsnNadbdbamamBSBDNAGAGHAHghahsbabahaa!! WHAT WAS THAT. I DONT KNOW. I JUST HAD SIX ORGASMS. [BLACKOUT.] {Enter The Multiverse} DANE COOK wakes up from a VERY HARD NAP. …what just happened? This is your fault. You caused that. Okay. Gun in my face. I've had things, but not that. Get up. Jesus Christ. Just calm down. This is my calm. [The Festival Project ™] Do not panic. What the fuck are you telling me. Just stay calm. Do not panic. Don't panic what! That. Oh. You showed us what you are. No I did not. You want that? Uh… CC Just when you think you have me all figured out, I promise, it's not that. He has a gun! Fall back! Oh shitsauce, what in the fuck is going on! I may have had to stop and think for a moment ‘Where the fuck was I going?” The problem was I knew I already had the answer, and it was “Nowhere, fast.” Maybe even faster than ever. That hollow pit inside my stomach was calm now because most of all, I wasn't on the subway, I was on autopilot somewhere way far off from my body. Train me not, For this I die as one and always Sure to come for what is known and also for my martyr. Soon to fall I, bitter from the rock And drifting intermittent conscious, The constant not to known, But just a trough to all our horses. So this shame and guilt and rit and raft which I whitewater, so then to shall be betrayed as so they say I am, for now and onward. So her force is death and her tip have sung and those caves we made were of not fortune, but gloom and pity, merriment and pepper peer to socket and For now, my broken. Withered here and there And for to curse, But not to save my cycle, Dim this light for this I offer sacrament, Married waves and crevices of canyons I had watered, and then to twist of pine and though my time was won as always, want. The tip and twist of time would trim her down of those as slaughtered. Giving time and giving hate, and giving twins, And giving tin and giving golden graves, for maids And golden trophies. Giving taste and giving waste and giving ghosts wool coats for courthouses, Giving dim and dinner to these flames for which were ordered, have I. Giving those is taste and giving those is feasts, and giving those is masonry, created in her honor; Giving those is peace and wars, And to left ties, a peril force And giving these is tales and miners Trapped in these there caves as though you drift in barren lands. Well! Well. If I don't know who it is And I don't know what it is What I can't catch Man, Just leave the the fuck alone already, Would you? I have to wonder why I even come here, Full frozen How I'm running on low fuel, But just a sure to fact— (((Huh.))) Yeah, I recognize that dudes voice at this point Alright, maybe I am being followed. Yeah, that can't be a coincidence. It could. It is the rock. No it couldn't, Cause it's the rock. INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. SUNRISE Okay, it's pretty from every angle! My fingers are frozen. Can I go inside now?! Yes. Here is the entrance. Jesus Christ! {Enter The Multiverse} Jesus All Day Christ. What are you looking at? I don't know yet. L E G E N D S It's pizza time. It's Kimmel time. [redacted] These are dangerous thoughts. Oh no, I turned my mind off. I love Kimmel, but I lost focus. Maybe this was the hour I needed without timing my life out. Then again, I did just recently watch him burst into flames in my living room. I have to wonder what that's about. Socumopolus Open On The Operating Table. Symposium, 2025/2026 TBA -Ū. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Symposium is a concept album that reinterprets the ancient Greek tradition of philosophical dialogue for the modern age. Taking its name from Plato's seminal text, which structured profound conversations about Love (Eros) as a series of distinct speeches, this album presents a series of intense, mythic narratives—the tracks—that each serve as a unique speech on the nature of consciousness, suffering, and transcendence. The album's unconventional structure, with initial tracks sporting double titles (e.g., forgetmenots.//follow through.), reflects the complex philosophical dualism explored throughout the work—the conflict between the body and the mind, the real and the dream, the past and the imperative to move forward. Each long-form track is a deep dive into an extreme mental state, an attempt to define the core truth of existence through an absurd or heightened reality. [Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table] This track is a visceral representation of the album's Platonic core. It is a grueling philosophical thought experiment set to music made to be experienced as though sifting through a gallery; as interpretive art rather than festival minded electronic dance music. ‘Socumolopus' opens in the uncomfortable and disjointed stairway of becoming undone at the midst of a medical mercy— unable to move or act with the understanding and awareness of a total loss of autonomy and control. A complete paralysis, but not of thought. Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table tells the story of a man undergoing high-risk, life-saving surgery. Due to a failure in anesthesia, he is trapped in a state of conscious paralysis—unable to alert the surgeons, yet fully aware as the operation unfolds. Indeed he reaches a certain purgatory of sorts and a certain death, as he becomes outward of himself enough to realize he knows nothing of this self, even his own name which he is called. He is now only Socumopolus. He is forced to watch his own body being opened, simultaneously experiencing the surgery from the table and from an out-of-body perspective above., however, once the initial shock of the blood and gore of his organs unraveling on the table before him, he drifts between lucid galaxies and worlds, traveling beyond all known time. His consciousness drifts in a purgatory spanning what is hours, but is rather eons in his own unaligned infinite outer consciousness, mingling the visceral reality of the operating room with non-sequitur dreams and the background noise of the hospital's televisions, and in and out of worlds alike; but also unknown. Symposium: A Concept Theory The track is a direct musical translation of Plato's Dualism—the belief that the mind/soul is separate from the physical body. [The Body] The character's physical being is the object of suffering (the operating table), imperfect and subject to the knife. [The Soul] His consciousness detaches, viewing the scene from above—this is the transcendent perspective, attempting to find "The Form of Truth" outside the confines of the suffering body. The character's hours-long, suspended state—neither fully alive nor dead, neither fully conscious nor dreaming—is the album's metaphor for the Ladder of Ascent in the Symposium. He is stuck in the intermediate steps, struggling between the earthly, mortal reality and the potential for a higher, purer vision, while the surrounding hospital noise and fragmented dreams represent the strange, sometimes absurd "speeches" (like Aristophanes' myth) that interrupt the pursuit of ultimate truth. In Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table, the operating room becomes the stage for a private, intense symposium on what it means to be aware when the self is literally dismantled. The surreality is not in the musicality, but the concept of the artwork itself, which reads most like an awkward statue or sculpture stationed distinctly in the way of a place you least expected, or perhaps even dead-center your normal course. It blocks the path with the cause to force you to think of creating an alternate route, or to travel or explore beyond what is familiar or known— or perhaps— just to force you to think at all when you may suppose the rest can just be turned off, as you cross out or autopilot and into a newfound structure for your own immortal cause. Thank You for Listening. Chroma 111. The Shoestring Theory. 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

Foie gras et brédeles : les gestes justes avant les fêtes

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 12, 2025 7:02

durée : 00:07:02 - Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? - À quelques jours des fêtes, l'émission Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir sur ICI Lorraine, animée par Jérôme Prod'homme, met le cap sur deux incontournables de Noël : le foie gras bien préparé et les brédeles, ces biscuits de l'Avent à partager. Conseils de pros et souvenirs gourmands. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

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Pilčík: Tříkilovou šunku už dnes prodáte stěží a maso bude ještě dražší

Agenda

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 12, 2025 20:41

Rok 2026 rozhodně nebude rokem zlevňování potravin a zejména v případě masa. I když teď ceny hovězího i drůbeže lehce klesly, výhled ukazuje, že po novém roce půjdou opět nahoru. Výrobci si navíc stěžují na další rostoucí náklady. „Rozhodně nechci plakat, to chraň bože. Jen konstatuji, co se na nás valí. Zdražení o pět až osm procent od nového roku nám teď posílá skoro každý dodavatel. Od náhradních dílů přes koření a podobně. To vždy jen přijde oznámení. Zdražuje i EKO-KOM (systém sběru a recyklace obalů, pozn. red.). Už teď jsme platili tři čtvrtě milionu čtvrtletně a bude to o pět procent více,“ popisuje v pořadu Inside Talks Karel Pilčík. Inside Talks. Pořad, ve kterém Zuzana Hodková se stálým týmem expertů rozebírá zákulisí českého byznysu. Jakými tématy žije průmysl, potravinářství, reality, startu-upy, finance, energetika nebo automobilový průmysl? Insidery jsou Tomáš Kolář z Linetu, Petr Palička z realitní divize EP Real Estate, Petr Novák z divize automotive společnosti JTEKT, Tomáš Spurný z Monety Money Bank, Martin Durčák z ČEPS, Jan Romportl z Elin.ai a investor Michal Nýdrle. Nový díl každý pátek na SZ Byznys a ve všech podcastových aplikacích. Odebírejte na Podcasty.cz, Apple Podcasts nebo Spotify.

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Liberação Palavra Profética | 2026: Ano de sinais, prodígios e maravilhas! | Bispo Adson Belo

Adson Belo

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 12, 2025 117:41

✨ 2026: Ano de sinais, prodígios e maravilhas!

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Lídia Jorge | Prémio Pessoa | Alma Portuguesa

Jorge Borges

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 11, 2025 14:28

O podcast apresenta uma abrangente análise da vida e obra de Lídia Jorge, uma das mais influentes escritoras portuguesas contemporâneas. Detalha a sua biografia, desde a infância no Algarve e a formação em Lisboa, até à sua decisiva experiência em África durante a Guerra Colonial, que marcou profundamente os seus temas literários. A explicação traça a evolução da sua produção, destacando romances centrais como "O Dia dos Prodígios" e "A Costa dos Murmúrios", e identifica as suas preocupações temáticas recorrentes, como o legado colonial, a memória histórica e a condição feminina. Por fim, o texto enfatiza o enorme reconhecimento académico e os inúmeros prémios que a autora recebeu, culminando na distinção do Prémio Pessoa 2025 e do Prémio Médicis Estrangeiro de 2023.

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Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? Notre menu pour 6

aujourd menu mange prod radio france

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 11, 2025 7:03

durée : 00:07:03 - Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? Notre menu pour 6 - Aujourd'hui, Jérôme Prod'homme présente le Menu pour 6 avec Philippe Laruelle, M. Édouard et les idées parfaites pour cuisiner ce week-end : terrine vinaigrette, poulet cocotte grand-mère et pain d'épices perdu. Un trio simple, chaleureux et très “maison”. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

Lídia Jorge | Reescrever a História

Jorge Borges

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 11, 2025 5:49

Análise da vida e obra de Lídia Jorge, uma das mais influentes escritoras portuguesas contemporâneas. Detalha a sua biografia, desde a infância no Algarve e a formação em Lisboa, até à sua decisiva experiência em África durante a Guerra Colonial, que marcou profundamente os seus temas literários. A explicação traça a evolução da sua produção, destacando romances centrais como "O Dia dos Prodígios" e "A Costa dos Murmúrios", e identifica as suas preocupações temáticas recorrentes, como o legado colonial, a memória histórica e a condição feminina. Por fim, o texto enfatiza o enorme reconhecimento académico e os inúmeros prémios que a autora recebeu, culminando na distinção do Prémio Pessoa 2025 e do Prémio Médicis Estrangeiro de 2023.

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Soupe légère d'après-fêtes et betterave au saumon : les idées d'Antoine du Grand Sérieux à Nancy pour digérer Noël

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 10, 2025 7:18

durée : 00:07:18 - Les idées culinaires de Antoine du Grand Sérieux à Nancy - Aujourd'hui, dans l'émission animée par Jérôme Prod'homme, le chef Antoine AUCLIN du Grand Sérieux à Nancy nous livre ses idées simples et malines pour l'après-fêtes : une soupe détox et une assiette betterave-saumon ultra fraîche. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

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Ať Babiš prodá Agrofert, vyzývá Šebek z asociace sedláků

Interview Plus

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2025 25:44

Budoucí premiér Andrej Babiš (ANO) oznámil, že se nevratně vzdává koncernu Agrofertu. Převezmou ho prý nezávislí správci a teprve po Babišově smrti ho mají získat jeho děti. Vyřešení střetu zájmů byla podmínka prezidenta Petra Pavla, který Babiše jinak odmítal jmenovat předsedou vlády. „Nás to moc nepřesvědčilo, nemyslíme si, že by se Babiš takového holdingu vzdal,“ říká pro Český rozhlas Plus předseda Asociace soukromého zemědělství Jaroslav Šebek.Všechny díly podcastu Interview Plus můžete pohodlně poslouchat v mobilní aplikaci mujRozhlas pro Android a iOS nebo na webu mujRozhlas.cz.

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La différence entre munster et géromé

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Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2025 7:37

durée : 00:07:37 - Le munster Géromé c'est le dessus du panier - Aujourd'hui sur ici Lorraine, Jérôme Prod'homme, Philippe Laruelle, maître cuisinier de France, et Monsieur Édouard, boucher au marché central de Nancy, plongent dans les secrets du Munster et de son cousin lorrain, le Géromé. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

Mathieu : Papa à tout prix

Amina Yamgnane : Femmes

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 5, 2025 42:03

On connait tous Mathieu, l'agriculteur star de « L'Amour est dans le pré ». On se souvient de son histoire d'amour et de son mariage surmédiatisé. Au micro du Docteur Amina, il nous raconte la suite : sa séparation en plein processus pour avoir un bébé, la découverte de sa maladie, le combat qu'il a mené seul pour avoir son bébé avec une mère porteuse colombienne et sa dépression post-partum. Un épisode rempli d'émotions !Amina Yamgnane est gynécologue et obstétricienne, experte régulièrement présente dans l'émission Ça Commence Aujourd'hui, aux côtés de Faustine Bollaert sur France 2. Son franc parler, sa vision iconoclaste de sa spécialité en font une figure majeure des acteurs de la santé. Un vendredi sur deux, retrouvez Docteur Amina Yamgnane et son invitée pour mettre en lumière les mystères du corps de la femme. L'endométriose, le déni de grossesse, le suicide post partum, les violences obstétricales, l'excision, la prématurité, la prévention du cancer du sein sont autant de thèmes que la gynécologue abordera avec écoute et bienveillance, informations et conseils, mais aussi avec toute sa personnalité, son humour, ses émotions et ses coups de gueule.Retrouvez Amina Yamgnane sur Instagram : @draminayamgnaneUne production Réservoir Prod / Médiawan / France Télévision Retrouvez également Amina Yamgnane dans Ça commence aujourd'hui en vidéo sur france·tv : https://www.france.tv/france-2/ca-commence-aujourd-hui/

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À la veille de la Saint-Nicolas, un délicieux parfum de pain d'épices flotte sur la Lorraine

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Play Episode Listen Later Dec 5, 2025 8:05

durée : 00:08:05 - Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? - À la veille de la Saint-Nicolas, l'équipe d'ici Lorraine se retrouve autour de Jérôme Prod'homme, de Philippe Laruelle, de M. Édouard et de Clotilde Mangein pour un moment 100 % lorrain, gourmand et chaleureux. Aujourd'hui, on prépare un délicieux pain d'épices. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

Amanda's world featuring the newest addition to my team Rulo

Amanda's World

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 3, 2025 8:21

What's good Guys welcome back as you all know. I have a pretty fire intro now. Thanks to my new producer Rulo shout out to him. This episode is featuring him a big thank you to him for making my intro Rulo social (Prod.9$cenxion) ig:@yixiy_0 my Instagram amanda_penny_14

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La Saint-Nicolas, la mémoire lorraine et la cuisine festive – avec Joseph Viola, MOF 2004

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Play Episode Listen Later Dec 3, 2025 7:51

durée : 00:07:51 - Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? - Dans Ici Lorraine, Jérôme Prod'homme est entouré de Philippe Laruelle, maître cuisinier de France, de M. Édouard, boucher au marché central de Nancy, et reçoit exceptionnellement Joseph Viola, grand chef lyonnais et Vosgien d'origine, pour parler souvenirs de Saint-Nicolas et foie gras grillé. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

Le petit salé de la Saint-Nicolas

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Play Episode Listen Later Dec 2, 2025 7:34

durée : 00:07:34 - Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ? - Aujourd'hui dans Ici Lorraine, Jérôme Prod'homme cuisine avec Philippe Laruelle, maître cuisinier de France, M. Édouard, boucher au marché central de Nancy et Catherine Haraux, maraîchère, pour parler de la mâche, des légumes d'hiver et du petit salé pour la potée lorraine. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

@bebeioda

We are the BYC!

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 1, 2025 69:16

It's Cris Nuñez from @bebeioda! This episode is mostly in Spanish, but if you don't speak Spanish, you can watch it on YouTube with captions. Trust me—you won't want to miss this interview. Cris shares how her babies helped her navigate an incredibly challenging life change, and her story is nothing short of inspiring!You will also hear the voice of Ale ( mom of @yodina_and_yodin), who helped interpret for me. And if you haven't checked out HER interview, you definitely must listen! It's back in season 1 and is a two part interview - episodes 18 and 19. There may or may not have been a typical California earthquake during our interview… you'll have to listen to find out!Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this podcast are solely those of the individuals participating in the interviews and discussions. They do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or policies of We are the BYC, or the BYC. The podcast hosts, guests, and contributors are speaking in their personal capacities and any content provided should not be construed as professional advice or as an endorsement by We are the BYC. We are the BYC assumes no responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions in the content of this podcast. Listeners are encouraged to independently verify any information presented and seek professional advice if needed.Intro Music: Strawberry, Prod by RoseInterview Background Music: sunrise - a new beginning, by Dream Signalhttps://youtu.be/ojGtr_oRNFw?si=oeOKGbicOn51lrcB

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Apolline de Malherbe : dans la tête d'une intervieweuse politique

conversations avant la fin du monde

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 1, 2025 67:52

Merci Apolline de Malherbe d'avoir participé au podcast !Abonnez-vous à la chaîne ❤️ https://urlr.me/R6dhAM Écoutez Conversations avant la fin du monde sur les plateformes : spotify : https://bit.ly/4hFO6GC apple podcast : https://bit.ly/4hgXdOz deezer : https://bit.ly/4hFyweb amazon music : https://bit.ly/3EvlDVI Suivez nous: instagram : @conversationavantlafindumonde et @julialayani tiktok : @julialayani Prod vidéo, audio, miniature et plein d'autres trucs : Illustre ! Studios https://illustrestudios.com Comment me contacter ? julialayani@gmail.com ❤️ Merci ❤️Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

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Les nonnettes : un trésor vosgien de l'histoire gourmande

Frontmatter: The Leanpub Author Stories Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 1, 2025 7:31

durée : 00:07:31 - Et pourquoi pas des nonettes ? - On cuisine chaque jour dans “Qu'est-ce qu'on mange ce soir ?”, l'émission animée par Jérôme Prod'homme avec Philippe Laruelle, maître cuisinier de France, M. Édouard, boucher du marché central de Nancy, et Clotilde Mengin, sommelière chez Vin et Tartines. Aujourd'hui : les nonnettes. Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

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Matthew Hawthorne, Author of Push to Prod or Die Trying

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 28, 2025 47:16

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Knight SA & Da Master - Deeper Soulful Sounds Vol.116 [Festive Year End Mix]

KnightSA89 - MidTempo Sessions Uploads

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 27, 2025 106:37

**Knight SA & Da Master - Deeper Soulful Sounds Vol.116 [Festive Year End Mix] ** 1. Da Gifto - xxxxx 2. Elementicsoul - Til It's Gone (Signature) 3. KingTouch & Dee Cee ft. Gina-Simone - On Time (Club Mix) 4. Emsakazweni 5. Bee-Bar - Need (Just Bee U Mix) 6. Andy Keys & KingTouch ft Bare Jams - Kites (House Mix) 7. Teddy Pendergrass - Joy (Elementicsoul Signature) 8. Prod.Unplugged, MrLoverLover, Mshengu & TYC YiNkosii - Blessing [Vocal Mix] 9. Deep Sen & KingTalkzin - Journey 10. Dark Horse - Kwetsi's Groove 11. Eargasm 12. Phat-Kay La Phat - Count Me In 13. Tyron SA - Sweet Luv 14. Griffith Malo - Summer Time 15. Mr Shane SA - Lost (1060 Sounds) 16. Da Gifto - xxxxxxx 17. Zirto 68 & Pelow Deep - Bounce Back (Undulative Rare Touch)

master knight deeper year end groove unplugged festive prod sounds vol soulful sounds

[Tortious interference.]

copyright prod interference sunn evaporation

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 25, 2025 30:33

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Is it any good at all? I don't want to watch the crash To see she crash and burned I loved But it's not your fault I've just been lost without you Face down on the asfault Can't get my ass up without now Now I toll the cost Like a bunch of boiling water Bubbled uo But just before I know it's hot It all goes up in smoke Or clouds, Evaporation. [Tortious Interference.] (A Freestyle Mixtape) Performed by Blū Tha Gürū. a.k.a the kidd. a.k.a Sunnï Blū a.k.a. -31. a.k.a. ayeyo blu Prod. by J. Dilla (I think) 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.

JETFU3L.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 25, 2025 3:45

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S JETFU3L. (Unreleased) TBA 2026 Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū 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.

Moviestruck Episode 123: The Fifth Element (1997) feat. Tabletop Hot Takes!

Moviestruck

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 114:58

Ruby Rod is off the air! Luckily to help entertain the masses we have Funky and Aria of Tabletop Hot Takes podcast here to talk all the sci fi nonsense of The Fifth Element (1997)! Where to find Tabletop Hot Takes:RSS: https://feeds.captivate.fm/tabletop-hot-takes/Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/TabletopHotTakesFunky's Itch: https://itch.io/dashboardContact the Podmoviestruckpod@gmail.comwww.moviestruck.transistor.fmPatreon: https://www.patreon.com/moviestruckDiscord: https://discord.gg/cT2vm3KdeSBlueSky: @moviestruck.bsky.socialTheme by Prod. DomSoundcloudThank you to our $10 Patrons!Kaeldrannas, Cai, Maddy New, Adam Bagnall, UwU, Zas, Ken M, Madidid, Ethan, Jim8333, Jacob Hunt, Azraq Shinji, Case Aiken, Ebony Voigt, AnOptimist, Lairde Ray, the Norwegian one, Travis Poe, William Warren, Stag Hart (Deer Deer), Rusty_Fork, Mura Purcell, insomnite, Nathan Dunlap. ★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★

movies film hot takes norwegian funky indigo tabletop prod itch fifth element film reviews cai osp zas uwu william warren ken m case aiken overly sarcastic productions

wango.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 5:24

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S wango. Prod. by -Ū. 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.

hyenas.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 3:25

hyenas. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū 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.

copyright prod hyenas

D0N'T.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 4:24

D0N'T.. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū 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.

Prestidigitation.

copyright prod prestidigitation

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 9:02

Prestidigitation. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū 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.

Vagabond Rock.

rock copyright prod vagabonds

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 8:01

Vagabond Rock. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū 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.

Plucoronary Amblistsaine.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 4:10

‘Plucoronary Amblistsaine.' (Unreleased) Untitled Project, 2025 TBA 2026 Prod. by -Ū. 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.

Self Care. (A Freestyle Mixtape)

self care copyright mixtape freestyle prod by j

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 24, 2025 29:06

Self Care— A Freestyle Mixtape. Performed By: Blū Tha Gürū Prod. By J. Dilla 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.

Radek Starý. Dětství bez peněz a útěky do fantazie, naivní optimismus, vybrané miliony i skvělý trik, co všem zlepší život

ÄŒestmÃr StrakatÃ½

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 23, 2025 31:21

CELÝ ROZHOVOR V DÉLCE 64 MIN. JEN NA ⁠HTTPS://HEROHERO.CO/CESTMIR⁠⁠⁠⁠ A ⁠HTTPS://FORENDORS.CZ/CESTMIR „Jsem možná až naivně optimistický,“ říká youtuber, streamer a spisovatel Radek Starý alias Sterakdary, který dokáže mluvit o úspěchu stejně lehce jako o tom, co ho formovalo. Vypráví o komunitě sledujících, kterou bere jako „kámoše“, o tom, proč odmítá spolupráce, které nejdou dohromady s jeho přesvědčením a proč je pro něj přirozené být otevřený. Popisuje, jak to, kým dnes je, má v mnoha směrech původ v dětství - v době, kdy „každá věc byla vzácná“ poté, co jeho rodina spadla do dluhů kvůli ručení a on sám nosil jednu mikinu tak dlouho, až mu bylo řečeno, že to nejde. Mluví také o kinetóze, která ho izolovala od vrstevníků, i o tom, jak utíkal do fantazie, kde hledá útočiště dodnes. „Ať už je to v rámci her nebo knížek. Mám velkou vizuální představivost. Co mě napadne, můžu živě vidět,“ popisuje Starý vlastnost, která je dozajista dobrým předpokladem pro jeho současné řemeslo. A mluví i o tom, jak dlouho mu trvalo vůbec připustit, že se v jeho životě něco mění - třeba když poprvé natankoval plnou nádrž bez toho, aby sledoval čísla na stojanu a řekl si: „To je dobrá část života.“ Dnes přitom stojí Starý za rekordním projektem Startovače: na svou knižní trilogii Exarie vybral přes 12 milionů korun. „Prodáváš zážitek být součástí něčeho,“ říká, ale zároveň přiznává, že mnohem víc než kvalita knih lidi zajímá až „cenovka“, která jeho tvorbě dala nový rozměr. Přitom pořád věří na disciplínu jako na „sval, který můžeš trénovat“ a na to, že úspěch není o náhodě, ale o tom, že co si člověk neudělá sám, nemá. Jak se z kluka, který byl zvyklý nic nemít, stal autor, jemuž přispělo pět tisíc lidí? Co znamená mít komunitu, kterou člověk zná tak dobře, že ví, kdo má nemocného psa nebo mění práci? A dá se v době sociálních sítí vůbec zůstat „naivním optimistou“, který si občas vypne data a před světem se chrání vlastním rozumem? Poslechněte si celý rozhovor.

jak prod optimismus dnes radek poslechn mluv trik zlep vypr star d popisuje naivn startova

FREAKY FRIDAY I_NY: The Party Pt. I - Uptown A

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 22, 2025 116:48

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

Aurosphere.

france la maison prod france t tena maternelles faustine bollaert

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 22, 2025 6:12

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

Maïtena Biraben : La fin des règles !

Amina Yamgnane : Femmes

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 21, 2025 57:39

Celle qui a défriché la maternité en lançant « La Maison des Maternelles » à la télévision et qui cartonne aujourd'hui avec son nouveau bébé « Mesdames Média » sur les réseaux sociaux s'installe au micro du Docteur Amina et pose son regard sur les femmes de 50 ans. Avec un leitmotiv : les autoriser à enfin être libres et elles-mêmes !Amina Yamgnane est gynécologue et obstétricienne, experte régulièrement présente dans l'émission Ça Commence Aujourd'hui, aux côtés de Faustine Bollaert sur France 2. Son franc parler, sa vision iconoclaste de sa spécialité en font une figure majeure des acteurs de la santé. Un vendredi sur deux, retrouvez Docteur Amina Yamgnane et son invitée pour mettre en lumière les mystères du corps de la femme. L'endométriose, le déni de grossesse, le suicide post partum, les violences obstétricales, l'excision, la prématurité, la prévention du cancer du sein sont autant de thèmes que la gynécologue abordera avec écoute et bienveillance, informations et conseils, mais aussi avec toute sa personnalité, son humour, ses émotions et ses coups de gueule.Retrouvez Amina Yamgnane sur Instagram : @draminayamgnaneUne production Réservoir Prod / Médiawan / France Télévision Retrouvez également Amina Yamgnane dans Ça commence aujourd'hui en vidéo sur france·tv : https://www.france.tv/france-2/ca-commence-aujourd-hui/

REBEL1.