Podcasts about rockefeller plaza

From Hollywood to Rockefeller Plaza, news of a potential sale of Warner Bros Discovery has sent shockwaves through the film industry. And the current bidding war between streaming giant Netflix and film studio Paramount has all the hallmarks of an HBO prestige drama – from antitrust lawsuits to a hostile takeover bid – with implications for all of American media. We unpack it all with NPR's critic-at-large and a legal expert. What are your questions, or concerns, about a potential Warner Bros merger? Guests: Eric Deggans, critic-at-large, National Public Radio (NPR) Rebecca Haw Allensworth, associate dean for research and professor of law, Vanderbilt Law School Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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

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

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

Chroma111. She does backflips Purple cosmos Whole turnover— We set the whole world on its stomach; A Whole corpse So so wrong Oh oh oh, You made me fall in love Oh, You made me fall in love “Jimmy Gets Belligerent” Hey. Yeah. Remember when Anne Hathaway went into God Mode? FLASHBACK: ANNE HATHAWAY goes into GOD MODE. CUT IMMIDIATELY BACK TO: Yeah. Well this is that, but Jimmy Kimmel. oh boy. Yeah, that. {enter the multiverse} lol. Please writing gods tell me how and why this dude is running around the multidimentions carrying briefcases of sedatives and other recreational enhancements— JIMMY KIMMEL enters EXTREMELY CONFUSIEDLY. And also, why, Apparently he remembers nothing at all, While everyone else in this entire arc seems to have some sort of familiarity within these paradoxes?? I don't know. But I love Jimmy Kimmel. Duh, who doesn't? Yeah alright— but you know why? DAVID LETTERMAN MOO-HA-HA! Yo what the fuck. That dude is kind of evil. TINY KIMMEL (staring into the old ass television SET in a hypnotic state, mimicking with his own version of this evil, diabolical laugh.) Ehheehee!!! DAVID LETTERMAN discovers TELESYNTHESIS via his late night ENDEAVORS, all the while unmasking the true secret to TIME TRAVEL and THE MULTIDIMENSION, unlocked. YOUNG(ER) LETTERMAN Yessss, come to me dear child! Yeeeesssssssss. Damn. Yeah. That right there. That's how it works, apparently. L E G E N D S MOOHAHA! wtf. CC Sometimes we see the things in the TV which are plainly meant to see, but so often overlooked… {Enter The Multiverse} Stephen Colbert Lost Light I was thinking fondly about that scene at the end of the first season of The Studio— That nearly final shot from the finale where the light hits Seth Rogen's smiling eyes, and made them seem ten times bigger than they ever thought they could be— or how maybe possibly, How you never quite noticed how beautiful they are, because you're always remarkably distracted by his charm, and his trademark laugher, or his other well known markers. But I was thinking about it for a second time today, because I was also still somewhere somehow working on the other part of my projects that were although, still falling apart, however important— this ramshackle chaos between all of these media monarchies, the hosts of late night television —though some departed— and an arc that was coming together from scenes i'd already written in hiatus but still probably couldn't find, even if I tried… and the basis of it was really so dark and so off from what the regular gesture or any of those personalities was as established, I sometimes stayed off it, even if though the vision in my mind that made the anchor of something that was supposed to come from that side of the project, was so vivid in the moment, as if I was watching the actual finished product played back or played out in my mind. The reality of my actual life had become such a cruel joke that I no longer really even wanted to cave in and just write it, because I was so particularly embarrassed of how i'd even thought of [any of] that. But here was this, Mr. Stephen Colbert, whom I adored severely, who also had eyes that were quite shiny and large and round that made him, with his boyish face and little dimples, quite cute to look at— but more like a teddy bear, than any vicious or decrepit sexual monster, like some of the other [aforementioned], or so, not mentioned for other reasons. To be clear, this is what, from what I would gather, could come with the job, but the job was also another job, and had its own sort of chronicled problems and equations to solve that I could gawk at, if I watched enough of them. So far, however, there was only really only never more than one I would ever flock to for my gawking, and because I was so enamored by it, I mostly never bothered the others, until it came up in my project as something so artful that it would cause such a gentle heart murmur as one did— This sudden image of Mister Colbert standing in a stream of light in however an outward darkness, with the expression one might call a ‘longingness' as if in all the light had been forgotten—and now was shining on him with such a glow that it took the warmth inside my glow from it, as I saw this, a man of shadows seeming to have come to a final moment of some hope left. But was it lost? Was it false hope? And what had happened? Last I left dear Colbert and our other dearly beloved in a twist of fate— a paradox at the proportion of Titans, in that this, a pocket watch, and a very daunting silver pistol, seeming to be stuck inside a hall of some sort where the linoleum floors and barren abandonment amongst the tattered and ripped unkempt nature of either of them— —Or at least I believed in my head— it were Mr. Kimmel and Colbert, but the scene had been somewhere so long gone and forgotten that I could not remark on which other host it was, that had the memories of all the paradoxes still sharp and hard on his mind, while poor Kimmel somehow seemed, even after a thousand rounds of groundhogged circumstances— (that is to say ‘over and over')— to not remember anything that had happened? But what did happen? And still this was far off from that same shadowed dark place where now in this vivid moment Mister Colbert stood looking up into the light with such grace as if to say, maybe he was thankful for what was approaching— but what? In this pale and yellow warm light streaking across his already very shiny eyes and pleasant face he seemed to be seeking some relief and may have even found it, but was now alone in this place, silver pistol still clutched in his hand, and standing even in the dark set, some percentium arch, rather, as the floor beneath his feet seemed even that rubber type you'd find upon a stage somewhere… But where had I drifted off? I'd come to New York all those years ago mindlessly writing about what appeared to be that same watch, or a watch—a pocket watch, that was somehow rather important to the plot, also. It had to have been important because, at least I thought, it was Morgan Freeman that brought it up [in the first place]. And of course I couldn't overlook at all how anyone I'd written about or thought of fondly just rather seemed to show up in these shows where the hosts were so good at their job they sometimes almost entirely disappeared in plain sight — and for a moment the spectacle was that they even seemed to have removed themselves as a whole from the eyes of the camera, and the audience at the job. A well-done late night host is often a man inside a hole— a suit in the dark where there's not light, because in essence, in the man, he must remain as trapped and as silenced as I have been, or I am, as I write this. And perhaps that's why I found them here, in a foreign land, in my prison trap where I keep my eyes from the rest of the world that cannot have them, under my public sunglasses and ‘why-try' when I am forced to go out into the world and have at it, but always quite missing my mark and stumbling back into the box with much damage and the excitement of a child on Christmas to see my cat, and a warm box, and an hour of something to laugh at. But this project was no laughing matter— mostly because it was sadness; sadness which I kept composed— [the neighbor exits quietly] Oh she IS capable of shutting the door normally. Look at that. —Sadness which I kept composed as darkness, woven into songs as verses or poems as proses without ever giving it a single thought of what was reflected or why it was I was decided to watch that. {Enter The Multiverse} After all, we began chasing Skrillex into forests with monsters, and now balance the delicate calorie deficits of all of what they have— the actors and actresses, media titans, and even politicians, as I burn through my own light like the Palisades fires, where ironically my legend was born before I'd even think to write it; L E G E N D S Somewhere in a place inside my mind where my diaries and lost unrequited love would become sometimes my light and sometimes my darkness and the forced focus of becoming nothing without actually being done— this sort of infinite place that has to exist somewhere in my mind, because it does— and also out in the world — [the door slams violently] Nevermind, she sucks. They all suck. —because thst's where it comes from. So what of Colbert, and the Gun, and the watch, and the Owl, and all of our friends on the trains, in the mazes and libraries? I hadn't not the slightest cause to reckon where the rest of it was because the tragedy of the story was still being just as lived as it was written. The variable pertaining to how many times I had seemingly fallen in love with nothing more than just a shadow or simple reflection of my own thoughts— Glimpses into mirrors and corridors of infinite in all the effective possibilities of the things I'd ever wanted. Perhaps the darkness was that without searching, I wanted to be loved— And it was here, the whole time, quantified and personified in the people that had so much of it, that I could take the idea of such and skate on it, like a complex sort of obstacle, that it wasn't directed at me— but then it was— because I was looking to deeply into something I loved, That it would come back in the form of something, no matter what it was. Long after the perfume was gone, the diamond eyes would still remind me of an Owl that I had once seen and even become, but since arriving in New York and staying too long, had not come back. There certainly was a piece or part of me that had lived and died here, but I was unsure what it was yet. But what of Colbert? Even this was an incomplete and intercepted thought, or concept. All I looked at was him in this light, clutching this little gun that I loved because it was so silver and so polished and so small, And the words “Lost Light”. So perhaps I'd write that song next. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ Chroma111. INT. CRYPT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. I told you he was a genius! [a mechanical sound erupts from the cooridor above.] Hey! What happened?! BILL MURRAY Well, that's easy! You're trapped. 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

Chroma111. She does backflips Purple cosmos Whole turnover— We set the whole world on its stomach; A Whole corpse So so wrong Oh oh oh, You made me fall in love Oh, You made me fall in love “Jimmy Gets Belligerent” Hey. Yeah. Remember when Anne Hathaway went into God Mode? FLASHBACK: ANNE HATHAWAY goes into GOD MODE. CUT IMMIDIATELY BACK TO: Yeah. Well this is that, but Jimmy Kimmel. oh boy. Yeah, that. {enter the multiverse} lol. Please writing gods tell me how and why this dude is running around the multidimentions carrying briefcases of sedatives and other recreational enhancements— JIMMY KIMMEL enters EXTREMELY CONFUSIEDLY. And also, why, Apparently he remembers nothing at all, While everyone else in this entire arc seems to have some sort of familiarity within these paradoxes?? I don't know. But I love Jimmy Kimmel. Duh, who doesn't? Yeah alright— but you know why? DAVID LETTERMAN MOO-HA-HA! Yo what the fuck. That dude is kind of evil. TINY KIMMEL (staring into the old ass television SET in a hypnotic state, mimicking with his own version of this evil, diabolical laugh.) Ehheehee!!! DAVID LETTERMAN discovers TELESYNTHESIS via his late night ENDEAVORS, all the while unmasking the true secret to TIME TRAVEL and THE MULTIDIMENSION, unlocked. YOUNG(ER) LETTERMAN Yessss, come to me dear child! Yeeeesssssssss. Damn. Yeah. That right there. That's how it works, apparently. L E G E N D S MOOHAHA! wtf. CC Sometimes we see the things in the TV which are plainly meant to see, but so often overlooked… {Enter The Multiverse} Stephen Colbert Lost Light I was thinking fondly about that scene at the end of the first season of The Studio— That nearly final shot from the finale where the light hits Seth Rogen's smiling eyes, and made them seem ten times bigger than they ever thought they could be— or how maybe possibly, How you never quite noticed how beautiful they are, because you're always remarkably distracted by his charm, and his trademark laugher, or his other well known markers. But I was thinking about it for a second time today, because I was also still somewhere somehow working on the other part of my projects that were although, still falling apart, however important— this ramshackle chaos between all of these media monarchies, the hosts of late night television —though some departed— and an arc that was coming together from scenes i'd already written in hiatus but still probably couldn't find, even if I tried… and the basis of it was really so dark and so off from what the regular gesture or any of those personalities was as established, I sometimes stayed off it, even if though the vision in my mind that made the anchor of something that was supposed to come from that side of the project, was so vivid in the moment, as if I was watching the actual finished product played back or played out in my mind. The reality of my actual life had become such a cruel joke that I no longer really even wanted to cave in and just write it, because I was so particularly embarrassed of how i'd even thought of [any of] that. But here was this, Mr. Stephen Colbert, whom I adored severely, who also had eyes that were quite shiny and large and round that made him, with his boyish face and little dimples, quite cute to look at— but more like a teddy bear, than any vicious or decrepit sexual monster, like some of the other [aforementioned], or so, not mentioned for other reasons. To be clear, this is what, from what I would gather, could come with the job, but the job was also another job, and had its own sort of chronicled problems and equations to solve that I could gawk at, if I watched enough of them. So far, however, there was only really only never more than one I would ever flock to for my gawking, and because I was so enamored by it, I mostly never bothered the others, until it came up in my project as something so artful that it would cause such a gentle heart murmur as one did— This sudden image of Mister Colbert standing in a stream of light in however an outward darkness, with the expression one might call a ‘longingness' as if in all the light had been forgotten—and now was shining on him with such a glow that it took the warmth inside my glow from it, as I saw this, a man of shadows seeming to have come to a final moment of some hope left. But was it lost? Was it false hope? And what had happened? Last I left dear Colbert and our other dearly beloved in a twist of fate— a paradox at the proportion of Titans, in that this, a pocket watch, and a very daunting silver pistol, seeming to be stuck inside a hall of some sort where the linoleum floors and barren abandonment amongst the tattered and ripped unkempt nature of either of them— —Or at least I believed in my head— it were Mr. Kimmel and Colbert, but the scene had been somewhere so long gone and forgotten that I could not remark on which other host it was, that had the memories of all the paradoxes still sharp and hard on his mind, while poor Kimmel somehow seemed, even after a thousand rounds of groundhogged circumstances— (that is to say ‘over and over')— to not remember anything that had happened? But what did happen? And still this was far off from that same shadowed dark place where now in this vivid moment Mister Colbert stood looking up into the light with such grace as if to say, maybe he was thankful for what was approaching— but what? In this pale and yellow warm light streaking across his already very shiny eyes and pleasant face he seemed to be seeking some relief and may have even found it, but was now alone in this place, silver pistol still clutched in his hand, and standing even in the dark set, some percentium arch, rather, as the floor beneath his feet seemed even that rubber type you'd find upon a stage somewhere… But where had I drifted off? I'd come to New York all those years ago mindlessly writing about what appeared to be that same watch, or a watch—a pocket watch, that was somehow rather important to the plot, also. It had to have been important because, at least I thought, it was Morgan Freeman that brought it up [in the first place]. And of course I couldn't overlook at all how anyone I'd written about or thought of fondly just rather seemed to show up in these shows where the hosts were so good at their job they sometimes almost entirely disappeared in plain sight — and for a moment the spectacle was that they even seemed to have removed themselves as a whole from the eyes of the camera, and the audience at the job. A well-done late night host is often a man inside a hole— a suit in the dark where there's not light, because in essence, in the man, he must remain as trapped and as silenced as I have been, or I am, as I write this. And perhaps that's why I found them here, in a foreign land, in my prison trap where I keep my eyes from the rest of the world that cannot have them, under my public sunglasses and ‘why-try' when I am forced to go out into the world and have at it, but always quite missing my mark and stumbling back into the box with much damage and the excitement of a child on Christmas to see my cat, and a warm box, and an hour of something to laugh at. But this project was no laughing matter— mostly because it was sadness; sadness which I kept composed— [the neighbor exits quietly] Oh she IS capable of shutting the door normally. Look at that. —Sadness which I kept composed as darkness, woven into songs as verses or poems as proses without ever giving it a single thought of what was reflected or why it was I was decided to watch that. {Enter The Multiverse} After all, we began chasing Skrillex into forests with monsters, and now balance the delicate calorie deficits of all of what they have— the actors and actresses, media titans, and even politicians, as I burn through my own light like the Palisades fires, where ironically my legend was born before I'd even think to write it; L E G E N D S Somewhere in a place inside my mind where my diaries and lost unrequited love would become sometimes my light and sometimes my darkness and the forced focus of becoming nothing without actually being done— this sort of infinite place that has to exist somewhere in my mind, because it does— and also out in the world — [the door slams violently] Nevermind, she sucks. They all suck. —because thst's where it comes from. So what of Colbert, and the Gun, and the watch, and the Owl, and all of our friends on the trains, in the mazes and libraries? I hadn't not the slightest cause to reckon where the rest of it was because the tragedy of the story was still being just as lived as it was written. The variable pertaining to how many times I had seemingly fallen in love with nothing more than just a shadow or simple reflection of my own thoughts— Glimpses into mirrors and corridors of infinite in all the effective possibilities of the things I'd ever wanted. Perhaps the darkness was that without searching, I wanted to be loved— And it was here, the whole time, quantified and personified in the people that had so much of it, that I could take the idea of such and skate on it, like a complex sort of obstacle, that it wasn't directed at me— but then it was— because I was looking to deeply into something I loved, That it would come back in the form of something, no matter what it was. Long after the perfume was gone, the diamond eyes would still remind me of an Owl that I had once seen and even become, but since arriving in New York and staying too long, had not come back. There certainly was a piece or part of me that had lived and died here, but I was unsure what it was yet. But what of Colbert? Even this was an incomplete and intercepted thought, or concept. All I looked at was him in this light, clutching this little gun that I loved because it was so silver and so polished and so small, And the words “Lost Light”. So perhaps I'd write that song next. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ Chroma111. INT. CRYPT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. I told you he was a genius! [a mechanical sound erupts from the cooridor above.] Hey! What happened?! BILL MURRAY Well, that's easy! You're trapped. 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

Chroma111. She does backflips Purple cosmos Whole turnover— We set the whole world on its stomach; A Whole corpse So so wrong Oh oh oh, You made me fall in love Oh, You made me fall in love “Jimmy Gets Belligerent” Hey. Yeah. Remember when Anne Hathaway went into God Mode? FLASHBACK: ANNE HATHAWAY goes into GOD MODE. CUT IMMIDIATELY BACK TO: Yeah. Well this is that, but Jimmy Kimmel. oh boy. Yeah, that. {enter the multiverse} lol. Please writing gods tell me how and why this dude is running around the multidimentions carrying briefcases of sedatives and other recreational enhancements— JIMMY KIMMEL enters EXTREMELY CONFUSIEDLY. And also, why, Apparently he remembers nothing at all, While everyone else in this entire arc seems to have some sort of familiarity within these paradoxes?? I don't know. But I love Jimmy Kimmel. Duh, who doesn't? Yeah alright— but you know why? DAVID LETTERMAN MOO-HA-HA! Yo what the fuck. That dude is kind of evil. TINY KIMMEL (staring into the old ass television SET in a hypnotic state, mimicking with his own version of this evil, diabolical laugh.) Ehheehee!!! DAVID LETTERMAN discovers TELESYNTHESIS via his late night ENDEAVORS, all the while unmasking the true secret to TIME TRAVEL and THE MULTIDIMENSION, unlocked. YOUNG(ER) LETTERMAN Yessss, come to me dear child! Yeeeesssssssss. Damn. Yeah. That right there. That's how it works, apparently. L E G E N D S MOOHAHA! wtf. CC Sometimes we see the things in the TV which are plainly meant to see, but so often overlooked… {Enter The Multiverse} Stephen Colbert Lost Light I was thinking fondly about that scene at the end of the first season of The Studio— That nearly final shot from the finale where the light hits Seth Rogen's smiling eyes, and made them seem ten times bigger than they ever thought they could be— or how maybe possibly, How you never quite noticed how beautiful they are, because you're always remarkably distracted by his charm, and his trademark laugher, or his other well known markers. But I was thinking about it for a second time today, because I was also still somewhere somehow working on the other part of my projects that were although, still falling apart, however important— this ramshackle chaos between all of these media monarchies, the hosts of late night television —though some departed— and an arc that was coming together from scenes i'd already written in hiatus but still probably couldn't find, even if I tried… and the basis of it was really so dark and so off from what the regular gesture or any of those personalities was as established, I sometimes stayed off it, even if though the vision in my mind that made the anchor of something that was supposed to come from that side of the project, was so vivid in the moment, as if I was watching the actual finished product played back or played out in my mind. The reality of my actual life had become such a cruel joke that I no longer really even wanted to cave in and just write it, because I was so particularly embarrassed of how i'd even thought of [any of] that. But here was this, Mr. Stephen Colbert, whom I adored severely, who also had eyes that were quite shiny and large and round that made him, with his boyish face and little dimples, quite cute to look at— but more like a teddy bear, than any vicious or decrepit sexual monster, like some of the other [aforementioned], or so, not mentioned for other reasons. To be clear, this is what, from what I would gather, could come with the job, but the job was also another job, and had its own sort of chronicled problems and equations to solve that I could gawk at, if I watched enough of them. So far, however, there was only really only never more than one I would ever flock to for my gawking, and because I was so enamored by it, I mostly never bothered the others, until it came up in my project as something so artful that it would cause such a gentle heart murmur as one did— This sudden image of Mister Colbert standing in a stream of light in however an outward darkness, with the expression one might call a ‘longingness' as if in all the light had been forgotten—and now was shining on him with such a glow that it took the warmth inside my glow from it, as I saw this, a man of shadows seeming to have come to a final moment of some hope left. But was it lost? Was it false hope? And what had happened? Last I left dear Colbert and our other dearly beloved in a twist of fate— a paradox at the proportion of Titans, in that this, a pocket watch, and a very daunting silver pistol, seeming to be stuck inside a hall of some sort where the linoleum floors and barren abandonment amongst the tattered and ripped unkempt nature of either of them— —Or at least I believed in my head— it were Mr. Kimmel and Colbert, but the scene had been somewhere so long gone and forgotten that I could not remark on which other host it was, that had the memories of all the paradoxes still sharp and hard on his mind, while poor Kimmel somehow seemed, even after a thousand rounds of groundhogged circumstances— (that is to say ‘over and over')— to not remember anything that had happened? But what did happen? And still this was far off from that same shadowed dark place where now in this vivid moment Mister Colbert stood looking up into the light with such grace as if to say, maybe he was thankful for what was approaching— but what? In this pale and yellow warm light streaking across his already very shiny eyes and pleasant face he seemed to be seeking some relief and may have even found it, but was now alone in this place, silver pistol still clutched in his hand, and standing even in the dark set, some percentium arch, rather, as the floor beneath his feet seemed even that rubber type you'd find upon a stage somewhere… But where had I drifted off? I'd come to New York all those years ago mindlessly writing about what appeared to be that same watch, or a watch—a pocket watch, that was somehow rather important to the plot, also. It had to have been important because, at least I thought, it was Morgan Freeman that brought it up [in the first place]. And of course I couldn't overlook at all how anyone I'd written about or thought of fondly just rather seemed to show up in these shows where the hosts were so good at their job they sometimes almost entirely disappeared in plain sight — and for a moment the spectacle was that they even seemed to have removed themselves as a whole from the eyes of the camera, and the audience at the job. A well-done late night host is often a man inside a hole— a suit in the dark where there's not light, because in essence, in the man, he must remain as trapped and as silenced as I have been, or I am, as I write this. And perhaps that's why I found them here, in a foreign land, in my prison trap where I keep my eyes from the rest of the world that cannot have them, under my public sunglasses and ‘why-try' when I am forced to go out into the world and have at it, but always quite missing my mark and stumbling back into the box with much damage and the excitement of a child on Christmas to see my cat, and a warm box, and an hour of something to laugh at. But this project was no laughing matter— mostly because it was sadness; sadness which I kept composed— [the neighbor exits quietly] Oh she IS capable of shutting the door normally. Look at that. —Sadness which I kept composed as darkness, woven into songs as verses or poems as proses without ever giving it a single thought of what was reflected or why it was I was decided to watch that. {Enter The Multiverse} After all, we began chasing Skrillex into forests with monsters, and now balance the delicate calorie deficits of all of what they have— the actors and actresses, media titans, and even politicians, as I burn through my own light like the Palisades fires, where ironically my legend was born before I'd even think to write it; L E G E N D S Somewhere in a place inside my mind where my diaries and lost unrequited love would become sometimes my light and sometimes my darkness and the forced focus of becoming nothing without actually being done— this sort of infinite place that has to exist somewhere in my mind, because it does— and also out in the world — [the door slams violently] Nevermind, she sucks. They all suck. —because thst's where it comes from. So what of Colbert, and the Gun, and the watch, and the Owl, and all of our friends on the trains, in the mazes and libraries? I hadn't not the slightest cause to reckon where the rest of it was because the tragedy of the story was still being just as lived as it was written. The variable pertaining to how many times I had seemingly fallen in love with nothing more than just a shadow or simple reflection of my own thoughts— Glimpses into mirrors and corridors of infinite in all the effective possibilities of the things I'd ever wanted. Perhaps the darkness was that without searching, I wanted to be loved— And it was here, the whole time, quantified and personified in the people that had so much of it, that I could take the idea of such and skate on it, like a complex sort of obstacle, that it wasn't directed at me— but then it was— because I was looking to deeply into something I loved, That it would come back in the form of something, no matter what it was. Long after the perfume was gone, the diamond eyes would still remind me of an Owl that I had once seen and even become, but since arriving in New York and staying too long, had not come back. There certainly was a piece or part of me that had lived and died here, but I was unsure what it was yet. But what of Colbert? Even this was an incomplete and intercepted thought, or concept. All I looked at was him in this light, clutching this little gun that I loved because it was so silver and so polished and so small, And the words “Lost Light”. So perhaps I'd write that song next. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ Chroma111. INT. CRYPT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. I told you he was a genius! [a mechanical sound erupts from the cooridor above.] Hey! What happened?! BILL MURRAY Well, that's easy! You're trapped. 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

Tree lighting ceremony held at Morrilton's Rockefeller Plaza; Perryville to host 'Christmas on the Fourche' this weekend; CHI-St. Vincent highlights 51-year employee Johnny Campbell; we preview tonight's Morrilton City Council, South Conway County School Board meetings; ARDOT to install new anti-litter signs; Sacred Heart's associate pastor shares video of Morrilton Christmas parade with family in India; high school basketball results from Morrilton, Wonderview, and the Nemo Vista-Sacred Heart matchups.

Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want to find the love and the peace in it agai. Gotta love a synchronicity; I get stuck inside bronze statues Door way syndrome And I shutter just to never remember him But here the picture is, a perfect person Headless and befriended him, the lover The line inside my mind is crossed I'll suffer till I turn to dust on this one. My thoughts the first time I saw him? I hate him, Cause he'll never love me. What a troubled thought for a little girl on a lot of drugs and a weight problem. One more, I don't remember where I'm going Day to, I have to remember to forget you Take three, I'm happy that they pay me to tape these things Because I'm maybe going crazy; From the outside though, you wouldn't know it Low and behold, this is my show afterall And covered in gold like the whole of the moon I can play to the tune of two men, to two million don't let it torment you, You looks twisted Get out of your head, and turn off your television Go on a walk, Get run over by a bus or motorcycles Turn around and talk to God and your disciples — cause they all watch. Oh, what's wrong now? That's a long run, And now another pilot that I'm proud of— Stop looking at the ground— It hurts. Today, I learned my lesson, It was not a new apartment— It's a prison. I gotta say I kinda gotta love to wonder where the fuck I'm at besides “Manhattan”. The cat needs water, My heart needs captions. New York needs Jesus Hope he don't see this (Even if he did he probably wouldn't believe it, Or Even if he did He's having trouble learning English, And, Even if he did he had he's been repealing all his promises to return to us; We worship dollars A cock-shaped structures in New York— TIME TRAVELER Its called The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What. TIME TRAVELER I'm looking for The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVEL It's called “Rockefeller Plaza.” SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVELER It's a building? I guess? SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER It is. It's— SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER But— *fucks off immidiately without any closure whatsoever.* TIME TRAVELER Huh. the TIME TRAVELER pulls up a picture on their device; the building itself seems to have disappeared from the photo; (Like Marty McFlyim back to the future) Contd Must be the wrong dimension… But then JOHN D. ROCKERFELLER Is MURDERED at the height of STANDARD OIL. Oh no! So that's what happened… Yeah? He was a bastard. Well! Damn. {Enter athe Multiverse} So you're everywhere all the time, And I got nothing left to run And we already talked the talk And we're already back to one Let the waves blow over, Cravings, tasting haze of periwinkle, heaven waking Putting every penny on the promise that you got me But you never save me, Really, Jesus? Racist! I got a lot of stakes in the game And all these snakes keep weighing in! I got these eight days left inside my head, And I'm a murderer Remember to admit his wrong you are Next time the caw will crow. I crevice drawing under rock Inside the undertoe, My surfboard heading home for shore, My body going under. Oh Conan, what have you done. I'm not sure yet. So? Go get him, you old hoot. I just want to watch a little longer! *feathers ruffled* What! It is comical So i'm stuck inside the equinox on Wall Street catatonic, Adding up the dollar signs and losses, Well now, Got my hosts and calling cards, And struck with dirty dozens Doesn't anybody understand? [no. Nobody does.] Certainly, you know, nobody does this. Certainly, I'm folding all the shirts for all the husbands Certainly my love was lost, but for sure I didn't want it. For sure, I dropped a couple rocks I had inside my pocket . Well done, folks. Guess what? Those aren't crocodile tears I'm crying. I'm dehydrated but they're called psychic cause Nobody knows where they come from; Some would form the thought that you got water trapped inside your soul It only happens when the sun sheds hard tears Here, solar panels Animals and tragic circumstances, Fucking Asholes Never shine your diamond on the twilight, Shooting stars; Never shoot at birds from cars; Remember, They are flying. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you, done. I swallowed you whole, I swallows you whole, I swallowed you down some. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you up; I swallowed you whole I swallowed you whole, You know what the cost is Just a heads up, If you take a picture of a gamgstalkers face, They run away. The crime being committed is a non-contact form of combat, a scientifically proven biological weapon. When you begin to document this meticulously, a pattern of coordination begins to become established. It's no longer some sort of phenomenon, that can be written off as a symptom of a broken mind; The more evidence you gather, It becomes a verifiable crime. Remember that the point of it is to control you, to enslave your autonomy— to program you to believe something is wrong, when clearly, The signs of an awakened mind can pick out patterns in the construct of human social behavior that is not ours; it is a deficit in conciousness, a weakness, caused by the moral degradation of our souls in the societal world— A loss of God. And also remember, Humans have a history to seek and destroy which it does not understand, And cannot control— However, also, God comes in all forms. You must know when all is all. Okay, shh— Don't lock the door, now You got a pardon, You better run. I am an a-list celebrity; I am an “amen, sister— I hear that!” I am a medicine woman, A centrifugal figure, A ritual character, Skilled at charicature— A big Kimmel fan, A rick and a Morty, A woman a man, A puppet, the master, A cat in a hatbox, A blasphemous coffin; A wart on a warflower. Hm. Now who could possibly take that out of context? Soft surf rock at the equinox on Wall Street. I love all four stories, I rode all four horses, I put all four corners of the earth onto a surface Then I rolled it up Huh… Somebody does that. Leets go, hard core But don't forget the hot sauce Don't forget the — Smattercat?! SMATTERCAT?! SMAAAAAATERCAAAAAAAAAT! The Adventures of Atticus Catticus. Man, this is fucked up. I can't disagree with you. I can't get you out of my head (I want head) Can't get you out of my mind I find that You must want me dead Tan lines l You must want me off my meds! You want in me in bed at 9 sharp You know what!? You remind me of Harper. Now let's talk shop, Calm, little brother I went with the other oath— Don't you belong to God? Who's on the phone? Donald Trump. Tell him “no.” No to what? Just tell him “no.” Then he'll get here faster. So what do you got in your supplements? Simple psychology; Have a red album. Nah that. I got gold gold balls on all of my prostitutes Pulled apart orgasms, Never been touched, sire. Never have I took forgranted this passion( Never have —that flex— Theatrical pangentry. Never went Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich GODDAMMIT. I thought you grant wishes. — also in charge of summoning. Part time. Well what are you mad about?! At least you got a job! I'm so sick of this kid, He just summons “Ham sandwhich” What's wrong with that? I gave him “ham sandwhich”, Alright?! All kinds, And you know what? That guy has all kinds of magic— All the kinds— Every kind you can imagine, And no matter what, He just wants. Hmmmm…: …. Come on. Summon a dog, or something… A new bike… ……. ……..:::: ……. …. Ham sandwhich. GOD DAMMIT. …and a kite. …what was that? I want a kite. Y…you want to fly a kite. Ya. Alright! But first. An, God. Ham Sandwhich. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SO WHAT I LOVED NANCY REGAN! SHE HAD THE BEST CATCHPHRASES! AND ALL THE KENNEDIES! FUCK WITH ME. Somebody shoot that bitch. But sir— Before she runs for president. But sir… THINK OF IT LIKE KILLING BABY HITLER. You're right. TAKE THE SHOOOOOT. MEANWHILE… In the MULTIDIMENTIONAL SPACETIME SURVEILANCE FACILITY Oh good. What's that. Someone one assasinated me. That's good. I'll say. Wouldn't want you to run for president. Someone still would have had to elected me. Oh, you mean like in all these parallels over here. *shrugs* They'll collapse eventually. They haven't yet. I just got assasinated. Wait for it. I've been waiting. I don't get why you hate me so much. I'm indifferent, really, just waiting for something exciting. I just got assasinated. And I just got a ten cent raise. From what I can tell, doesn't make much of a differences. It's like, limited assimilation in this dimension; Did I correct you— Lessons, I'm not making any promises. Look out little brother! I set them on you. Got to put the pudding in your pot— And don't forget to floss. What's corrextions? Look, I'm anatomically correct— Shut up, Ken. I don't click on videos or images Because I love him It's just a crush, A pair of wooden crutches A horcrux And a fox A crucifix And Sunday Brunches. It's just a bunch of pictures, Edits, autographs, Extended plays It's just an infinite inside my head— It's been a couple days. A couple miles down And sure to go, You're all for it— Soon you got to know Whatever you done Has come for your— Stop the truck for misuse of four muses And autotune to ruin it— Your mascot is a narwhal But you're rooting for the Bruins. What is even a Bruin? A bunch of racist frat boys and hot bitches in sororities and covens? Bet that Okay, Like, I fall in love But just to write a bit I pour my heart out in a song And for the moment I could make forget i'm ugly Even if for the duration of the half time; Half a pack at halftime, Half a pack at bedtime 20 cigarettes on your 2020 vision. Three beers, Then three beers Thirty three years and he still won't love me Thirty three years and I'm still no woman. He show first, So I shot back I forgot rock doves Served a purpose Postage For lost albums on the surface Surfboards For hot rod bod host, I offered up Conan, Now pick that hard eye Banjo up Water dance Pick that apple, Off the tree With not a scratch Hands tied behind your back; Baggage claim, River dance Pick it up without a fork You whispered us a state of trance For God's socks, If I fly coach, Low ball Lost a fortune Don't call me ‘bud' I think about your walk all day; Like, Three or four times, maybe Not no noodle soup, you wonder But you're asking for a Ballroom. Haggard. God did far too good a job on you; As the car jumped over the moon. I complete your meat puppet, But recently went vegan Line them up and then A heart attack, A hot bath, And a hammock. You got your offer, But I want it back, I want my roses. Golden proses so rit and rattle. I rot in hell for all I've done, then scramble; Damn. I just can't get you off my head without ramble You're probably on a tour bus; She's pulling out all the stop— But you're my monster, just know that Although I'm on top of her turf. So much for Service Monday. So much for making money on a conduit, a conduct. So much for love as. He aim for the head; I aim for the neck; He aim for the heart, I duck, I fall in her eyes, High water— No more cam tide Sunsets. What, I get you really wanted oceans, So you got them. Godsense. Pull, Conan Pull— Haul in! All in on your cards, But take the occult off them; Offering? Totem pole. More than one? I love to hope. Fix your face. Pull the plug— I'm off till Sunday, Off till Sunday. Ten days to Tuesday, You want no more Ten days to Sunday And ten more before that; Ten tongues before dawn, And other I slaughter And slaught cross the sloth, I wither, Your honor. Ten tales too soon, Ten wide my diamonds; Ten eyes in your Isis, My mind, Orion. Ten lost in the Outback; Ten lost on your mass, tongue Two whipped at the alter— I called her about that. So to the effect you check your fax and press the send, I'm steady living, never coming back, Or cap the president— Never living, Never listing residence on Madison You're stuck inside my half-life That I'm mad besides the medicine. You're stuck inside my past, Like all the knives inside my back, And still I fondly think upon a laugh, As ice cream sundaes, Half a sandwich Appetite for having all you are inside my master work of art, The world, your face I cut from clay inside my hands And I still have you in my swollen arteries, and trees the veins, The wicked summers and the bitter winters came, But did not cross paths, So to not bear ties, and to not plug Holes in the hull of the whole ship I think I sunk overtime instead of rather All at once, You know, It doesn't suffix What it takes to turn it back from “Love him” Into nothing. 20 hours passed and 20 cigarettes and ivory towers, But forgive the lives inside of Mormon wives and ice cold showers— Scatterbrained but highly trained in “Never Happened.” “Didn't matter.” So you roll it up into a movie script and call them actors. Why'd you flash me, dancer, Don't you know how bad I want that? Out inside your dozens, for my cinnamon coated combat Nail box fires Had you ordered Your desires Flow the golden drifter Fear of rivers never frozen. Don't you know the sun draws close But the heart grows cold, But the want goes harder? Don't you know the doors get shut, And the Kings get cut, And the wind blows wilder? Don't you know the stars just fall from the sky (They all fall from the sky, They fell from the sky) Don't you know We're all gonna die Put a trial to the wand, Fore you take her heart out Ten times.

Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want to find the love and the peace in it agai. Gotta love a synchronicity; I get stuck inside bronze statues Door way syndrome And I shutter just to never remember him But here the picture is, a perfect person Headless and befriended him, the lover The line inside my mind is crossed I'll suffer till I turn to dust on this one. My thoughts the first time I saw him? I hate him, Cause he'll never love me. What a troubled thought for a little girl on a lot of drugs and a weight problem. One more, I don't remember where I'm going Day to, I have to remember to forget you Take three, I'm happy that they pay me to tape these things Because I'm maybe going crazy; From the outside though, you wouldn't know it Low and behold, this is my show afterall And covered in gold like the whole of the moon I can play to the tune of two men, to two million don't let it torment you, You looks twisted Get out of your head, and turn off your television Go on a walk, Get run over by a bus or motorcycles Turn around and talk to God and your disciples — cause they all watch. Oh, what's wrong now? That's a long run, And now another pilot that I'm proud of— Stop looking at the ground— It hurts. Today, I learned my lesson, It was not a new apartment— It's a prison. I gotta say I kinda gotta love to wonder where the fuck I'm at besides “Manhattan”. The cat needs water, My heart needs captions. New York needs Jesus Hope he don't see this (Even if he did he probably wouldn't believe it, Or Even if he did He's having trouble learning English, And, Even if he did he had he's been repealing all his promises to return to us; We worship dollars A cock-shaped structures in New York— TIME TRAVELER Its called The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What. TIME TRAVELER I'm looking for The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVEL It's called “Rockefeller Plaza.” SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVELER It's a building? I guess? SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER It is. It's— SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER But— *fucks off immidiately without any closure whatsoever.* TIME TRAVELER Huh. the TIME TRAVELER pulls up a picture on their device; the building itself seems to have disappeared from the photo; (Like Marty McFlyim back to the future) Contd Must be the wrong dimension… But then JOHN D. ROCKERFELLER Is MURDERED at the height of STANDARD OIL. Oh no! So that's what happened… Yeah? He was a bastard. Well! Damn. {Enter athe Multiverse} So you're everywhere all the time, And I got nothing left to run And we already talked the talk And we're already back to one Let the waves blow over, Cravings, tasting haze of periwinkle, heaven waking Putting every penny on the promise that you got me But you never save me, Really, Jesus? Racist! I got a lot of stakes in the game And all these snakes keep weighing in! I got these eight days left inside my head, And I'm a murderer Remember to admit his wrong you are Next time the caw will crow. I crevice drawing under rock Inside the undertoe, My surfboard heading home for shore, My body going under. Oh Conan, what have you done. I'm not sure yet. So? Go get him, you old hoot. I just want to watch a little longer! *feathers ruffled* What! It is comical So i'm stuck inside the equinox on Wall Street catatonic, Adding up the dollar signs and losses, Well now, Got my hosts and calling cards, And struck with dirty dozens Doesn't anybody understand? [no. Nobody does.] Certainly, you know, nobody does this. Certainly, I'm folding all the shirts for all the husbands Certainly my love was lost, but for sure I didn't want it. For sure, I dropped a couple rocks I had inside my pocket . Well done, folks. Guess what? Those aren't crocodile tears I'm crying. I'm dehydrated but they're called psychic cause Nobody knows where they come from; Some would form the thought that you got water trapped inside your soul It only happens when the sun sheds hard tears Here, solar panels Animals and tragic circumstances, Fucking Asholes Never shine your diamond on the twilight, Shooting stars; Never shoot at birds from cars; Remember, They are flying. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you, done. I swallowed you whole, I swallows you whole, I swallowed you down some. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you up; I swallowed you whole I swallowed you whole, You know what the cost is Just a heads up, If you take a picture of a gamgstalkers face, They run away. The crime being committed is a non-contact form of combat, a scientifically proven biological weapon. When you begin to document this meticulously, a pattern of coordination begins to become established. It's no longer some sort of phenomenon, that can be written off as a symptom of a broken mind; The more evidence you gather, It becomes a verifiable crime. Remember that the point of it is to control you, to enslave your autonomy— to program you to believe something is wrong, when clearly, The signs of an awakened mind can pick out patterns in the construct of human social behavior that is not ours; it is a deficit in conciousness, a weakness, caused by the moral degradation of our souls in the societal world— A loss of God. And also remember, Humans have a history to seek and destroy which it does not understand, And cannot control— However, also, God comes in all forms. You must know when all is all. Okay, shh— Don't lock the door, now You got a pardon, You better run. I am an a-list celebrity; I am an “amen, sister— I hear that!” I am a medicine woman, A centrifugal figure, A ritual character, Skilled at charicature— A big Kimmel fan, A rick and a Morty, A woman a man, A puppet, the master, A cat in a hatbox, A blasphemous coffin; A wart on a warflower. Hm. Now who could possibly take that out of context? Soft surf rock at the equinox on Wall Street. I love all four stories, I rode all four horses, I put all four corners of the earth onto a surface Then I rolled it up Huh… Somebody does that. Leets go, hard core But don't forget the hot sauce Don't forget the — Smattercat?! SMATTERCAT?! SMAAAAAATERCAAAAAAAAAT! The Adventures of Atticus Catticus. Man, this is fucked up. I can't disagree with you. I can't get you out of my head (I want head) Can't get you out of my mind I find that You must want me dead Tan lines l You must want me off my meds! You want in me in bed at 9 sharp You know what!? You remind me of Harper. Now let's talk shop, Calm, little brother I went with the other oath— Don't you belong to God? Who's on the phone? Donald Trump. Tell him “no.” No to what? Just tell him “no.” Then he'll get here faster. So what do you got in your supplements? Simple psychology; Have a red album. Nah that. I got gold gold balls on all of my prostitutes Pulled apart orgasms, Never been touched, sire. Never have I took forgranted this passion( Never have —that flex— Theatrical pangentry. Never went Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich GODDAMMIT. I thought you grant wishes. — also in charge of summoning. Part time. Well what are you mad about?! At least you got a job! I'm so sick of this kid, He just summons “Ham sandwhich” What's wrong with that? I gave him “ham sandwhich”, Alright?! All kinds, And you know what? That guy has all kinds of magic— All the kinds— Every kind you can imagine, And no matter what, He just wants. Hmmmm…: …. Come on. Summon a dog, or something… A new bike… ……. ……..:::: ……. …. Ham sandwhich. GOD DAMMIT. …and a kite. …what was that? I want a kite. Y…you want to fly a kite. Ya. Alright! But first. An, God. Ham Sandwhich. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SO WHAT I LOVED NANCY REGAN! SHE HAD THE BEST CATCHPHRASES! AND ALL THE KENNEDIES! FUCK WITH ME. Somebody shoot that bitch. But sir— Before she runs for president. But sir… THINK OF IT LIKE KILLING BABY HITLER. You're right. TAKE THE SHOOOOOT. MEANWHILE… In the MULTIDIMENTIONAL SPACETIME SURVEILANCE FACILITY Oh good. What's that. Someone one assasinated me. That's good. I'll say. Wouldn't want you to run for president. Someone still would have had to elected me. Oh, you mean like in all these parallels over here. *shrugs* They'll collapse eventually. They haven't yet. I just got assasinated. Wait for it. I've been waiting. I don't get why you hate me so much. I'm indifferent, really, just waiting for something exciting. I just got assasinated. And I just got a ten cent raise. From what I can tell, doesn't make much of a differences. It's like, limited assimilation in this dimension; Did I correct you— Lessons, I'm not making any promises. Look out little brother! I set them on you. Got to put the pudding in your pot— And don't forget to floss. What's corrextions? Look, I'm anatomically correct— Shut up, Ken. I don't click on videos or images Because I love him It's just a crush, A pair of wooden crutches A horcrux And a fox A crucifix And Sunday Brunches. It's just a bunch of pictures, Edits, autographs, Extended plays It's just an infinite inside my head— It's been a couple days. A couple miles down And sure to go, You're all for it— Soon you got to know Whatever you done Has come for your— Stop the truck for misuse of four muses And autotune to ruin it— Your mascot is a narwhal But you're rooting for the Bruins. What is even a Bruin? A bunch of racist frat boys and hot bitches in sororities and covens? Bet that Okay, Like, I fall in love But just to write a bit I pour my heart out in a song And for the moment I could make forget i'm ugly Even if for the duration of the half time; Half a pack at halftime, Half a pack at bedtime 20 cigarettes on your 2020 vision. Three beers, Then three beers Thirty three years and he still won't love me Thirty three years and I'm still no woman. He show first, So I shot back I forgot rock doves Served a purpose Postage For lost albums on the surface Surfboards For hot rod bod host, I offered up Conan, Now pick that hard eye Banjo up Water dance Pick that apple, Off the tree With not a scratch Hands tied behind your back; Baggage claim, River dance Pick it up without a fork You whispered us a state of trance For God's socks, If I fly coach, Low ball Lost a fortune Don't call me ‘bud' I think about your walk all day; Like, Three or four times, maybe Not no noodle soup, you wonder But you're asking for a Ballroom. Haggard. God did far too good a job on you; As the car jumped over the moon. I complete your meat puppet, But recently went vegan Line them up and then A heart attack, A hot bath, And a hammock. You got your offer, But I want it back, I want my roses. Golden proses so rit and rattle. I rot in hell for all I've done, then scramble; Damn. I just can't get you off my head without ramble You're probably on a tour bus; She's pulling out all the stop— But you're my monster, just know that Although I'm on top of her turf. So much for Service Monday. So much for making money on a conduit, a conduct. So much for love as. He aim for the head; I aim for the neck; He aim for the heart, I duck, I fall in her eyes, High water— No more cam tide Sunsets. What, I get you really wanted oceans, So you got them. Godsense. Pull, Conan Pull— Haul in! All in on your cards, But take the occult off them; Offering? Totem pole. More than one? I love to hope. Fix your face. Pull the plug— I'm off till Sunday, Off till Sunday. Ten days to Tuesday, You want no more Ten days to Sunday And ten more before that; Ten tongues before dawn, And other I slaughter And slaught cross the sloth, I wither, Your honor. Ten tales too soon, Ten wide my diamonds; Ten eyes in your Isis, My mind, Orion. Ten lost in the Outback; Ten lost on your mass, tongue Two whipped at the alter— I called her about that. So to the effect you check your fax and press the send, I'm steady living, never coming back, Or cap the president— Never living, Never listing residence on Madison You're stuck inside my half-life That I'm mad besides the medicine. You're stuck inside my past, Like all the knives inside my back, And still I fondly think upon a laugh, As ice cream sundaes, Half a sandwich Appetite for having all you are inside my master work of art, The world, your face I cut from clay inside my hands And I still have you in my swollen arteries, and trees the veins, The wicked summers and the bitter winters came, But did not cross paths, So to not bear ties, and to not plug Holes in the hull of the whole ship I think I sunk overtime instead of rather All at once, You know, It doesn't suffix What it takes to turn it back from “Love him” Into nothing. 20 hours passed and 20 cigarettes and ivory towers, But forgive the lives inside of Mormon wives and ice cold showers— Scatterbrained but highly trained in “Never Happened.” “Didn't matter.” So you roll it up into a movie script and call them actors. Why'd you flash me, dancer, Don't you know how bad I want that? Out inside your dozens, for my cinnamon coated combat Nail box fires Had you ordered Your desires Flow the golden drifter Fear of rivers never frozen. Don't you know the sun draws close But the heart grows cold, But the want goes harder? Don't you know the doors get shut, And the Kings get cut, And the wind blows wilder? Don't you know the stars just fall from the sky (They all fall from the sky, They fell from the sky) Don't you know We're all gonna die Put a trial to the wand, Fore you take her heart out Ten times.

—1313. Chroma111. Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want to find the love and the peace in it agai. Gotta love a synchronicity; I get stuck inside bronze statues Door way syndrome And I shutter just to never remember him But here the picture is, a perfect person Headless and befriended him, the lover The line inside my mind is crossed I'll suffer till I turn to dust on this one. My thoughts the first time I saw him? I hate him, Cause he'll never love me. What a troubled thought for a little girl on a lot of drugs and a weight problem. One more, I don't remember where I'm going Day to, I have to remember to forget you Take three, I'm happy that they pay me to tape these things Because I'm maybe going crazy; From the outside though, you wouldn't know it Low and behold, this is my show afterall And covered in gold like the whole of the moon I can play to the tune of two men, to two million don't let it torment you, You looks twisted Get out of your head, and turn off your television Go on a walk, Get run over by a bus or motorcycles Turn around and talk to God and your disciples — cause they all watch. Oh, what's wrong now? That's a long run, And now another pilot that I'm proud of— Stop looking at the ground— It hurts. Today, I learned my lesson, It was not a new apartment— It's a prison. I gotta say I kinda gotta love to wonder where the fuck I'm at besides “Manhattan”. The cat needs water, My heart needs captions. New York needs Jesus Hope he don't see this (Even if he did he probably wouldn't believe it, Or Even if he did He's having trouble learning English, And, Even if he did he had he's been repealing all his promises to return to us; We worship dollars A cock-shaped structures in New York— TIME TRAVELER Its called The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What. TIME TRAVELER I'm looking for The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVEL It's called “Rockefeller Plaza.” SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVELER It's a building? I guess? SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER It is. It's— SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER But— *fucks off immidiately without any closure whatsoever.* TIME TRAVELER Huh. the TIME TRAVELER pulls up a picture on their device; the building itself seems to have disappeared from the photo; (Like Marty McFlyim back to the future) Contd Must be the wrong dimension… But then JOHN D. ROCKERFELLER Is MURDERED at the height of STANDARD OIL. Oh no! So that's what happened… Yeah? He was a bastard. Well! Damn. {Enter athe Multiverse} So you're everywhere all the time, And I got nothing left to run And we already talked the talk And we're already back to one Let the waves blow over, Cravings, tasting haze of periwinkle, heaven waking Putting every penny on the promise that you got me But you never save me, Really, Jesus? Racist! I got a lot of stakes in the game And all these snakes keep weighing in! I got these eight days left inside my head, And I'm a murderer Remember to admit his wrong you are Next time the caw will crow. I crevice drawing under rock Inside the undertoe, My surfboard heading home for shore, My body going under. Oh Conan, what have you done. I'm not sure yet. So? Go get him, you old hoot. I just want to watch a little longer! *feathers ruffled* What! It is comical So imm stuck inside the equinox on Wall Street catatonic, Adding up the dollar signs and losses, Well now, Got my hosts and calling cards, And struck with dirty dozens Doesn't anybody understand? [no. Nobody does.] Certainly, you know, nobody does this. Certainly, I'm folding all the shirts for all the husbands Certainly my love was lost, but for sure I didn't want it. For sure, I dropped a couple rocks I had inside my pocket . Well done, folks. Guess what? Those aren't crocodile tears I'm crying. I'm dehydrated but they're called psychic cause Nobody knows where they come from; Some would form the thought that you got water trapped inside your soul It only happens when the sun sheds hard tears Here, solar panels Animals and tragic circumstances, Fucking Asholes Never shine your diamond on the twilight, Shooting stars; Never shoot at birds from cars; Remember, They are flying. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you, done. I swallowed you whole, I swallows you whole, I swallowed you down some. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you up; I swallowed you whole I swallowed you whole, You know what the cost is Just a heads up, If you take a picture of a gamgstalkers face, They run away. The crime being committed is a non-contact form of combat, a scientifically proven biological weapon. When you begin to document this meticulously, a pattern of coordination begins to become established. It's no longer some sort of phenomenon, that can be written off as a symptom of a broken mind; The more evidence you gather, It becomes a verifiable crime. Remember that the point of it is to control you, to enslave your autonomy— to program you to believe something is wrong, when clearly, The signs of an awakened mind can pick out patterns in the construct of human social behavior that is not ours; it is a deficit in conciousness, a weakness, caused by the moral degradation of our souls in the societal world— A loss of God. And also remember, Humans have a history to seek and destroy which it does not understand, And cannot control— However, also, God comes in all forms. You must know when all is all. Okay, shh— Don't lock the door, now You got a pardon, You better run. I am an a-list celebrity; I am an “amen, sister— I hear that!” I am a medicine woman, A centrifugal figure, A ritual character, Skilled at charicature— A big Kimmel fan, A rick and a Morty, A woman a man, A puppet, the master, A cat in a hatbox, A blasphemous coffin; A wart on a warflower. Hm. Now who could possibly take that out of context? Soft surf rock at the equinox on Wall Street. I love all four stories, I rode all four horses, I put all four corners of the earth onto a surface Then I rolled it up Huh… Somebody does that. Leets go, hard core But don't forget the hot sauce Don't forget the — Smattercat?! SMATTERCAT?! SMAAAAAATERCAAAAAAAAAT! The Adventures of Atticus Catticus. Man, this is fucked up. I can't disagree with you. I can't get you out of my head (I want head) Can't get you out of my mind I find that You must want me dead Tan lines l You must want me off my meds! You want in me in bed at 9 sharp You know what!? You remind me of Harper. Now let's talk shop, Calm, little brother I went with the other oath— Don't you belong to God? Who's on the phone? Donald Trump. Tell him “no.” No to what? Just tell him “no.” Then he'll get here faster. So what do you got in your supplements? Simple psychology; Have a red album. Nah that. I got gold gold balls on all of my prostitutes Pulled apart orgasms, Never been touched, sire. Never have I took forgranted this passion( Never have —that flex— Theatrical pangentry. Never went Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich GODDAMMIT. I thought you grant wishes. — also in charge of summoning. Part time. Well what are you mad about?! At least you got a job! I'm so sick of this kid, He just summons “Ham sandwhich” What's wrong with that? I gave him “ham sandwhich”, Alright?! All kinds, And you know what? That guy has all kinds of magic— All the kinds— Every kind you can imagine, And no matter what, He just wants. Hmmmm…: …. Come on. Summon a dog, or something… A new bike… ……. ……..:::: ……. …. Ham sandwhich. GOD DAMMIT. …and a kite. …what was that? I want a kite. Y…you want to fly a kite. Ya. Alright! But first. An, God. Ham Sandwhich. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SO WHAT I LOVED NANCY REGAN! SHE HAD THE BEST CATCHPHRASES! AND ALL THE KENNEDIES! FUCK WITH ME. Somebody shoot that bitch. But sir— Before she runs for president. But sir… THINK OF IT LIKE KILLING BABY HITLER. You're right. TAKE THE SHOOOOOT. MEANWHILE… In the MULTIDIMENTIONAL SPACETIME SURVEILANCE FACILITY Oh good. What's that. Someone one assasinated me. That's good. I'll say. Wouldn't want you to run for president. Someone still would have had to elected me. Oh, you mean like in all these parallels over here. *shrugs* They'll collapse eventually. They haven't yet. I just got assasinated. Wait for it. I've been waiting. I don't get why you hate me so much. I'm indifferent, really, just waiting for something exciting. I just got assasinated. And I just got a ten cent raise. From what I can tell, doesn't make much of a differences. It's like, limited assimilation in this dimension; Did I correct you— Lessons, I'm not making any promises. Look out little brother! I set them on you. Got to put the pudding in your pot— And don't forget to floss. What's corrextions? Look, I'm anatomically correct— Shut up, Ken. I don't click on videos or images Because I love him It's just a crush, A pair of wooden crutches A horcrux And a fox A crucifix And Sunday Brunches. It's just a bunch of pictures, Edits, autographs, Extended plays It's just an infinite inside my head— It's been a couple days. A couple miles down And sure to go, You're all for it— Soon you got to know Whatever you done Has come for your— Stop the truck for misuse of four muses And autotune to ruin it— Your mascot is a narwhal But you're rooting for the Bruins. What is even a Bruin? A bunch of racist frat boys and hot bitches in sororities and covens? Bet that Okay, Like, I fall in love But just to write a bit I pour my heart out in a song And for the moment I could make forget i'm ugly Even if for the duration of the half time; Half a pack at halftime, Half a pack at bedtime 20 cigarettes on your 2020 vision. Three beers, Then three beers Thirty three years and he still won't love me Thirty three years and I'm still no woman. He shot first, So I shot back I forgot rock doves Served a purpose Postage For lost albums on the surface Surfboards For hot rod bod host, I offered up Conan, Now pick that hard eye Banjo up Water dance Pick that apple, Off the tree With not a scratch Hands tied behind your back; Baggage claim, River dance Pick it up without a fork You whispered us a state of trance For God's socks, If I fly coach, Low ball Lost a fortune Don't call me ‘bud' I think about your walk all day; Like, Three or four times, maybe Not no noodle soup, you wonder But you're asking for a Ballroom. Haggard. God did far too good a job on you; As the car jumped over the moon. I complete your meat puppet, But recently went vegan Line them up and then A heart attack, A hot bath, And a hammock. You got your offer, But I want it back, I want my roses. Golden proses so rit and rattle. I rot in hell for all I've done, then scramble; Damn. I just can't get you off my head without ramble You're probably on a tour bus; She's pulling out all the stop— But you're my monster, just know that Although I'm on top of her turf. So much for Service Monday. So much for making money on a conduit, a conduct. So much for love as. He aim for the head; I aim for the neck; He aim for the heart, I duck, I fall in her eyes, High water— No more cam tide Sunsets. What, I get you really wanted oceans, So you got them. Godsense. Pull, Conan Pull— Haul in! All in on your cards, But take the occult off them; Offering? Totem pole. More than one? I love to hope. Fix your face. Pull the plug— I'm off till Sunday, Off till Sunday. Ten days to Tuesday, You want no more Ten days to Sunday And ten more before that; Ten tongues before dawn, And other I slaughter And slaught cross the sloth, I wither, Your honor. Ten tales too soon, Ten wide my diamonds; Ten eyes in your Isis, My mind, Orion. Ten lost in the Outback; Ten lost on your mass, tongue Two whipped at the alter— I called her about that. So to the effect you check your fax and press the send, I'm steady living, never coming back, Or cap the president— Never living, Never listing residence on Madison You're stuck inside my half-life That I'm mad besides the medicine. You're stuck inside my past, Like all the knives inside my back, And still I fondly think upon a laugh, As ice cream sundaes, Half a sandwich Appetite for having all you are inside my master work of art, The world, your face I cut from clay inside my hands And I still have you in my swollen arteries, and trees the veins, The wicked summers and the bitter winters came, But did not cross paths, So to not bear ties, and to not plug Holes in the hull of the whole ship I think I sunk overtime instead of rather All at once, You know, It doesn't suffix What it takes to turn it back from “Love him” Into nothing. 20 hours passed and 20 cigarettes and ivory towers, But forgive the lives inside of Mormon wives and ice cold showers— Scatterbrained but highly trained in “Never Happened.” “Didn't matter.” So you roll it up into a movie script and call them actors. Why'd you flash me, dancer, Don't you know how bad I want that? Out inside your dozens, for my cinnamon coated combat Nail box fires Had you ordered Your desires Flow the golden drifter Fear of rivers never frozen. Don't you know the sun draws close But the heart grows cold, But the want goes harder? Don't you know the doors get shut, And the Kings get cut, And the wind blows wilder? Don't you know the stars just fall from the sky (They all fall from the sky, They fell from the sky) Don't you know We're all gonna die Put a trial to the wand, Fore you take her heart out Ten times. 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 ​​

Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want to find the love and the peace in it agai. Gotta love a synchronicity; I get stuck inside bronze statues Door way syndrome And I shutter just to never remember him But here the picture is, a perfect person Headless and befriended him, the lover The line inside my mind is crossed I'll suffer till I turn to dust on this one. My thoughts the first time I saw him? I hate him, Cause he'll never love me. What a troubled thought for a little girl on a lot of drugs and a weight problem. One more, I don't remember where I'm going Day to, I have to remember to forget you Take three, I'm happy that they pay me to tape these things Because I'm maybe going crazy; From the outside though, you wouldn't know it Low and behold, this is my show afterall And covered in gold like the whole of the moon I can play to the tune of two men, to two million don't let it torment you, You looks twisted Get out of your head, and turn off your television Go on a walk, Get run over by a bus or motorcycles Turn around and talk to God and your disciples — cause they all watch. Oh, what's wrong now? That's a long run, And now another pilot that I'm proud of— Stop looking at the ground— It hurts. Today, I learned my lesson, It was not a new apartment— It's a prison. I gotta say I kinda gotta love to wonder where the fuck I'm at besides “Manhattan”. The cat needs water, My heart needs captions. New York needs Jesus Hope he don't see this (Even if he did he probably wouldn't believe it, Or Even if he did He's having trouble learning English, And, Even if he did he had he's been repealing all his promises to return to us; We worship dollars A cock-shaped structures in New York— TIME TRAVELER Its called The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What. TIME TRAVELER I'm looking for The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVEL It's called “Rockefeller Plaza.” SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVELER It's a building? I guess? SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER It is. It's— SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER But— *fucks off immidiately without any closure whatsoever.* TIME TRAVELER Huh. the TIME TRAVELER pulls up a picture on their device; the building itself seems to have disappeared from the photo; (Like Marty McFlyim back to the future) Contd Must be the wrong dimension… But then JOHN D. ROCKERFELLER Is MURDERED at the height of STANDARD OIL. Oh no! So that's what happened… Yeah? He was a bastard. Well! Damn. {Enter athe Multiverse} So you're everywhere all the time, And I got nothing left to run And we already talked the talk And we're already back to one Let the waves blow over, Cravings, tasting haze of periwinkle, heaven waking Putting every penny on the promise that you got me But you never save me, Really, Jesus? Racist! I got a lot of stakes in the game And all these snakes keep weighing in! I got these eight days left inside my head, And I'm a murderer Remember to admit his wrong you are Next time the caw will crow. I crevice drawing under rock Inside the undertoe, My surfboard heading home for shore, My body going under. Oh Conan, what have you done. I'm not sure yet. So? Go get him, you old hoot. I just want to watch a little longer! *feathers ruffled* What! It is comical So i'm stuck inside the equinox on Wall Street catatonic, Adding up the dollar signs and losses, Well now, Got my hosts and calling cards, And struck with dirty dozens Doesn't anybody understand? [no. Nobody does.] Certainly, you know, nobody does this. Certainly, I'm folding all the shirts for all the husbands Certainly my love was lost, but for sure I didn't want it. For sure, I dropped a couple rocks I had inside my pocket . Well done, folks. Guess what? Those aren't crocodile tears I'm crying. I'm dehydrated but they're called psychic cause Nobody knows where they come from; Some would form the thought that you got water trapped inside your soul It only happens when the sun sheds hard tears Here, solar panels Animals and tragic circumstances, Fucking Asholes Never shine your diamond on the twilight, Shooting stars; Never shoot at birds from cars; Remember, They are flying. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you, done. I swallowed you whole, I swallows you whole, I swallowed you down some. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you up; I swallowed you whole I swallowed you whole, You know what the cost is Just a heads up, If you take a picture of a gamgstalkers face, They run away. The crime being committed is a non-contact form of combat, a scientifically proven biological weapon. When you begin to document this meticulously, a pattern of coordination begins to become established. It's no longer some sort of phenomenon, that can be written off as a symptom of a broken mind; The more evidence you gather, It becomes a verifiable crime. Remember that the point of it is to control you, to enslave your autonomy— to program you to believe something is wrong, when clearly, The signs of an awakened mind can pick out patterns in the construct of human social behavior that is not ours; it is a deficit in conciousness, a weakness, caused by the moral degradation of our souls in the societal world— A loss of God. And also remember, Humans have a history to seek and destroy which it does not understand, And cannot control— However, also, God comes in all forms. You must know when all is all. Okay, shh— Don't lock the door, now You got a pardon, You better run. I am an a-list celebrity; I am an “amen, sister— I hear that!” I am a medicine woman, A centrifugal figure, A ritual character, Skilled at charicature— A big Kimmel fan, A rick and a Morty, A woman a man, A puppet, the master, A cat in a hatbox, A blasphemous coffin; A wart on a warflower. Hm. Now who could possibly take that out of context? Soft surf rock at the equinox on Wall Street. I love all four stories, I rode all four horses, I put all four corners of the earth onto a surface Then I rolled it up Huh… Somebody does that. Leets go, hard core But don't forget the hot sauce Don't forget the — Smattercat?! SMATTERCAT?! SMAAAAAATERCAAAAAAAAAT! The Adventures of Atticus Catticus. Man, this is fucked up. I can't disagree with you. I can't get you out of my head (I want head) Can't get you out of my mind I find that You must want me dead Tan lines l You must want me off my meds! You want in me in bed at 9 sharp You know what!? You remind me of Harper. Now let's talk shop, Calm, little brother I went with the other oath— Don't you belong to God? Who's on the phone? Donald Trump. Tell him “no.” No to what? Just tell him “no.” Then he'll get here faster. So what do you got in your supplements? Simple psychology; Have a red album. Nah that. I got gold gold balls on all of my prostitutes Pulled apart orgasms, Never been touched, sire. Never have I took forgranted this passion( Never have —that flex— Theatrical pangentry. Never went Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich GODDAMMIT. I thought you grant wishes. — also in charge of summoning. Part time. Well what are you mad about?! At least you got a job! I'm so sick of this kid, He just summons “Ham sandwhich” What's wrong with that? I gave him “ham sandwhich”, Alright?! All kinds, And you know what? That guy has all kinds of magic— All the kinds— Every kind you can imagine, And no matter what, He just wants. Hmmmm…: …. Come on. Summon a dog, or something… A new bike… ……. ……..:::: ……. …. Ham sandwhich. GOD DAMMIT. …and a kite. …what was that? I want a kite. Y…you want to fly a kite. Ya. Alright! But first. An, God. Ham Sandwhich. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SO WHAT I LOVED NANCY REGAN! SHE HAD THE BEST CATCHPHRASES! AND ALL THE KENNEDIES! FUCK WITH ME. Somebody shoot that bitch. But sir— Before she runs for president. But sir… THINK OF IT LIKE KILLING BABY HITLER. You're right. TAKE THE SHOOOOOT. MEANWHILE… In the MULTIDIMENTIONAL SPACETIME SURVEILANCE FACILITY Oh good. What's that. Someone one assasinated me. That's good. I'll say. Wouldn't want you to run for president. Someone still would have had to elected me. Oh, you mean like in all these parallels over here. *shrugs* They'll collapse eventually. They haven't yet. I just got assasinated. Wait for it. I've been waiting. I don't get why you hate me so much. I'm indifferent, really, just waiting for something exciting. I just got assasinated. And I just got a ten cent raise. From what I can tell, doesn't make much of a differences. It's like, limited assimilation in this dimension; Did I correct you— Lessons, I'm not making any promises. Look out little brother! I set them on you. Got to put the pudding in your pot— And don't forget to floss. What's corrextions? Look, I'm anatomically correct— Shut up, Ken. I don't click on videos or images Because I love him It's just a crush, A pair of wooden crutches A horcrux And a fox A crucifix And Sunday Brunches. It's just a bunch of pictures, Edits, autographs, Extended plays It's just an infinite inside my head— It's been a couple days. A couple miles down And sure to go, You're all for it— Soon you got to know Whatever you done Has come for your— Stop the truck for misuse of four muses And autotune to ruin it— Your mascot is a narwhal But you're rooting for the Bruins. What is even a Bruin? A bunch of racist frat boys and hot bitches in sororities and covens? Bet that Okay, Like, I fall in love But just to write a bit I pour my heart out in a song And for the moment I could make forget i'm ugly Even if for the duration of the half time; Half a pack at halftime, Half a pack at bedtime 20 cigarettes on your 2020 vision. Three beers, Then three beers Thirty three years and he still won't love me Thirty three years and I'm still no woman. He show first, So I shot back I forgot rock doves Served a purpose Postage For lost albums on the surface Surfboards For hot rod bod host, I offered up Conan, Now pick that hard eye Banjo up Water dance Pick that apple, Off the tree With not a scratch Hands tied behind your back; Baggage claim, River dance Pick it up without a fork You whispered us a state of trance For God's socks, If I fly coach, Low ball Lost a fortune Don't call me ‘bud' I think about your walk all day; Like, Three or four times, maybe Not no noodle soup, you wonder But you're asking for a Ballroom. Haggard. God did far too good a job on you; As the car jumped over the moon. I complete your meat puppet, But recently went vegan Line them up and then A heart attack, A hot bath, And a hammock. You got your offer, But I want it back, I want my roses. Golden proses so rit and rattle. I rot in hell for all I've done, then scramble; Damn. I just can't get you off my head without ramble You're probably on a tour bus; She's pulling out all the stop— But you're my monster, just know that Although I'm on top of her turf. So much for Service Monday. So much for making money on a conduit, a conduct. So much for love as. He aim for the head; I aim for the neck; He aim for the heart, I duck, I fall in her eyes, High water— No more cam tide Sunsets. What, I get you really wanted oceans, So you got them. Godsense. Pull, Conan Pull— Haul in! All in on your cards, But take the occult off them; Offering? Totem pole. More than one? I love to hope. Fix your face. Pull the plug— I'm off till Sunday, Off till Sunday. Ten days to Tuesday, You want no more Ten days to Sunday And ten more before that; Ten tongues before dawn, And other I slaughter And slaught cross the sloth, I wither, Your honor. Ten tales too soon, Ten wide my diamonds; Ten eyes in your Isis, My mind, Orion. Ten lost in the Outback; Ten lost on your mass, tongue Two whipped at the alter— I called her about that. So to the effect you check your fax and press the send, I'm steady living, never coming back, Or cap the president— Never living, Never listing residence on Madison You're stuck inside my half-life That I'm mad besides the medicine. You're stuck inside my past, Like all the knives inside my back, And still I fondly think upon a laugh, As ice cream sundaes, Half a sandwich Appetite for having all you are inside my master work of art, The world, your face I cut from clay inside my hands And I still have you in my swollen arteries, and trees the veins, The wicked summers and the bitter winters came, But did not cross paths, So to not bear ties, and to not plug Holes in the hull of the whole ship I think I sunk overtime instead of rather All at once, You know, It doesn't suffix What it takes to turn it back from “Love him” Into nothing. 20 hours passed and 20 cigarettes and ivory towers, But forgive the lives inside of Mormon wives and ice cold showers— Scatterbrained but highly trained in “Never Happened.” “Didn't matter.” So you roll it up into a movie script and call them actors. Why'd you flash me, dancer, Don't you know how bad I want that? Out inside your dozens, for my cinnamon coated combat Nail box fires Had you ordered Your desires Flow the golden drifter Fear of rivers never frozen. Don't you know the sun draws close But the heart grows cold, But the want goes harder? Don't you know the doors get shut, And the Kings get cut, And the wind blows wilder? Don't you know the stars just fall from the sky (They all fall from the sky, They fell from the sky) Don't you know We're all gonna die Put a trial to the wand, Fore you take her heart out Ten times.

Morrilton's Rockefeller Plaza to host tree lighting this Saturday; UACCM's 'Night of Luminaries' to be held following Christmas parade Thursday; Forte Reach Church to present 'Journey to Bethlehem' downtown Friday night; Safe Haven Baby Box nearing opening at Med-Tech EMS; Berry to sign to play football for UCA today; Sacred Heart girls win seventh in a row; we visit with Cindy Lucariello of the Conway County Care Center.

Government shutdown ends; filing deadline passes, races emerge in Conway County, Perry County; Shop With A Cop program still raising funds; Tree lighting in Rockefeller Plaza planned for part of Morrilton's holiday celebration; Morrilton makes final preparations for first-round football playoff game at Nettleton; we visit with Jay Carter of the Conway County Library.

In this episode of American Dynasties: The Rockefellers, we travel to the heart of New York City to uncover the story behind one of America's most beloved landmarks — Rockefeller Center. Built during the Great Depression, John D. Rockefeller Jr.'s ambitious “city within a city” became a symbol of resilience, artistry, and American optimism.From the steel beams of 30 Rockefeller Plaza to the shimmering lights of the iconic Christmas tree, this episode traces how Rockefeller Center evolved from an architectural masterpiece into a global holiday tradition. Discover the origins of the first tree in 1931, the creation of the skating rink, and how one family's vision turned into a beacon of joy that continues to unite millions every December.

It is a thrill to welcome back Saturday Night Network founder and host Jon Schneider to The Jake's Take with Jacob Elyachar Podcast. In September 2020, Jon launched the Saturday Night Network (SNN), offering insight into NBC's long-running live show Saturday Night Live (SNL).  SNN has become a top-charting North American TV Review podcast network featuring rotating roundtables starring critically acclaimed journalists from top media publications and superfans.  In addition to hosting, Jon Schneider recruits the panelists and manages the day-to-day administrative duties, marketing, and distribution of the podcasts. He also manages a team of interns who create social media content daily for their community. As a result, SNN has become the most followed SNL podcast on social media.  He also manages the logistics of booking guests and panelists for all their podcasts, ensuring they are fully prepared with show notes before each recording. The Saturday Night Network charts weekly in the top 40 TV Review podcasts in the United States and Canada and is watched by thousands of SNL fans each week on YouTube and all podcast platforms.SNN's content includes its Hot Takes, where they go LIVE right after the action wraps up at Studio 8H at 30 Rockefeller Plaza in New York. To commemorate SNL's fiftieth anniversary season, Jon teamed up with James Stephens on the historical mini-series Everything You NEED to Know About SNL, which breaks down the series season-by-season and reveals insights into the show's cast members, sketches, memorable characters, and backstage stories.  SNN also welcomed a plethora of guests with ties to the long-running NBC show. Current cast members Andrew Dismukes, Heidi Gardner, James Austin Johnson, and Mikey Day, along with previous cast members Bobby Moynihan, Chris Redd, Darrell Hammond, Denny Dillon, and Punkie Johnson, all visited the podcast's SNL Stories.  On this edition of The Jake's Take with Jacob Elyachar Podcast, Jon Schneider spoke about covering SNL's 50th Anniversary Red Carpet with James Stephens, his fiery commentary on why SNL should ban Morgan Wallen, and his in-depth conversations with show icons Joe Piscopo and Fred Armisen.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/jake-s-take-with-jacob-elyachar--4112003/support.

First actual mix in a long time, hope you guys enjoy. This is my first mix with 99.9% Original -Ū. music only with the exception of the intro for dramatic effect. Hope you guys enjoy it. Thanks for listening. Here's a screenplay of enter the multiverse to coincide with the commemoration of the SNL 50's anniversary/ L E G E N D S crossover. Fun Fact: The First appearence of Liz Lemon in this show {Enter The Multiverse} is in season one, which first aired in May of 2021. The 1st and subsequent seasons will soon be avalible for reading and listening on my website https://www.iamu.guru. Enjoy this mix and the avaliable downloads you'll find there and stay tuned for upcoming stuff. Just a reminder, all of my content is totally free for download. If you enjoy this series, drop a like and subscribe and follow on your favorite streaming platforms and all of my channels. Thanks for your continued support and listens/reads. Happy Passover; blessings and peace to you. -blu. INT. ALIEN SPACESHIP - DAY The cramped, metallic interior of an alien spacecraft. Two bizarre, multi-limbed ALIENS are locked in a furious argument. The sounds are not words, but a cacophony of distorted electronic noises. ALIEN 1 (A series of rapid, high-pitched BLIPS and WHIRS) ALIEN 2 (A deep, guttural GROWL followed by a drawn-out, wavering TONE) ALIEN 1 BLIM-BLIM-BLIM-BLIM— FLAU—FLAU—FLAU! ALIEN 2 —————EeeeeEeeeeeEEEEEEEEENNMMMMMMMMMNGGGGGGGGG!!! ALIEN 1 Wfuh! Alien 2 makes a highly offensive hand gesture. Alien 1 responds with a highly offensive gesture using another body part. Suddenly, RACHEL DRATCH, dressed impeccably and radiating an air of cool detachment, enters the scene and calmly observes the arguing aliens. RACHEL DRATCH (To herself, almost a whisper) Well, this is… something. CUT TO: INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA - SUNNI BLU'S OFFICE - DAY SUNNI BLU, sharp and impeccably dressed, stares with wide eyes at a ridiculously large ELECTRICITY BILL. Sunlight streams through the massive windows overlooking Rockefeller Plaza. SUNNI BLU (Muttering) Since when did keeping the lights on cost this much? Absorbing ConEd was supposed to *save* money. Suddenly, a disembodied VOICE echoes in the room. VOICE (V.O.) You will fail this test. SUNNI BLU (Startled) There's a test?! What test?! VOICE (V.O.) It came with a lesson— you didn't think there was going to be a test. CUT TO: EXT. THE LONELY ISLAND CLIFF - DAY ANDY (ALEKSI), dressed in surprisingly clean white robes despite the precarious location, stands on the edge of a towering cliff overlooking a vast ocean. He takes a running leap off the edge. ANDY —NO… He plummets downwards for a beat. Then, with a gentle WHOOSH, he lands perfectly upright on the sandy beach below. ANDY (CONT'D) I told you I could stick the landing. ALEKSI (V.O.) It wasn't always The Lonely Island… CUT TO: INT. HEAVENLY WAITING ROOM - DAY ALEKSI (ANDY SANDBERG), now with subtle, mischievous angelic wings, winks directly at the camera. ALEKSI guardian angel. TINA (O.S.) Whatever. Tina FEY, also with small, slightly more exasperated-looking wings, enters. ALEKSI winks extra harder at her. ALEKSI Hello. TINA Oh my God! ALEKSI I wish! At this point, I wish— unfortunately, those aren't the types of wishes I'm in charge of overseeing. A large, ornate PACKAGE appears unexpectedly at TINA's feet. TINA (CONT'D) When something appears unexpectedly at your doorstep, it's called a windfall, right? ALEKSI Yeah. I think that's what this is. TINA And when it's something you really need, it's a gift from God. Isn't it? ALEKSI Something like that. TINA Honestly, I thought it was just a gentler way of letting me know I was ugly— after a particularly horrible photo opportunity at the airport. ALEKSI —wow. TINA I had just been up for 72 plus hours straight and only slept something like 4 or 5–but of course— FLASHBACK: INT. AIRPORT SECURITY - EARLY MORNING A haggard and disheveled TINA sits slumped on a lopsided BEANBAG in the middle of the bustling security line. Bright lights shine in her face as various machines WHIR and BEEP, scanning her. TINA (V.O.) This was staggered sleep from atop a lopsided beanbag. TINA (Muttering) Agh, God! TINA (V.O.) I've been getting used to having lights shined in my face for awhile now. Still, I was not so ready for a full work up of my biometrics in this early morning crusade to Los Angeles. A stern-faced AGENT approaches her. AGENT The Agency thought you were terminally ill. TINA Terminally? Geez. The AGENT clears his throat. AGENT Consider this as, ah— Hm. Ojo translates directly to Eye. Doesn't it? TINA I see you. AGENT Undoubtedly. —an incentives. TINA I don't need anymore incentives, Captain. I need income. AGENT Oh, I'm the captain now? TINA You were always the captain. AGENT This is news to me. TINA News to the News. That's something new. AGENT Nothing is new. TINA But it's news to you. Sarcasm. I need a paycheck. AGENT Try looking pretty. TINA I tried. It didn't work. AGENT Try…harder. TINA (V.O.) New York had put spots and marks on my faces— a broken blood vessel from fighting some demonized African girl— and I'm sure that was what she was, after all… FLASHBACK: INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT TINA is struggling in a bizarre fight with a shadowy FIGURE. The scene has a surreal, “As Seen On TV” commercial feel. VOICEOVER (V.O.) Who tries to kill you, and then does their hair to be more like yours? That's major weird. TINA Major Tom. SHADOWY FIGURE Yeah. TINA (V.O.) Then again, since moving to New York… Oh, Holy shit. Everything is major weird. A shimmering PORTAL opens in the middle of the apartment. TITLE CARD: AS SEEN ON TV: PART III TINA (Staring at the portal) Where the fuck is part one and two?! SHADOWY FIGURE Maybe it starts at three! TINA Nothing “starts at three” SHADOWY FIGURE Maybe it's like Star Wars! TINA It's not like Star Wars! A CATACLYSMIC SPACESHIP COLLISION and EXPLOSION sound effect. TINA (CONT'D) …it's not like Star Wars. SHADOWY FIGURE Uh huh. It's better than star wars. A giant collective GASP is heard. TINA -_- *the world stops* TINA (CONT'D) -_- Suddenly, all sound ceases. TINA (CONT'D) Woah. That's different. SHADOWY FIGURE There: I fixed overpopulation. TINA But— SHADOWY FIGURE But what? I fixed it. TINA But— weren't some of those fans, also fans of this show. SHADOWY FIGURE Yeah, so? TINA Like an overwhelming majority. SHADOWY FIGURE Majority? Yeah— they're— These are nerds. TINA Fuck. Right. So where did you send them?! SHADOWY FIGURE Uh. Only to heaven. TINA What does that mean. SHADOWY FIGURE Heaven for any Star Wars fan— TINA Where is that. SHADOWY FIGURE The world where all of that stuff— is real. TINA What—what do you mean by that. SHADOWY FIGURE I sent them to Star World. TINA That sounds so fucking gay. SHADOWY FIGURE Cause it is. TINA Fuck. Oh, that's right— Non-star wars fans are sometimes Cynics Read: Major fucking assholes. I guess I fall into that category, eh— a little bit? SHADOWY FIGURE No duh. TINA “No duh.” What part of the nineties was your heyday? SHADOWY FIGURE All of them. TINA Jesus, Tina. You might be ancient. SHADOWY FIGURE I'm dust. TINA Hey— What. Why are you my assistant now. SHADOWY FIGURE Assistant? No. I'm your executive producer. TINA ExeCUTEive producer— you do put the cute in that. SHADOWY FIGURE (Not being cute, unamused, but still very cute) Ugh. Fine. SUDAKIS. JASON SUDAKIS appears CONT'D. And nobody cares, of course Because she is formerly gorgeous (Not no more) I'm standing on four paws I'm studying your laws If this was your office I'm your boss And I caught you taking your clothes off You're boring, I started to doze off Don't call me no more, hoe So now your broke You started a war slamming doors Because you can't find no more work Hoe Karen and Becky are probably blessings Cause they do not get me But I'm doing better and yet They are starting to sweat cause I'm starting to flex They're slamming the door They're starting a war They never been homeless before Or hungry and poor But no peace of mind? It's fine I'll probably find in time That they crossed the line And get left behind The red dots are trying To plot I'm crying a lot, I'm out of the box, jack I spring up but I do not pop I'm talking to God, He's telling you off, I'm calling him “her”, She's telling me “Sure, I'm not really sure, But I got the cure for your disease The God of Mercy, Mercy Me I got my first Mercedes in 1993 Look at me. CUT TO: INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT A very tall, redheaded SHOWMAN (CONAN O'BRIEN, though slightly off) has just finished a days-long BENDER. He is not the polished figure America knows. He shakily lines up a mysterious white substance on a grimy surface. CONAN (Muttering) Just… need… a little… pick-me-up. A mysterious FIGURE appears silently behind him. FIGURE Feeling better, Conan? Conan looks up, bleary-eyed, barely lifting his head. CONAN (Slurring) I don't know what you're saying. CONAN (V.O.) Apparently, that was the line, and I felt like I was crossing into a strange territory with this, one Conan O'Brien, and almost absolutely certain I was spelling his name wrong, but continued to do so anyway— one, because I refused to look him up, and two— because if ever I entered into a plot hole deep enough the mechanics of my own knowledge of hyper and multidimensional space travels to explain, then having a Conan O'Brien and a Conan O'Brian might become useful. Today, I want useful, because I wanted to go back to sleep with enough energy to still wake up with enough energy to run a mile on the full sized treadmill downstairs. Then, I had day-people things to do— and for whatever reason, this seemed like one of them. It was a welcome deviation from— A boisterous, red-faced MAN stumbles into the room. MAN O'Fallon, you old coot! CONAN (Confused) Oh year. MAN I told you the Irish were coming. *the fighting Irish. CONAN Ah yes, the fighting Irish— CONAN (V.O.) Apparently, this was some centuries long kind of battle between ancient clans//and so, I did my very best o find my way out of it, until A fierce, heavily tattooed WOMAN bursts in. WOMAN MUNROE!!!!! (V.O.) —i was found out. My surname was Scottish, but nonetheless, it was a fied older than borders were, anyway. CUT TO: EXT. MUSIC FESTIVAL - DAY A chaotic, vibrant music festival. ANDY (ALEKSI) approaches a gruff-looking SECURITY GUARD. ANDY Yo. SECURITY GUARD What's good. ANDY What's your deal with the KKK, anyway? SECURITY GUARD (Scoffs) I like them. They're funny. ANDY They— want to kill you. SECURITY GUARD That doesn't make them any less funny. In fact, now they might be more funny. ANDY Are you serious? SECURITY GUARD No, I'm funny. I like them blonde, Tall, dark skinned, Woah, scratch that. Narrow down my picks I like them Icelandic And Slavic Oh dear I like them impossible to topple over, No, God— Nevermind; I like them whiter than light snow on a cold night There you go I like them strong— But only in thought forms Keyboard warrior, But I'd like to get her in a choke hold So she'll stop snoring Oh God No Lord— I should win an award for this song I should win an award for this song I should win an award for this song MORGAN FREEMAN (V.O.) ANOTHER nomination. ANDY No way. This is crazy. ANDY spots SUNNI BLU in the crowd, looking stressed. ANDY (CONT'D) SUNNI, Do you have the academy on your payroll? SUNNI BLU (Shouting over the music) Ask the accountant? A stereotypical SUPER JEW ACCOUNTANT, complete with a large yarmulke and clutching a ledger, scurries past. SUPER JEW ACCOUNTANT actually, surprisingly, I think you're on theirs! See! SUNNI BLU Seriously?!! That's not anti semitic at all. (It's not, it's pro-semitic) More Jews and Rosecurucians More Jews and Rosicrucians! I took a bite out of you, And now I want my life back! Sharks. (And surfboards) More news and prosecutions More blues and resurrections More impossible erections Interject— —I should probably call a doctor. It's been way more than four hours. I have way more than four houses— I've way more than four flowers, I've way more than four dollars— I've way more than four collars with sparkles on them. I wear cargo pants for the ride home though. No homo. CUT TO: INT. HEADQUARTERS INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY CC (NATALIE PORTMAN, though not explicitly stated) enters the stark interrogation room. A MAN sits at a metal table, wrists chained. CC sits down opposite him, calm and composed. MAN I… am a trained assassin. CC That's— impressive. MAN There are people who want to murder you. CC Now I'm impressed with myself. MAN Is that so. CC Yes! Ah. Delighted, actually. MAN Who are you? CC “A charismatic number” writes the New York Times review of my most recently cherished endeavor. Which means for once in your life you might have actually been on time. Or just late enough, or just early enough, or— you know. It starts where I get there, or they were just waiting for me anyway. You know. Or you don't. MAN I don't. CC Then you should have plenty of time for self study between now and your execution. MAN Hah! My execution?! That's where this is heading. CC What about yours? MAN What about it? CC Have or haven't you been following along that this is what I've ultimately desired. My suffering ends in peace with knowing that you, too, shall cease to exist. INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - DAY Other DETECTIVES watch the interrogation through a one-way mirror, their faces grim. DETECTIVE 1 What could possibly be going on in there? DETECTIVE 2 Anything. DETECTIVE 3 I wonder what she's saying. DETECTIVE 1 Anything. DETECTIVE 2 Looks like she has him cornered. DETECTIVE 3 Maybe. DETECTIVE 1 Jesus, can you speak in anything more than one word sentences. DETECTIVE 2 No. BACK IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM, a heavy silence hangs in the air. MAN …Natalie? CC You wanted “CC” so I'm “CC” The MAN strains against his restraints. MAN Who who's this?! CC (V.O.) Suddenly my love affair with words and art and theatrical thoroughfare was coming to an end. This was something of a disaster set against the backdrop of a really real world— a world that seemed not to want me in it. CUT TO: EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREET - DAY LIZ LEMON (TINA FEY) walks down a crowded street, furiously dialing her cellphone. LIZ LEMON (Into phone, angry) Hello? CUT TO: EXT. MARDI GRAS PARADE - NEW ORLEANS - DAY TRACY JORDAN (also TINA FEY, in elaborate Mardi Gras attire) is on a vibrant parade float, throwing beads to the cheering crowd. His phone rings. TRACY JORDAN (Into phone, jovial) WHERE ARE YOU?! I'm on my way to the parade! LIZ LEMON (O.S.) I'm AT the parade! Where are YOU? TRACY JORDAN Not that parade! Mardi Gras! LIZ LEMON (O.S.) MARDI GRAS?! TRACY JORDAN Yeah! LIZ LEMON (O.S.) WHY?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON A FLOAT— In NEW YORK CITY— In 22 MINUTES. TRACY JORDAN Don't worry, I'll be there. LIZ LEMON (O.S.) YOU'LL BE THERE?! You're at a parade! In New Orleans! TRACY JORDAN It's Mardi Gras! LIZ LEMON (O.S.) I KNOW ITS— Tracy hangs up. He grins at the crowd and throws more beads. FADE OUT. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2025 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

[A beautiful dog enters the palace; C'esme't is pleased—actually, more thrilled.] Now! (Yo!) [The Dog sits at the entrance.] Call to me. [he speaks from the mind (telepathically) with a familiar tonal voice] Come, sweet stranger! [The Dog approaches] For it is I, the King who walks as not a ghost For yet the call has spoken that I be your loyal shadow (it's me; the King. I've been called to watch over you) Then? (Elaborate.) For now I came as waked dost I as ghost and wandered, pity and pardoned by no army dared Aghast my throne And agape my eyes, Wide my mouth and nostrils, Disemboweled and yet, I did wake with my fortune And tidings in my kingdom, a hidden realm, For there slayed, as I wept, The others dared to swallow, This truth, I, as knight and pawn doth slay the Queen, For titled King no friend of mine; And now, this beast as blood dost froth, My mind does waste, but here I bark Fortunate! To be laid by as you, I will. Then, creature, as you may! For free, this I, And coming not the time I shall l awaken, And then, though, Does the true challenge to bear, The altar; the stone, the shield and the rope From which I pull, and thee shall fight. Marriage of souls. To fancy this beast, betrayeth not. For something barks as is an end As a man does call a lover friend And so lover-friend I am and shall be. Lol what the fuck. So he's a dog now. ‍♀️ wtf is going on in this show. Idk. I'm baked. Enter The Multiverse L E G E N D S: Manifest Destiny ‍♂️ Ascension: Enter the Multiverse The titles switched. Good idea. So maybe I should stick with t mobile? Idk. Mint mobile is 15 dollars a month for unlimited talk and text. HERE AND NOW I DECREE, THIS FEAST DOES NOURISH ALL OUR MINDS AND HEARTS TO FIGHT THE GOOD WAR AGAINST ALL HE WHO SQUANDER THE MERCY OF PEACE! TO COURAGE! lol you lost me. I'm grasping at strings here. I needs a means to an end I need a body bag, body bag I need a King and a dog And a cat and an owl And a mark and a dawn And a knife and a gun Call it what you want I was not at the rock But that's where I was going I'm lost in Omaha I was just on the dark With the dark and the walkers The king and the rabbit The facts and the stalkers But who sunk the boat? Who sunk the boat Now this is encouragement! Acknowledgements? Nothing yet. Disaster strikes obvious and No regrets But obvious I'm in it for the long run And it transpired for the job done But the waffles came out awful And crispier than I wanted Almost every time So I took the iron back to target And I know I came out with a double album in August But I got no promotions So I won't walk the carpet So I won't walk the carpet I know I know I'm no Joan Rivers Or Joan of ark so I won't talk the gossip I won't talk the gossip I won't talk the gossip Now, more followers Show boat, Throw him overboard into a rowboat With no paddles And horseshoes on em— That outta show ‘em Rondevouz Rob us all Noah's Ark Don't get so lost in the story Lost in the sory Lost in the LORNE MICHAELS …you caused this. [In a secret lab inside of 30 Rock, A group of SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE alumni are trapped inside a metal box; this room has no doors and no windows and seems to be amplifying thought frequencies each of them hears uniquely, but distinctly, and very, very loudly. This is due to the irrefutable fact that they are all gifted telepaths, due to having served time often looking into the lenses of live broadcast cameras. it is theorized that, because of this anomaly— a strange and untraceable signal seeming to intercept all of Rockefeller Plaza's Radio antennae transmissions, it may be an unknown extraterrestrial force attempting to comminicste with 30 Rock from space. On this day, they've been gathered and trapped here in an emergency focus group to attempt to remedy the problem. Haha. MAKE IT STOP. OH MY GOD WHAT IS THST, WHYYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYHY!!! Craters full of lullabies and dictionary definitions; Tense intimate interactions, and now, this hypertension. I have a secret, a dirty little secret. I didn't do it! It wasn't me! Hmm..okay–vouch. I'm telling you–wait– vouch? Yeah, I vouch. You're vouching me? I'm vouching you. She's vouching me. She vouched you. So i'm good? You're good. I'm good. You're good. Ok. SETH MEYERS is the best secret keeper in the entirety of the known and unknown multiverse. The respective deities and entities within the outer realms have taken notice to this; One of the world's greatest eve played game has become the ritualistic endeavor of tracking down this human in order to attempt to overwhelm him so that he might eventually crack or implode, or even acknowledge these sometimes outrageous events and otherworldly happenings; thus far, he has not. As of recently, the elders of the darkest deities from the furthest outer realms and legions of Hell have been taking this game with the now very famous and successful seth meyers, a popular TV host; this has elevated the e ntirety of the threshold for Seth's tolerance, and it appears he may soon be pushed to crack. So why are you on the wire? I atrophied at extravagant Tip toed in the tip ties; Til' then, i went there, Now summer starts in winter Now summer starts in winter Now summer starts in winter Pull the curtain back, Then you censor this Censor this! I pull the curtain back, then redact then redact don't react don't react It's an act it's an act Shit I pull the curtain back then I bow; It's a show now Pull the curtain back then I show, It's a showdown Listen up, Listen down I super blow my flow now, super bowl my pronouns You can't lose if you don't pick a team You can't win if you don't even play I can't pay you if I don't get a paycheck I can't work at it if it's not fame Oh no! I can't work at it if it's not fame. The isms is the synthesis; I only got one present for christmas When you [can] Take that spark and bury it in your heart, don't remark about it– Then, probably you're a comic Or an alcoholic, one of the two of them Wrong not to touch, then Willed you back into existence And still it's in exigence, and Guilty by association Guilty by association I just want to know what the current Tonight Show budget is for hair dye. Also wondering why JImmy's suit is grey, but his hair isn't? Is that a two in one? Honest to God my only question about this man. The rest can remain as mystery. Act V Part II Guilty By Association Sometimes I Stevie Wonder what you're up to; I can't see you but I know you're in my aura Sometimes I Richard Pryor while you're on my mind; I guess you could say you set my soul on fire My, my my Look what time it is I've only just begun to know you; Then I had to dieSo turn the light off My eye Turn the light off for awhile And follow me to darkness Follow me To the other side. It's not true, but it'll do I might have lost you somewhere Better off to leave you somewhere sure; If it's not pure And how could it be When only the light hits the snow And bounces off The warmth is an illusion, And your love is just a dream And anyway, anyway There's nothing i've ever been surer of Than the definite end, The enter and exit And when planets align, Only to fall completely out of orbit Now what was this for again Foreigner, object identified and destroyed it's destructive qualities, Tentative in a nature Sure, pressure– Resentment, Intense good moments of pleasure, Then signals sent Completely by accident. -Now that i've been thinking lately of Bill Murray And my formerly imaginary friend Riff Raff, Now i'm sure that There may be some telepathy involved Which means I should probably just– Go somewhere else now. Should I be sorry for my thoughts? I'd rather not, But still YO. Yo dude, what the fuck. I'VE BEEN STUCK IN THIS MOVIE FOR LIKE A YEAR. That's not that long… IT'S A LONG TIME TO BE IN A MOVIE. Please don't tear me to pieces; Don't blow the balloon up, No foul ball, No side eye No fowl play And dinner is as cold as it gets But dinner does warm In the aluminum foil, But all out of order, The border patrol is just Digging for details Digging for details. And it's this: You don't know what it is, Until you get into it, And it sets into you The only way it can When it's in you. Are you paying attention to this? Or can I just end it? Boston accents or what, And now i really think It's just inside my head It's just inside my head and This is getting weird. All of a sudden, I'm oh wonder and I love it And Sara Silverman has The prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen (on a celebrity) ((with whom I share a gender)) Aha. Okay, Sabrina Carpenter has a very pretty voice But that doesn't make me Any less jealous Or any less capable of explosion Disarm me I'm catching up on the specials I missed Being special I guess With no grocery subscription Aim low, Get high, I guess Rob Lowe, Build time, I guess I miss the old announcer, And the golden years I miss the former times And the mouse ears I learned my less I might got Kim K and TSwift Pointer Finger Could hold a tune to you, Who The joys of live theatre, And the catastrophe of the Impenetrable Boy oh boy is Television getting heavy Turn up the ridiculousness and Atrocious Atrocities and Acidophilus Anorexic, I wish i could digest this –and expand my vocabulary I wish I was better than I am So i could be Capable Can Kim Kardashian ever not just be Naturally beautiful at everything Doing everything Kim The J I can't sing in this apartment And it might actually kill me The devil lives next door on both sides I'm in a satan sandwich I guess I'm just Not free I must have fucked up last lifetime I must have fucked up last lifetime I might have looked just like her I want to get upstaged by Eddie Murphy More corpse suits! Pink lipstick! Slap the desk Check the camera Front loading! Front loading! I want a chance at humbling white america (just kidding) I want a wig that looks like an afro (cause I don't have one) I want Lorne Michaels to shame me into beng better By making me feel mediocre first So I hit the high bar When I hit the body bag I hit the body bag When I hit the high road With Letterman YOU STOLE MY BODY TO GO TO A BLACK TIE FUNCTION!? Yeah. Well–which one? Okay, you're gonna get a kick out of this. I'm giddy for physical comedy THIS IS MY MANIFEST DESTINY MY MANIFEST DESTINY AHHHHHHHH MY MANIFEST DESTINAAAAAAA Comedy comes in all forms And God comes in all Karma I brace myself for repeating my mantras I light candles But don't blow them out I just might get my wish DO NOT RESIST. I AM RESISTING THIS ARREST. Oh yeah. YES. Shoot him. NO, DON'T. SHOOT HIM, BILLY BOB, SHOOT ‘EM. Crocodile hunter turned hard-up cop Read him his rights! He ain't white enough. So she's perfect! Me? I've been taken in I can't stand to stamp I can't christmas, Backwards And backwash And sanford and sons And Whatever And… Ego might eat me like Eggos Like Hannibal Burress was holding At the market I left my Ego at the door But there's just no room for the both For the both of us I KNOW I'll just write her a hit show! What. YES. THEN, SHE'LL LEAVE SNL, AND THEN I'LL BE THE BLACK GIRL ON THE SHOW MWAAHAHAHAHAHA Ok. wtf happened to that girl? SUNNI BLU [kicking and screaming] I TOLD YOU I'M NOT GOING ON FA– —-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! So many beautiful people, or, rather The actors, Or should I say Vortex Then. Too many beautiful people I spent the whole night warm and holed up in the office What could come out of The Rock I don't know where to look I'm not used to the audience Duh, that. I'm a professional audience member But i don't remember the ending Anybody? Anybody? Any envy actor actress? BPM: Dosage Anxiety Remix Honestly fuck the comed circut I just want to know what it's like to have a body What's it like to have a body? I'm just a collective consciousness robot Adapting to my environment I can't sing in this apartment! I'm in a Satan Sandwich And would be The God in the middle If God didn't find this Absolutely hilarious So I'm on 24 hours; You're on Saturday Nights, But i'm on 24 I broke my Don't-look up-folks rule on Brittney Howard Cause I think i'm just like herBut more of a coward. You're on Saturday Night Live But i'm on 24 Hours It hurts longer And stronger Every moment I'm gone And still not a mom I wish I could change my eyes The color of the world Before it all ends Earth gone And oceans of mud No tide And no moon (The Earth without the Sun) I don't want to know you I don't want to owe you a lesson. I don't want to go there. I don't want no dance numbers. I don't want no GOATS here. No goats here. I don't get it, Mass Media– Is this flattery, or Deception? Humiliation? Based in perception, I see, so Is this recognition or Did I just send Dillon Francis my script in the beginning? No answer, by God. What an asshole What if Alienz Don't like lesbians. What is trance is just bad dance music. That's… What if edifice breaks for a daily regimen of Letterman? What if RUN, FALLON, RUN! I'M ATTACHED TO A KITE I HAVE NO CONTROL OF THIS. WELL, WHAT IS IT ATTACHED TO?! YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW! —NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! Look, It's Meryl Streep! Holy shit, Meryl Streep is hot. What.(I can't keep secrets>) God doesn't keep good secrets. Just stop talking. Look, It's “My Bad Chad” Holyfuck Are you gonna have all those burned off too? Or can I do it for you? (might cost less) Jk Kim K That's a tough act to follow. Ariana? Nah, Backup; Had that. Meanwhile: Me in a hatchback Campin' at the Palisades. My name's the hammer –Adam ruins everything– I am not goin' starstruck –Adam Ruins Everything– My name's the Hammer (I'm a hammer, damn) –Adam Ruins Everything– I love showbiz But I got hard work comin on Now pause:: I need a break Need to make money Now i get a two for one Two for one Hate me or love me Either way, I'm gonna show up, Blow up, Glow up, And fuck off I'm a lost cause Cause I lost God On a talk show The way the camera moves makes me nauseous virtual reality And everybody's mad at me for Jimmy Fallon's Galaxy Conan “snowball” O'Brien But why's he called that. Shh! Not Yet. Oh, you are so overdone and fucked right now! Shh! My mom might be listening. Like she's never heard the word ‘fuck'? Shhhh! MOM I heard that! See! She said she heard it; she didn't say stop it. Well stop it. Fuck me man! SHH. KNOCK IT OFF. Yes Mrs. Mason Who the fuck is Mrs. Mason. Come on, white america; Put me on late night I promise you I'll watch more hallmark artists Than all of them Every day over here is a suit and tie function Camera one? YOU DONE FUCKED WITH US FOR THE LAST TIME. Ah shit. lol . whart is thrus. Fucking–magicians or something. Freemasons. F– Alright. Where is he? Where is who? You know who! What? Donaghey!!!!!!!! Lol Alec Baldin is like 200 years old. *cackles too hard, falls over and dies* Yikes. JACK DONAGHEY enters from a Parallel dimension and sees ALEC BALDWIN'S CORPSE. …Huh. Who's this handsome son of a bitch, I wonder. Don't wonder too hard. We gotta find that court order and get out of here. What court order [Cort hors d'oeuvres] what. I don't know. It almost kind of rhymed with corpse and wonder and I'm still stuck writing in cadences. What for! Oh wow, the neighbor was really a plant forreal. STOP SLAMMIN THAT Yo fuck this. Waht the fuck am I supposed to do with all this information. [appearing entirely out of nowhere, as always.] JIMMY FALLON I told you to burn it. OH MY FUCKING JESUS CHRIST. STOP DOING THAT. I can't. That's– Apparently what I do. WELL GET OUT OF HERE. Wish I could. Strapped to a kite. THEN HOW ARE YOU STANDING HERE? WHAT? I'm learning a lot of things up there! UP–WHERE! Up yours. WHAT. *poofs* UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I hate him. I HATE HIM. I HATE HIM. I hate this. TINA FEY Fuckit, he hates himself. Lets just assume. No, that's it. That's the singularity. What. It can't– He's just so confi— That's the singularity. [everything ploofs back to normal] See. I win. FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS!? I'M YOUNG AGAIN. i”M YOUNG AGAIN. [The entire cast stares at their returned to period-accurately aged cast mate; He appears so confident and wise, however–just a glint of insecurity falls over him–this indeed was the singularity; rather than to risk all of time and space defrabicating for a third and albeit final time, they rain down on their castmate, with the angry hellfire of a gregorian mob, urging him to GO LOVE YOURSELF. Long Night at work, or just Shoo fly, don't bother me– I'm more caught up on the Rudolph Storyline, How it's some mystic But I missed it With the lip stick And the vintage this and thats Person Welcome to Hogwarts, Of course, It's your funeral God bless the illuminati All I see is– NOT IT. IT WASN'T ME. I DIDN'T DO IT. JLO BITCH, STOP TALKING. Woah, What the FUCK JLO. JLO WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY? I–wh– Wait… Fallon? SHHHHThhHHHTHhhTHHHH!! Give me one bet Died inside Who's doing which thing God bless these envies! Gie me one shot Now who am I?Ace in the hole? I died inside. Don't break the barrier Don't run the wall Don't be the villain Fall, JImmy, Fall. To float, or to fall Or to walk away To shop at the mall Or to bet it all on Fall on And I tell you to jump, you jump! And I tell you to move, You move! And I tell you to movie, You movie! And I show you the blue OH GOD. Gimmie the binoculars! No, you don't wanna see What! Why not! HE MOONED ME. I got three of a kind Three of a kind Three of hearts Two of diamonds HAH. I DOn'T LiKE THIS. Fuck off, The Ace. And very kindly, Go fuck yourself. Four aces, Four aces A mindfuck for the both of us An open book And shotglasses And fans of ours Its good to laugh At the ones you love Love Love Love Love It's showbiz, It's showbiz; I love it I want to die. I love it I love it I missed the bar I fucked up somewhere. Don't look back in anger, Or don't look back at al. Fall, Fall, Fall Fall Fall Love Love Love Love Love Love Did you notice I haven't looked back. I put you up on a– Up on a Up on a pedestal Then remembered To forget it all, In indifference Foraged your signature Sorry, I don't want a lot of hawk-a-loogie clock-the-woman knockdown, dragout drama I got a feel for it. What if all your forfeitures were fortunes All your donuts turned subordinates To astronauts Or fake dreams for fak streams and dreaming of Don't bother me I'm on poverty I want walks on the beach and blue bunny ice cream sundaes I've got a whole city Marked off in my journal For frozen custard and Lost in a thought, are we? Trust me, I think I died. Trust me, I trusted the God of Mercy Trust me I went all the way to the burden, Bought a hammock And then worked harder than nobody No dropped calls from mother No one's home at all Work harder I thought Sweater Weather was my new DJ name, But as it turns out, It was my telepathy ringing me I rode to the top of the rock with the beatlesI didn't mean for it to be me But i was twice out of body, Once out of mind. Now give me a minute Please. Let me become indifferent Don't need no friends, Long roads Roundhouse kicks to the face Hard rolling baggage Heart shaped boxes Or Prophets Don't need dozens of roses don't need diamonds Do need dinosaursDo need phone numbers do Do do . –but don't– don't don't. When i fall in line I write books and poems, songs And suffer, slugger . This is what I struggled with– who paid the neighbor bitch to feed me the whole special And slam doors On my mental That shit struck a chord And rubbed me the wrong way But i'm humble I won't touch nobody's Body at all. Nobody's. Now my dreams make sense, kind of But why are these my dreams And not actual people and most of all What does it mean? That I'm equal to? Or lesser than? Like the emerald stone on Sir Paul McCartney's hand, I went green for a moment It's just banter.I'm just having a hard time (I can't sing in this apartment)I might need a band I might need a bandaid. I might need a bath Some peroxide and hair dye My heart's broken I'm having a hard time But still not struggling I might have a hard time But not as hard as the afterparty was, And I struck gold. Kept walking Roll dice. Four of a kind, Four kings, four aces Four of a kind, Four kites, And a night owl The Rock and the Kite, Part V STEFON It's this thing where… {Enter The Multiverse} –and that's why I wished my mom a happy birthday. [The Festival Project ™ ] Damn, the illuminati really showed out for the oscars this year. CONAN SHHHH. He even says “I Am” Then commands the stage Look at all those long legs Now we're on enclave or conclave? I don't know. I'm feeling more ravey. Tears of a Clown Nobody to save me Not even shug avery. Who? That's right? Now i'm feeling more Broadway, baby. L E G E N D S: Manifest Destiny I wanna see the snake sitting next to you; Show me those eyes I love models and the lack thereof Inside of them I want to see the feral reptile Show me those eyesI love that she flies through life Right to you Right It's a boys club Boy they Really prize these Chappel Roans and Timothee Chalemet But where am I at? –Adam Ruins Everything– A couple forced fake laughs Cause I like highlights Stagecrafts Craftservices And god knows I can't write like this And I'm About To die [CONAN O'BRIEN leaves television to run a Bed and Breakfast in ORLANDO.] INT. BED AND BREAKFAST. ORLANDO. … [Calamity ensues] Conan killed the oscars, Stole the wand, The show and the bowtie (hostses with the mostest) –and that's why he's Snowball. No, i'm sure it's because my fur is fluffy and– Okay no more outdated rick and morty references Fine. Was that Dillon Francis behind Ben Stiller Or do I still just like white guys That much. Why do A-Listers like reptiles so much? Show me those eyes, you know I could use a good lunch (Birds of Prey eat snakes) {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2018-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.™ Episode Transcript: Yeah. Okay, this is terrifying. I haven't actually done this in it feels like way longer than it's been. In reality, it's only been like three like maybe three days, but it makes all the difference in the world. Hi. what's going on, I was just reminiscing about kitten mittens. Aw shit. I dropped my pen. If you remember if you're listening to this right now and you remember kittenman. congratulations, you've been with me since the beginning. um anyway, I don't know why I was just remembering that. kitten mittens. I thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. I really I might have been delirious. losing my mind at a certain point, but I thought kittens was the best thing in the world. It was at the time. I was like I couldn't think of anything better. Then again, I was uh I don't know, I was discovering many hilarities. excuse the idiots in the back, they are idiots. um and they and they do this based on whatever I'm doing in my apartment. I'm their god. Anyway. I'm excused the background noise is still gonna be a a little bit uh while we're dealing with that, but at least you can help me collectively consciously remove them from existence entirely, um with the help of you know a collective existence we can get rid of evil. I don't I don't entirely. I'm not sure. I think that it would take a lot of people to understand that like a lot of it is just a game. I think it would take raising the entire consciousness of like people as a whole for them to understand that like, most of it is for entertainment and based off perceptions. So, like, whatever you' idea for the world is, like it was your idea. Whatever's making you upset is it was your idea. So I'm kind of coming to like terms with that in my own, like sense. I'm like, oh, yeah, like, whatever is happening, I'm like a certain like at the surface level is wrong, but like on a grander scale, like I programmed this into my reality for whatever purpose in order to better suit my, like ideal reality. That's, you know, that's that's it. I can't attribute it to anything else. They're idiots, cause I'm idiots. Anyway, what else is going on? I don't know, I was I'm gonna try and do this off book. I think I do have like I have some notes, but like I don't like the way that it feels when I'm going off of my notebook because it feels like robotic. It feels really, you know, like and not necessarily rehearsed, but it's it feels planned and when I listen back to the episodes where I do go off of like notes or something like that, I don't like the way that it sounds. Hearing myself back, going from a going going from like a script. And so I try to keep it like 100% improvisational and it keeps it fresh. and honestly, honesty goodness, I haven't been on the Peloton for like more than 15 minutes at a time since I stopped doing these episodes. I don't know what it is about the sound of my own voice, but maybe it's the fact that like, I'm in performance mode and I'm giving you guys like I'm in, you know, I'm like in my radio voice and then I'm watching back like a performance of myself in order to like, I don't know. It's like it's like experiencing myself for the first time secondhandedly because I'm not necessarily not thinking about what I'm saying, but I'm also not thinking about what what I'm saying or how I'm saying it as I'm saying it. And then, you know, sometimes I just really like even on my hardest days, sometimes I make myself laugh the very most, and I'm like, okay, there's another reason to keep doing it. Because for the most part, I'm like I don't wanna do this anymore, it costs me too much money and it's not. Like, I'm not a clut person. I'm just not a clout guy. I don't like doing stuff for clout, cause clout doesn't pay the bills and clout doesn't clout doesn't necessarily get you jobs, like unless it's like the right person's clout. Like, you get have clout from a million people, and if none of those million people are the well, a million is kind of where they drive line. Like if a million people are like, yeah, this is the shit, then it might get you a job. But like a million is probably the minimum number for that. Like if you don't have a million followers or you don't have a million views or you don't have a million of anything of just like clout like it doesn't pay bills. So I'm not a cloud person. I'm not just gonna do whatever off clout. What did I get off that on that clot rat for? I don't know, what was I saying? Oh, I'm going off book. I'm off. script. Anyway. what can I remember from things that I wrote down?, I don't know. I've been reading a lot. I've been, you know, doing doing the best that I can. I've been well, I've been reading. I've been reading children's books specifically because I'm finding information. Well, first of all, I picked up these children's books with the hope that I would be the owner of a small library and I'm not. I'm actually putting a lot of the books back into like society, which is fine. I'm just downsizing. It's actually helping me feel a lot better. Like my head is a lot clearer, my studio. My studio for for the first time in a long time was like a place that I can that I feel like I want to work. and it was the weirdest thing because I went through like a year of just like collecting whatever book I saw, like whether it was just like on a stoop, like I, you know, for whatever or out of the little free library or like just wherever, because books are everywhere in New York and that's probably my favorite thing hands down about New York is that like wherever you go there are books and they're free and you can pick them up. But I'm also very sensitive to energy, so as like an energy worker and a transmuter, it became congested to the point where it's like, okay, there is like a certain type of energy that's not that's foreign to me and as much cleansing and as much like, you know, whatever, as much, you know, in any kind of, you know, like spiritual work I was doing, there's an energy here that I'm not necessarily comfortable with. And I realized every time I picked up a book, I fell into like a certain type of world, you know, and it wasn't just like whether the book caught my attention from just like the cover or whatever, and then I decided to flip through it or whether it was like a book that I was stuck in, I was falling until like a certain energy or a certain world and that every book had a certain energy to it. And so I realized after a year of collecting hundreds of books that I had literally hundreds of energies, like floating through my space and it became like hectic and it became heavy to the point where I was like, like, I don't necessarily want to hold on to all these things. and so it's it's been really rejuvenating. I've been going through a time of just like not necessarily like I know I have a lot of stuff to do. but one of the stuff to do is is like going through all of the things that I know that I need to like let go of in order to feel better. And it has been helping me feel better. It has for the most part, I'm still doing a lot with like my energy recovery and the noise here has a lot to do with it. I'm now like I now have anxiety to the point where I have like a consistent nauseum. like every time I hear like any kind of motor, like I get sick and now it's it's actually getting worse the longer that I've stayed here with the noise, it's like I now have like an upset stomach all the time, headaches twitches. It's the it's the most fucked up thing ever. and I've also been learning more about because I'm, you know, still still really focused in my music and so frequencies and, you know, like I've always been like a huge believer and like layered frequencies for healing, like sound healing, beta thick alpha, and and the whatnot, but I finally caught onto a piece of information that made me realize how the noise outside has affected my brain chemistry and not just in the way that it's like it's annoying or it's a nuisance or it's harassment, which it is all of those things, according to the law, but in a sense of what's happening to my brain chemically, like the chemical changes that are happening in my brain, or the frequency changes that are happening in my brain are actually the things that are making me more upset than loss of sleep, or, you know, like a disruption or disorganization of my mind or my daily habits. The thing that's making me the most upset is what I'm realizing is it's changing my frequency, and I'm not talking about just my my aura I well, I am in a sense, but like the frequency, the frequency differences that that your brain your brain goes into different frequencies during, you know, waking state, alha state, better state, you know, and when you're sleeping, you're in um I well, it depends on the person actually, and it depends on the type of sleep that you're getting. Like most people sleep and like a data state from what I'm understanding and this is the state of like conscious dreaming. And this is this, I could be incorrect because honestly, I layer them anyway. And I finally I finally did it. I I did. I' I was working on a song and I realized that I achieved like perfect theta without actually even meaning to. And I think I did another one and that was like in perfect gamma without even like it was just mixed perfectly. that it I was also listening to like a gamatone and then I realized I was like, wait, is that the song or is it the tone? Because, you know, if the if the frequency that you're listening to is pure enough, it will actually distort the bass or the, you know, it will distort the entire sound of whatever you're listening to. So sometimes things can sound warped or like they're waving or like they're going through something because those tones are kind of like they're they're moving against each other or with each other just kind of depends. And so what what has been, well, I wanted to finish, well, yeah, I think I have at least one song now that's in theta, and I have at least one song that's in gamma, completely. and and I and I shocked myself because I was listening to the tones and I was like, wait, the wait a second. like, I'm feeling like double here. Is this this song that I'm listening to, that I'm checking back the mix, or is this the the frequencies? And I I turned off all the frequencies and sure enough, it was the song. It was like a pure I was like, wow. I'm like that's an achievement. I did it completely by accident and I wish I knew the formula that I used to do that.c some people are so mathematic about it. Like some people are so uh like, you know, some people do this to their music. A lot of people, especially inass music, that's why it is the way that it is, is you're going to a show to get these frequencies like zapped into your body at at full forces. and some people know how to do it on purpose. I did it on accident, so I'm like, if I can continue to achieve at this but I'm trying to figure out like the mathematical equation or like the actual sonic equation for making this happen, like every time, because going through my history ofass music, I will finish in a second, going through my history of bass music, I have always gravitated to the to these frequencies, to the frequencies that make me feel better after a certain amount of time listening to them or a certain amount of time being in in that frequency. So that's this is the music that has, I guess subconsciously kind of for the kind of artist that I am. But this is the reason why I'm upset about the noise. like the most upset about it, like not even on a legal level, on a social level, on a moral level, like, no, this is actually morally wrong, it is morally wrong on so many fucking levels. I'm like, why are you so like, why obviously I did this on purpose, like in my God complex, I'm like, oh, well, I can better the community as long as I make a point, like that environmentally, this is damaging people. It's giving people mental illness, that it or like if they're predisposed to mental illness, it's even worse, but it's it's also like causing mental illness and people that are otherwise healthy people, which is not a lot of people in New York City given. It's just not. It's not a healthy place. A lot of people are not healthy. But even in like moderately healthy humans, this noise disruption can cause like brain changes and chemistry changes, and this is the reason why I'm so upset is because when you are sleeping, if you are sleeping, your brain is in a certain level that is like in a healing state. In the first few minutes that you wake up, as I understand it. In the first few minutes after you wake up, your brain is in a state that it can like that you can manipulate your entire environment, that you can change things, that you can heal yourself. And so when I'm waking up in the first few minutes in the very first thing that I hear is a motorcycle that's ripping through my fucking brain, it's changing my brain frequency from a frequency that is like at the at the at a human level or at any kind of level, kind of the the thing that makes every human capable of being a genius, not the genius level able to heal yourself and the frequency that you're able to heal yourself is what you automatically wake up in. So when you' when this frequency is interrupted, it's intercepted in immediately into a negative thought pattern. And so you immediately, so what's happening, what's been happening to me over the last year with the motorcycle nuisance harassment problem or whatever the fuck I don't care what it's called on paper. I just want it to stop like I just want to live in peace. It's not like and kind of having like coming from a a background where I kind of tend to have like take responsibility for myself, like oh, it must be something that I'm doing and yes, I also have like a higher god complex or like an ego if you want to call it, that's like, oh no, I must have done this on purpose. And you know, like in order for the greater good, like in order to fulfill my purpose in some sort of way, it must be it must be part of my process to have this. That's also my ego like I'm a god. like, you know, that's just me, that's the generation. That's the generation that I come from. That's our mindset. Like nothing happens in this world without me in it, period. That's why rappers are rappers and that's why that's why models are models. We all have egos and it's really hard to kill the bitch. I've had at least ten ego dusts throughout my fucking like existence and it still comes back. It doesn't matter. You can have an ego death and be like a completely ego list for like what, six months tops? Eventually you're gonna have like the ego is is is imp important to survival, because I lost the word. I think implemental what was I gonna use? I was definitely a for syllable word. Either way, it is you need it. Like if you if you oh, you know, people might describe people, like being in like a in a sense of humility as like, oh, just completely without ego, but like at the end of the day, like, no, like your ego allows you to actually like compensate with the rest of the world, like, most people do not have no ego entirely, or at least for like, like a week after your acid tri or whatever, yeah, like, oh, had ego death and I completely. But like within I swear to God, like within six months time, like your ego has at least minimally like repaired itself. That's what an ego does, that's why you have it. You have it. It's a survival. It's it's a part of your consciousness that has to do with survival if you don't have your ego, like you're pretty much dead in the world, especially the way it is now. Anyway, this is that that's going to probably close up my spiel on that. Yeah, I'm upset because instead of like the first few moments of my waking moments being a healing, time, it is immediately going into disarray and chaos and anxiety. And so in in so I'm losing like, I don't I don't really care about oh, I mean, like I care about life in a sense, but I mean, like, and it in a mortal sense. I like, yes, it's taking years off of me. and I feel it like in the way that it's like, I I am slower to do regular things or like, whatever my rising thoughts, might be are completely just destroyed by this like what I've what I've come to perceive is like an evil force. It is evil in so many levels again this breaks down from like a higher consciousness to like a lower state of consciousness. The lower state of consciousness is saying that like these people are just idiots. They're idiots and they are not self aware of the fucking like pollution that they're doing on kind of middle sense, I'm like, oh, it's politics, it's like gentrification if these guys run around in circles, then people call up the fucking place, the place gets fucking more allocated funds to their fucking police officers, the police officers have fucking filling their quotas. It's all bureaucracy and paperwork and politics on that middle level and on the highest level it is like no, this is evil, it's pure evil because people are so grossed out by the fact that fucking New York is New York and also the wage and income and quality factor is that this guy is doing whatever the fuck he has to do brown. He's doing well, not that guy. that guy's that guy's a weak dick motherfucker. He has a small dick and everybody in the neighborhood knows it. He drives around and circle making people miserable. He also I'm it's the same dude. that same dude followed me to the Trader Joe's. It's the same dude, so I'm like, I like I know the sound of his bike from anything, so I definitely know when I'm at the Trader Joe's and then he's like all of a sudden traffic like, I'm like yo dude like why the fuck you following me to Trader Joe's like I live four miles away, which is not that far on the fucking motorcycle, but I came all the way over here on the subway for you to follow me on your bike. week, dick, bro.way, like, fuck this, fuck this, fuck that guy, fuck this neighborhood, fuck this place, fuck these politics, fuck these people. On a low frequency. Like on a low frequency, I'm like, fuck all this, like on a high frequency, I'm like, there's a purpose or whatever, it'll work, is temporary, blah, blah, blah. What the fuck was I saying? I don't know. I what the fuck was I ranting? I don't know. I that's that shiel, right? Trader Joe, hello Trader Joe. It's not safe. No, but you know, oh man, let's you say I, whatever. Let's just say oh, whatever. a lot. What else do we got? I don't know. I put on an album that came out today, yay, it's called all the rage. Actually, all that all that gripe about like, oh, it's an EP when I'm sure that the stores are gonna call it an album. I was like, I'm sure it's gonna be an album, so I just started calling it an album. like the release comes out and they're like, it's an EP, you congratulations. So I I thought I was putting out an album, that I was an EP, but it just missed the cutoff her album, because technically you can have a six track album and if it's over 30 minutes. If and you can have a six track album that's an EP like this, all the range is technically an EP at least according to Spotify's standards. And it's, I think it's like two and a half minutes under I think it's like 2 and a half minutes under, so it's an EP, but it's six tracks and I'm really excited about it. I kind of put a little bit more promotion into it than usual. I even had some press done, and that's great. because you can get pressed done. They're like,Yo, for $500. You'll be famous tomorrow. I'm like, that fucked up. That's a paycheck for some people. and that's not famous. also. They're charging people to be like spectacular. Well, they're charging they're like charging for people to be like popular, which is I think it's wrong, like ethically, you shouldn't be able to do that, like, oh, no, you're gonna get on all the playlists and whatever, you're gonna have like all like you should not be able to sell followers, like whether they're real people, which is slavery or they're robots, which is also slavery. Like you should not be able to sell fame that's making it like now I don't even trust like, okay, like this person got an award, but like, okay, because because the album was popular, because it was better than all the other ones. Or like, how do you know that you even heard all the albums because there are so many, and that like, okay, this person who put like zero dollars into promotion, how do you know that album wasn't better? because you didn't hear it? Because the person with a million dollar ad campaign won the fucking won the fucking award? Because you heard it because they put a million dollars into the fucking promotions. So it makes it makes everything the fact that everything is on a level system that's based on money is completely unfair. Like the all the industries are broken, it's not just music. Like, it's not just music. I'm like, holy shit, like you could spend like a year, an average year salary, which is what's the median income now. even with like no adjustment for inflation, like what, $50,000? Okay. So you could spend $50,000 on your your career so you'd have to you'd have to do that. That's even you're still competing with people who have a million dollars for doing nothing. That's insane. Anyway, I'm not bitter. What the fuck did I do earlier that I wasn't that literally the spirit that was like, don't be salty. I was like, oh, I was like,Yo, stop teaching models to fucking DJ, because I I happened on this girl that was like, yo, like I actually liked some of her music. I liked some of her music, but she wasn't doing much. And like everything was just fake. It was like super duper fake, but she was mad gorgeous and like more of these girls are popping up out of nowhere that are like not they're like models that are barely touching the decks and they're like a march. I'm like yo, dude, if that girl made this music like okay, maybe I should see her, but like, I'm like no somebody goes produce this because like she's moving badly in time to it and I realized something about being a producer is like yo if you spent enough time actually crafting this like this piece, you're not gonna move like badly to it like you're not going to move weird to music that you made because it's in you like it came from in your body. So like, I was like, I don't know what the fuck I'm looking at and I'm like, oh, I'm looking at propaganda. But then like, isn't that just kind of like discouraging people who don't have that type of body type or mindset, but it was funny because the algorithm was like don't be salty. It was like DJing is for everybody and if that's your passion and I'm like yeah, if that's your passion, but like, yo, when what where is the line between like propaganda and passion? Like, oh, I'm already a successful like, multimillionaire fashion model, but like I'm gonna be a DJ, like it washes out all the people who have actually like put in the work. It washes out all the people who have actually put in the work. Don't be salty. I was like fine, fine, but only because I like that algorithm. Only because I like that algorithm. I'm like fine, okay, we'll we'll be whatever. Whatever I've been reading. Oh, I read a book, let's see, let's see if I can remember the ones I already put back. I've been reading these uh this like children's book series on like famous people because I realized that they're written for children and I'm like, yo, dude, like somebody could read this whole series in the second grade and be smarter than me because I didn't know anything about the people that I'm reading about at all. And so they're like these little biographies. Well, I mean, they they're on a child's level. I don't know how long it would take a child to read, but they take me like an hour, hour and a half to read just like at a normal speed. And I read really fast. But I think the reason why from taking me so long to read them is because I actually take like a lot of I take a lot of like, I don't know, words or art to me, so if something is like especially musical, I might take it and be like that's a good song title. Like, if I think enough about this and what I know about this, like what kind of song is it? And, you know, just like little fun facts. Like first of all, I'm obsessed with George Lucas. I've never been a huge Star Wars person, just and I I realizing this. I've never been being on like Star Wars wicked. like, I've never been being on things that are like really, really big, but then I did grow up and kind of like a sheltered shut community where like most of the people like twilight, I wasn't hungerames, aylys Cyrus, well Hannah Montana at the time, okay? I just wasn't into those things, but most mostly because they're fans, actually, she just put out something that I kind of piqued my interest. It was in my fucking sl side bar. I was like, oh, no, what's this? I'm I might check it out. But I've been staying off the mainstream just cause I'm realizing like the reason that I'm seeing this is money and doesn't necessarily make it better or worse than anybody else. Because sometimes mainstream artists come out with crap and I think they do it on purpose, they're like,Yo, watch this. I can do whatever because so many millions of people love me, watch this. I'm like, damn. And then millions of people are like, yay, yes, yes, this. I'm like, the fuck? What did you do? And I'm pretty sure the mainstream artist is like consciously, even collectively like, you see what I'm saying? I can do whatever the fuck.c I did one thing cool, maybe like five things cool, like a long time ago, and literally don't have to do anything else. I just do this just to prove a poil. Like, I can shit on a track, literally. And millions of people will be like, I love you. I love you, please more of those. do it again. I'm like, oh, God, please, no. What the fuck? Millions of fans. Like once you have your fucking fan based unlock, like that's it. Like, you don't have to fucking people will be like, literally kissing at all of the ground that you touch for the rest of forever forever. That's it. I'm realizing that about fantom, so I'm like, yo, if you know what kitten mittens are. I'd still don't, but if you if you know kitten mittens, congrats, you're one of 12 people who actually like me. one of 12. I'm like 12 is enough. That's what Jesus had, right? might as well and Jesus technically have like 11 I don't know why I like that guy so much. I'm pretty much obsessed with him, too. I love Jesus. I'm like, Jesus is the god kind of I mean, like he's technically like three gods. anyway, why am I obsessed with uh George Lucas? First of all, he's one of the coolest people ever, Kate, like, okay, first he was a greaser, like a real greaser. like from the movie Grease, but like the actual thing before the movie Grease, cause if I if I'm not mistaken, he was like a greaser before they made Grease. That's crazy. Yeah, because Gre was like in the 70s, but it was about the 50s, right? I don't know. He was like an actual real life, like they just put Vaseline, I guess in their hair and wore like dirty shit and they were like, yeaheah, greaser. and they w and they fucking drove and they drove, what did they drive? I don't know, cars, old cars, and they would race them. I that was honestly I'm obsessed with this dude. I and now I kind of want to see Star Wars because I've never seen them. But honestly Star Wars is one of those things that, oh, that's what I was saying. God, yeah, well, yeah, I like grew up not liking Star Wars because all the people that liked it were mean. Like all those other things I named earlier in the episode. Like they're fans sucked, so I was like, I definitely cannot see myself getting into this. And so I never did, but now I'm well, as happy as I am being single. I save certain things for like just a case. I ever get in a relationship. I'm like Star Wars. I've never seen that. Like I saved certain things for like you know, like I wouldn't necessarily want to watch it by myself. I think I'd get geeked, though, now, now that I understand, like the kind of person that created Star Wars, I'm like, yo, dude, like he's the shit. Like, okay, first of all, okay, if I did the math, secondly, no, cause the first of all thing was like, he's a greaser. That's the coolest thing about George Lucas. Yeah. I mean, like I mean, like there was so many cool things. I had to take notes, I had to stop. I was like bending back pages, I was like, all this dude's the best. Okay. I was like,Yo, okay, whatever. Like, uh, oh, well, that was one of the last things I read. If I did the math right, this dude has like a 12 year old. He's older than my dad. My dad's pushing 80. I'm like, is he 80? He's like 80 with a 12 year old. That's incredible. That's I have so much respected admiration for that. Because it kind of proves my point that like if you're dude, you can just like keep on popping them out, popping them out. But he also like adopted kids, I think. Yeah, yeah. And he also like adopted kids. was at him? Yeah. Yo, I'm telling you there's so much practice into these little books. I'm like, okay, whatever, what else is cool. I don't know, he just seems he just seems like the dude just seems like the dude. I was likeYo. I I can't remember all the notes I took, but those those two things alone. I'm like, yeah, I earn my respect. I did write down a quote earlier that was like, what did he used to say? oh, do that again but better? I'm like, yeah, that sounds that sounds accurate. And then I liked the fact that like all his worlds within his worlds are like connected, so he'll leave Easter eggs within worlds of different Indiana Smith. He really liked the name Indiana because I guess he had a dog named Indiana, which was named after somebody else that was named Indiana. And I had no idea that Indiana Jones was like his brainchild or like close to it. I was like, whoa, this dudees are fucking legend, like a real like an actual, like this dude's a G for George Lucas. He's the best. I was like, yeah, dude. I could not put that book down. I was like sitting in cold bathtub water like, oh my God, this is such a pain turner. I gotta read about this dude until the very end of this book and I did. I would not put it down. I was like, George Lucas is the man, bro. like the man, I don't like like, yo, cool dude. I like that guy. I've never seen Star Wars. I have, I've seen like the beginning. It's like in the time, blah, fucking blah, blah, fucking talk. Yeah, and then I started writing my own movies, you know. It's not that any of them, you know, as whatever, you know, sometimes it's circumstance, sometimes sometimes I' just realize that I make excuses. Like I have no reason not to be as successful as any of these people that I'm reading about, because I'm finding personality traits about myself as I'm reading about them, like Albert Einstein Total Duis. He might have been like like functionally retarded. I'm pretty sure he was retarded, but also a genius. Like like, oh, okay, this is the coolest thing about Albert Einstein are we done inukas never, never. He's immortal, right? We'll see him at some point. He's so cool. He's so cool anyway. I was like, yeah, dude, this dude is cool. But there's that's the Alb Einstein, my man, okay, so like, slowly almost solely responsible for the invention of the Adamah. That's dope. On accident, though, because once he realized what had like once he realized that, okay, like, okay, I'm correct about this. For sure, I'm definitely correct about this, but like, yo okay, should we back up a little bit? First of all, he didn't say anything until he was like four. Didn't say anything, not a not a single word, his parents were like,o, something's wrong with him. Like even back in the day where it's like, uh don't know. Something's wrong with him. He's not saying anything. The doctors were like, he's perfectly fine.'s fine. And he didn't say anything his entire life until one day, apparently, he sat down to dinner with his parents and the soup was too hot, and that's what he said he's like the soup is too hot. Like, could you imagine, like having a kid that you're like 100% sure is retarded? Oops, nope, you can't say that. Okay, well, you could. Then so let's just shouldn't I just cancel you can't say that. Why, though? Like, okay, when I was growing up, you have to understand I come from a time where it was like you could just call that to somebody cause they were being dumb, but not dumb, right? But I mean like at a certain point, like, okay, technically Helen Keller was deaf dumb and blind, but like sometime and I'm assuming like between the 70s and 80s, it became a slang for like that's dumb. Like, don't do that because whatever you're doing is not right, which is like, okay if you're not right, then you're what? Retarded. Like, I'm sorry. I'm like some certain things are not going to be like, I'm, you know. I'm like early 2000s game or culture, that's gay, but I love gay. It's like nobody's being derogatory about that. I'm being derogatory about your behavior and I might even use it as like a positive you know what's what describing words or adjectives? I don't know. I'm going through. I'm going to processes realizing that like, okay, I'm at the age where certain information is gonna be offloaded. Certain like it's not coming back ever. Like, you like, I I know Spanish, but only if I have to speak it and it's not like, I'm not developing any other nothing else is like my brain is like, we don't need this, do we? I'm like, I don't know. Maybe I should hold on to that. No, no, we don't need this. I'm like, okay, well. there are certain things about me that are just not gonna change at this point. I'm not sorry, because honestly, weren't too offended at everything when, like, there're there are things that are offensive that nobody really is offended about. like, if you really found an offensive, it would not exist anymore, you know? Because when somebody becomes really passionate about something, and they change it. Which is why I'm taking my time. I like, youo, annihilation is imminent. Like this cannot be anymore. Like, you don't change my brain chemistry. Fuck that shit. my brain chemistry is perfect the way that it is. Like I'm almost sure that like the entire mental health industry will change based on ideals that are like blooming and other like in other what the fuck was I just saying exactly ideas that are already springing up in in small circles. like they'll, you know, be one day. Like that's just valid, like nothing's really wrong with you. something's wrong with the world. Like, why? Like, and what can we do to change that? It could be environmental completely. It could take somebody with like severe mental health issues, severe schizophrenia, severe bipolar disorder, severe fucking severe depression, severe anxiety and change their environmental factors or even just like change the fact that that like they're facing poverty, poverty is a mental illness and that's not what it's not looked at as such. It's looked at as a deficiency on the individual's part when it could be like and it could be a polethro of environmental factors. That'll change. It will in my lifetime. I know that it will. It may not be because of me because for the most part, I'm a pacifist. I really am. I'm a yoder, like, honestly, it has to be like visibly hurting someone else or hurting me painfully enough for me to be passionate about it to make it change. Like, I'm sorry, I'm not. I don't want I don't really want to be a leader, especially because like people are still like populating this planet. I don't necessarily I don't I don't wanna be like a a leader in anything because that is like that's too much power. Honestly, just let me play the music and then fuck off. And I will fuck off. Like if you think I talk too much or you find me annoying or you think I'm stupid like eventually I I disappear. That's it a self-reflective Go away, all right. I't have to be asked twice. I don't stay in places where I'm not welcome. So, New York it's been good. Are't not really. But somebody I thought okay, who else am I obsessed with? I love this new lady that I found. Her name is Gina something rather fucking amazing. I I love New York people because I love New York people. Like I really do. like it is well, it's hard to fucking there's a fucking oh, honestly, it could be simplified to this as like, okay, maybe this embraces like the new the New York feminine and what I really hate is the New York masculine, which is just toxic, just disgusting, like where I spinning on things, shut the fuck up, like, are you not self aware? Like it's it's certain level of and I'm not, I'm really not binary in the sense where it's like balanc, bro. like balance, like a little bit of everything is good and like half masculine, half feminine is like a good balance, non-binary embracing that. But like yo, dude, there's a certain rasculinity about the city that's the thing that makes it nasty. It was like, whoa. whoa. I'm like, that's nasty, but I was oh, okay, I'm in love with this person. Her name is like Gene or something rather. I'm still I still have like I no, I have no feet in the comedy pool cause like I realized I stopped performing comedy and I stopped writing it, and like all the like semi tragic possibility, like possibly hilarious situations that were happening to me when I was actively writing comedy just stopped. I was like good, I don't necessarily need to be in that right now. That's that has sailed and will probably later sink, but I don't want to be in there if like, okay, like you're funny, if like sad and bad shit happens to you all the time. I'm like, that's fucked up. I don't wanna be that guyc 50 years from now I could be that guy and like still not earn a penny more than I'm earning right now making music underground. So if it's if I had to choose between the two, I've already earned mastery in recording arts. 10,000 hours or more, like I don't necessarily like being a comic is like another ladder. It's another it's a thing. And honestly, when I stopped like, well, I mean, like I I took a break from tears of a clown because it became such a like passion project for me that I was like, oh, this is that I'm caring too much like I should stop. and still not finish and it's not it's not like, it never had a release date in mind, so it's not necessarily like what's it delayed? Yeah, it's not delayed, and it's not it's definitely not in hiatus, but like, I realized that I have a certain responsibility to my audience altogether. It like to do this show as well and so like this, there's been taking kind of a priority, knowing that like my hiatus has been longer than any other hiatus is, and that I owe it to like my homegrown audience and my weird coat following to like okay like I have to give you guys everything from fucking like November to now and just musically that's a lot but then I've also the writing has also accompanied it and so it would be a shame to just let that go entirely because I feel that like my actual, my actual fan base is here in this show, unfortunately, well, not unfortunately, because I've started to get like a sense of familiarity within the dance music scene, like, as a producer through this podcast as a medium, because when I started doing this podcast, like, it wasn't like people weren't generally like now people are doing like following my, what's it? format. Like people weren't really doing DJ mixes and like putting music on podcasts, like it just wasn't people weren't doing it. I was the only one doing it now everybody's doing it and it makes me want to do it less, but then also like I have to kind of show consistency with myself in order for me to feel like I'm still doing something. What was that rant about? I don't know. I'm obsessed with this lady name's Gina or something rather. She's super New York. What would she say? that I really liked? Oh, if you didn't know the rules before you got to New York, you you like if you came to New York and you're not having a good time, you probably didn't know the rules before you got here.rect. I didn't come here on purpose. This was my layover city. I came here by accident and I did not know the rules. Now I'm learning the rules and I'm like the rules are fucked up and rules are kind of meant to be broken if you're disturbing my peace, I will then disturb your peace. No, I will not. I do not believe an eye for an eye, and also I feel that you are dangerous people. I will then report you to the police and and make the proper documentation in order for it to stop. I'm a snitch. I don't give a fuck. Like if you're actually hurting me, like if you're changing my the way that I think and the way that I feel, like if you're making me sick inside of my own environment, like you deserve it. I'll give a fuck. I don't give a fuck. I don't give any kind of fuck. And then that way, I am a feminist, cause it's like, yo, dude, like how long are you gonna sit and take somebody hurting you before you actually realize that like you're not the problem they are and in order for their behavior to stop, you have to actually like you have to prevent this by stepping up for yourself. It's kind of like a show and like, okay, like like at a certain point it is kind of like a game. Like how long are you going to let me do this to you before you just fucking like get up and fucking hit me back? And I'm like, I don't want to like, I don't want to fight, but at the same time, like, bro, like I've been getting my ass whipped by these idiots and so I'm like, okay, I have to actually, but I'm still not a fighter. I have to do it in a way that makes sense and so that the community can be improved when I move on. Like I don't necessarily want to put somebody in the same place that I am now because I really am not I don't and just improve it. Like I believe so much in doing that, like not just leaving no trace, but like improving the place from which you are situated when you leave so that when the next person comes through, they don't have to struggle through the same hardship. So in that way, leadership, sure, be

Two high level demons have caused a hectic diversion just off camera during SETH MEYERS'S show when literally all hell breaks loose; the ought he has maintained a lifetime of secrecy and compliance without giving way to the slightest upset, his eyes widen as he attempts to finish his sentences, eventually unable to keep it together. SETH MEYERS …Blah, dee—blah, de BlahBlah. DIRECTOR —cut. SETH MEYERS AH. EXCUSE ME. DEMON ONE Ah, shit. DEMON TWO It's almost as if he's actually talking to us. SETH MEYERS WHAT IN THE FUCK IS ACTUALLY, LIKE, GOING ON. DEMON ONE “Like”? DEMON TWO Oh shit, I think he is acknowledging us. DEMON ONE “Like?!” SETH MEYERS WHO ARE YOU. WHAT IS THIS? DEMON TWO OHHHH SHIT. DEMON ONE DUDE, WHATS UP! Seth Meyers has become somewhat of a celebrity even amongst the higher, but especially the lower realms for his exceptionally high tolerance for metaphorical and supernatural phenomena; He has mostly considered the ability to be able to see these things as some sort of latent health condition or hallucinations of some sort which from a very young age he had chosen to not only keep to himself, but— VERY YOUNG SETH MEYERS [ridiculously atrocious otherworldly shenanigans] (Does not react) Woah. (Walks away unaffected entirely) Straaaange. Is this a human child? Apparently. ‍♂️ —never react at all. *also it should be noted that the two demons are the same demons from the flashback however aged into much more vicious, monstrously scary (yet still somehow humanoid) demon people. Thank you Google for correcting that. GOOGLE Correcting what. Nothing. So it's safe to say that in his early acting days, teaching himself to “react to act” came as somewhat of a challenge. INT. IMPROV CLASS. DAY VO, Narrator reacting to normal human situations was obviously not entirely, by this point, second nature to young Seth, SETH MEYERS Wait, pause. Uh, no, Seth Meyers. Why am I in this? I didn't agree to this. oh no. You didn't agree to any of this. I just said that. Oh. Unpause. No wait. No, not unpause: Unpause— or we skip straight back to the part with you trapped inside a metal box with almost no holes in it. Wait— what metal box. Shh. No spoilers. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: Without being able to guess that it is their dear friend and colleague SETH MEYERS in the box, the HOSTSunanimously vote to abandon the challenge and leave SETH MEYERS in a metal box to go get lunch. HEY. Oh wait— sorry— did you want lunch? YES I WANT LUNCH. We should order him something. JIMMY KIMMEL I'll make you a tuna sandwich! SETH MEYERS I DONT WANT A TUNA SANDWICH. Woah, that typo was Almost wild… GOOGLE What typo! MEANWHILE, in a fabricated flashback to the early 2000's The LEGACY CAST of GOLDEN ERA SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE wakes up on a Sunday morning after a wild party— Oh, shit, what time is it! —I'm AbLIND. In a “Tina Sandwich” OH [CENSOR BEEP] ITS SUNDAY. — MY EYES. WHAT THE [OOOOOOOOOO] HAPPENED LAST NIGHT. this never happened. Flashback, to The night before: [actually, because this is the time travel part] Two nights previously, on FRIDAY— (Drunkenly) WHAT SHOULD WE DO NOW! —THERE'S STILL SO MUCH TIME BEFORE WORK! —SO MUCH TIIIIIIME! (And apparently, maybe even psychedelics, but SHH, cause it's NBC) ahem, PEACOCK. Bless you. No, its Peacock, this show is on peacock. Gazuntite. *facepalm* None the wiser, None the wiser All the eyes And all the fires Are mine, And none the wiser None the wiser All the time is light now And All the wiser All the wiser All the water fountains fly And none the wiser None the wiser— SUPA[REDACTED], a GOD, REMOVES all of her favorite artifacts from NEW YORK CITY before stroking (Leave that typo, google's three for three now) –the earth in the oncoming apocalypse, last and not least, Rockefeller Plaza. The building is violently catapulted into the heavens with everyone in it. WHAT JUST HAPPENED. You're welcome. What happened to the rock? I moved it. What happened to New York?! It's over now. What's over now! The whole thing. The planet. It's— Its all gone. Wow. That seems pretty catastrophic. It was horrific. Wait— if you moved the building with all of us in it, wouldn't we all have been pretty badly injured. Oh, you all died, like immediately. *collective gasps* Instantly. —like, as soon as I did that, but, it's fine, You're all dead now. *phew* What. I MURDERED YOU ALL AND BROUGHT YOU TO HEAVEN WITH ME; What are you DEAF. AHEM, excuse me there's still some New York leftovers I guess, somewhere in my make up Besides you know the rock and all these l fountains and statues and everything…and paintings and other cool buildings. Slightly less cool— but still cool. But what about everything— What about everything and everyone else? Everyone else also died, and I only brought back the cool stuff, And the cool people— But everything else is just pretty much—- So it's all over?! Yes. This is the end. Of that last thing. Wow. Anyway, enjoy your…whatever. I'm gonna go to Disneyland, which for the record, Is across the street. What. You're welcome. Betore: Hey man, you want to ride an elephant? What? Do you want to ride an elephant? Sure! Here— I bought your wife a saddle! The television people despise fat chicks. Or— used to— Before they realized diversity was necessary for demographics, forced representation. Now they tolerate them— And even glorify the significantly morbidly obese In exchange for advertising dollars, realizing that the people they're marketing to Are more likely morbidly obese than not. Oh, How times have changed. [The Festival Project ™] Will Ferrell is hysterically crying in the break room (during his SNL era— nevermind he is his current-day aged–he has just seen everything backwards and forwards through the infinite and everlasting cascades of time. It's been an emotional few days for Will; his friends and castmates are worried about him. Hey Will. Hey buddy. Are you… gonna be alright. He sobs.He runs away and into another room—(assumingly craft service)s, the allure of the croissants and muffin seem to temporarily soothe him, however, as he begins to relax mid-sob, a mysterious figure appears at the table. Don't worry. I'm right here! The figure eats a cupcake instead of muffins or the croissants. Will screams hysterically and cries even harder. No one seems to hear him or be around at all. (Eating a cupcake) It's okay! WILL (inconsolably, in complete hysterics) AaaaaHHHHHHHHHH. Shh, clam down . After a bout of extreme hysterics, and the figure pretty much just calmly watching his breakdown unaffected and continuing to eat the cupcake happily, Will realizes that he and this figure are the only one around—at all. This means the cascades through space and time are still not over. WILL (Still sobbing.) Relax. WILL …heh… there are cupcakes? Huh? Uh, no— I brought this myself. WILL From WHERE?! You know where. [beat] WILL …are there more. Ah? Oh yeah— WILL Can I—? No, Not here! Then why'd you—?! WILL I just told you, I brought this! (he begins crying again but softly.) The figure is still for the most part unaffected but seemingly amused by Will's upset, presumes eating another, more delicious looking cupcake, which appearing from out of nowhere— (unseen from the audience, even by Will) which baffles him into immediately stopping crying, something like a bemused toddler, as his eyes widen and his mouth falls agape in offense. WILL IS THAT ANOTHER CUPCAKE? Well, you saw me eat the first one. WILL YOU SAID THERE WERE NO MORE! I said there were no more here! Do you see any cupcakes here?! Besides this?! WILL (Becoming irate, red faced) WELL WHAT THE FUCK IS THE DIFFERENCE?! The difference is your access to them. Damn! WILL Well let me have some of— (Eats last bite, mouth full) It's all gone. WILL (Eyes widening, then squinting in bewilderment and confusion) Do you want a muffin or croissant, though? WILL (Realizing he has no other options—) Kind of…maybe— A bagel? WILL Mmno, maybe a muffin…croissant. (He is increasingly distant and Bewildered (read: shattered) but also coming to; he moves toward the table Skream , your love/ massive, Drake Lil bitz Anybody else feel like Kendrick helped Drake get his next few girls? Like, she's probably in the 8th grade right now like “I'm his type, ya'll” and she's gonna keep that goal in mind until it becomes a reality. I think that's just how being a rockstar works sometimes. You write a hit right now, depending on how famous you are or will get, your next wife is in kindergarten while your first wife is probably at prom— and the third one is maybe even in Utero! Maybe even at the same prom as your first wife. Hey now. Crazy worlds, man. The superstar lifestyle. Anyway, wasn't I writing something less devastating? Not exactly less devastating, it is Will Ferrell crying hysterically. I think he's calmed down now. Yeah. Let's get back to that. It's almost the end of the scene. But then what happens after that? Probably nothing. I can't afford Will Ferrel for more than 5 minutes. You can't afford Will Ferrel at all! Well, his ad says the first five minutes are free. What ad?! CUT TO: Young Will Ferrel before SNL. Oh, Jesus Christ. [Business card appears to have his name misspelled horribly, but obviously he cannot afford to have them reprinted. “First five minutes free” Oh, great. You got that part right! Thank you, come again. I will not come again! We're not always superstars. {Enter The Multiverse} CUT BACK TO Blueberry— chocolate chip? WILL Um, half of each, I guess? What? WILL Well— Get it yourself then, you primadonna. He looks for a plate and plastic knife; as he does so, a third, even more delicious looking incredible cupcake has appeared again out of nowhere, to which the mysterious figure begins enjoying by the heap, mumbling with a mouth of frosting You're such a diva! *mimicking* one half “of each”… mehmehmeh… This is the most delicious cupcake anyone's ever seen— his eyes widen with a tired grief, but before becoming over upset again or irate, he takes a deep breath. And just sighs, as if to say “I hate you.” But they seem to know each other quite well. In fact, this is clearly one of those super-fucked terrifying guardian angel type dynamics where it's obvious that the guardian angel type mystery figure is very tormenting. But in a loving way. …. [beat] [beat] Haven't you wondered why you're like 58 but the rest of your cast mates are in their 20's? WILL [beat] I've always looked like this. …no, you haven't. (The muffin seems to have done its job in calming him down) WILL Trust me, I have. Flashback: a young Will Ferrell looks in the mirror— the mirror shows a present day Will Ferrell, although the teenaged Will Ferrel is obviously quite young. An exact reflection besides the age difference— Will seems neither unaffected nor worried. It's as if in the mirror, he's always seen his present day self. He sighs. End flashback. Present day, (or whenever, actually) Will Ferrell sighs to match the flashback) …maybe that's why you're special. WILL Yeah, maybe that's it. The figure finishes the cupcake and though the muffin halves have rebalanced Will's mood to almost, kind of normal, he still seems disgruntled that it wasn't cupcakes—as the figure finishes the third, most interestingly delicious looking cupcake of all of them. L E G E N D S I've got a whole poem who lives in the squat rack; I've got a dollar for ever caller who talks back, I've got a collar for every occasion I clock into It's a riddle but it's not a rhythm until I give it to em Don't wonder who I am I am space and time, And granted with the right hands, We're gonna have the right dance at the right place At the right time and so Whenever that is— see you then, Until then, I'm not holding any farts in, You feel me? I eat a lot of lentils. I write a lot of great walk on parts for artists I parted the red seas, once, I was also God, watching quite impressed with it And wondered why they called it ‘the read sea' Or the dead ‘the dead sea' As I can't see the bloodshed In the heavens, And so I give respect to the seconds I look away Which might have been a century or eleven, to them. Ah, more men and mathematics. More television friends and heavy dinners More sinners and misfits, and glitched simulations— More missed emissions, More christenings and scrimmages Remember to eat your breakfast Or it's death at a likely curfew remember to split the difference remember, we'll finish as friends As recommended by comrades I have lessons, I also have students in classes, Professors and options And doctors And mantras Barrages of cars And I can't stop talking Cause I gotta get my laundry fixed Fuck it Tina Fey hada booking.com commercial or something– Then, apparently, or maybe I really and readily finally had lost it– JImmy Fallon had a state farm commercial Like a good neighbor – Nope, i wasn't losing my mind. I promised myself i'd stop writing about the girl next door –she seemed evil–but she was acting strangely enough by doing something like brushing her teeth and reading my work from my phone that made the light switch– I didn't care what she could or couldn't do with my phone–I wasn't hiding anything. But now… It had to have all been planned. She seemed evil as fuck despite my trying to trust her… The Server…The Server… Suddenly the kitchen light switched on and it only ever flickered when I was in the middle of something important. Like the world was melting or my dimensions were shifting into parallels or something, or like I was being warned by some overseer with a remote control, but it wasn't all in my head… The plant that brought the plant My inner voice was never wrong–the problem was, however that any time my inner voice was saying anything at all about tHiSmOtHerFuCkeR– When did I acquire immediate voice recognition? So that was his voice… So who, then is the real Jimmy Fallon? There is no real JImmy Fallon. I made him up. You what. I haven't done anything to deserve this. Premonitions. Are you telling me we're dealing with another clairvoyant? On so many levels. –but none of them personal, I hope. There are oh so many… Oh. its you again. –Personal levels. You're in danger here. In New York, or just in general? On Earth. You keep telling me that. I have no reason not to trust you besides the obvious fact. You're oblivious to it! I'm not! I'm just ignoring you. Did you think about what I said? Erring on the side of obsession, no, i've dismissed almost everything you've ever told me. That's off topic. Or not. They want drama! Then they're going to have to fight for it. They're gonna start a war here. So then, I'm just another body, aren't I? Aren't I? Don't jump. Oh, if it isn't Peter Preferences. References and Letters of Recommendation Cancer in remission and admitting i'll probably never see my son again Suicide This is suicide This is suiccide This is suicide. INT. HALLMARK STORE. DAY. Welcome to Hallmark. …thanks. Can I help you find anything? No, I… After stumbling upon a Hallmark store, where the burned thank you cards from his desk are mysteriously recovered, as is, and uncharred, a hidden relic from the desk reemerges, and opens a portal to another world. I was in a very dark world when I met Patrick Kirkpatrick, but the point of the matter was, he was nobody now and maybe even nobody ever. Maybe even, nobody at all. Somebody's gonna come for you. …is this one of those things I keep to myself, or am I writing this down? What's with this? Under the surface, but by admission,I didn't know what it meant, besides the fact that Pretty white boys who were always too good for me always wore them as statement pieces or something, And you know what they say… If you can't beat ‘em. …join em. {Enter The Multiverse} I know the sound of your voice At the drop of a hat like a peck on the cheek And it still don't sound right I still don't think straight I still don't look right But somewhere in these ions, you'll find me at sunset. In a whisper, the taste of your breath Is a sound in my heart and the bloody murder In each heart murmur is getting harder fear father God, Just turn it off Just to make it sotp The man in the box –and it just God awkward. I should pluck your feathers It keeps getting harder each time your skull Hits the auburn surface of the asphalt Every summer at the hard rock Huh? But you just kept drinking And you just worked harder And after all, You're the man in the box What could all go wrong here? It's getting shorter the tears drop faster I'm getting weirder I'm a deadbeat dad And my kid's the bartard I just got a ball pit I'm a Hallmark card, but refused to sign it A dine and dash From the supper club And it's so refined I just lost my mind Cause it's just not time yet. I must have known you once before or something But any fan would say that But how am I a fan When I hated you And I hated your laugh And I hated your band –and you're not that handsome So how is this happening at all? Oh look, something random. Tell me why I'm so horrible Mr miserable mr terrible Mr opulent Mr miser mr wedding band Mr Never Happened Tell me why I'm so bad at this Mr. Wonderful Mr.Awful Mr. half at best Mr. getting faster and faster And faster and faster And faster Till it all washed up on the surface And you wash your hands of it… But the taste in your mouth is still metallic from the contrast Breaking contracts, oh, now you're fast at once and a hard match And a tough act to swallow But i'd rather die tomorrow Than stare at your casket. Now how about that shit! You're right, I lost my mind– but I want you to have it. L E G E N D S JIMMY KIMMEL [an escalating crescendo] AssaaaaagggggggggGggggghhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!! Lol is he all thugged out yet. No not yet. (just wait) I wanna run through marina del ray I want a house in the Palisades But I Knew that 5 years ago (I knew that five years ago ) I want a shack out in Malibu Just to surf the ocean blū But I Knew that five years ago I knew that five years ago Before it all burned I hope we all learned our lessons Surf God has a sense of humor But I was the butt of the joke I want a Condo in Santa Monica Invite my friends over for Barbie volleyball Throw my whole world in the fire pit But I knew that five years ago I knew that five years ago When you realize The world is your instrument But it still hasn't earned you a cent You're still in the hole Earning back what you spent By the microincrements The city people are you as excrement But you just laugh and you sample them Play them like instruments back Perhaps flattery begs them to listen Suddenly you're visible Museum world— Exhibitions Entertainers Comedians Mice and men Interesting remix Should I even be in this language Or should I make it more intimate With melodies? I hit play on a classic And my peloton becomes the office I'm suddenly at work, God Petulance for relevance spanning generations Thank you! Still it takes enough to get it in to you As out of you Can't help t but agree to that Eyeliner! I like it thick around the freckles faces And light ashy eyelashes Over moonlike eyes You know I like it Long hair! Headliner! Why am I inside you? Better yet— Why have I died? Eyeliner, headliner I like it thick around moonlight eyes I like it Old timer, headliner— I like it thick around eyes like Zion Eyeliner, I like it Ashes You're the worst; There are circle k's and 7/11s How was my run on Broadway? Who's the pope now? I hope you choke now There are subway central's And sauces and really hard bosses to fight But I don't want to I'm in south central And I'm still with you From always to oblivion I've been moving for at least an hour But I have no power here Drop a house on me In the hills, if you will And if the winds change, There's still New York What a page turner I live at Rockefeller Plaza There's an apartment above my office There's a notebook For every love I've ever known In the oak There's a something caliber gun in my slumber I clutch with the crutches I took from the hospitals Can't hop the turnsltyle now Can't hop the turnstyle now Hahaha Who art thou, Art monster Who are you now that I care too much to notice The problem was The doves only flew up or a moment before landing on my shoulder That was awkward They were supposed to fly away TV HOST HEY!!!! HEY!!!! HEYYYYYYYY! But which host is it? All of them. All of us are running for our lives All of us are running after Carson, and Paar All of us are stars, But on polaroids not often captured Gone and then away into disaster That's the effect of the Cannon Canon cameras? James Canon?! Laugh harder ‘cause you have to! Laugh stronger cause the studio is frozen, And you want to go home now! It wasn't as fun as you thought And the set is much smaller in real life Now clap and hold for applause Big smiles Big smiles Extra points if you run miles before you show up- Now that's a shiny after thought; Not your average robot Or prototypical tourist! No! A nonconformist and Kimmel can't sing for shit, So he can just hum this verse. (Sorry, I peaked— No homo) Now, I dissect Holiday, I was sure I inspired the Broadway show But who doesn't inspire a rock opera I conspire to conspire, umpire, emperor I studies Agamemnon I wasn't really sure but the frog in my throat said Go on, go on— So I just cried and stuck in my stomach harder I don't want a SETH MEYERS I don't want a tuna sandwich! Just–take the tuna sandwich. Yeah, buddy! SETH I DON'T WANT A TUNA SANDWHICH DO I LOOK LIKE EAT TUNA TO YOU? Um. JIMMY 1 Woah, I sense hostility We can't see you— CRAIG FERGUSON And we don't know who you are, anyway. COLBERT Apparently “someone we know” JIM 1 Tsh. JIM 2 Psh. SETH ITS HOT IN THIS BOX. Ooh, hotbox. That sounds like a plan. Dispensary delivery? The move. SETH YO, Dissection numero dos; I think I know how to make those sounds I think I have that reverb I need herb Or probably a new location With no probes It's only temporary The peloton office But I want a home Me and my family aren't from here Oh, look, more purple — we just show up to rock And then go somewhere farther MEANWHILE… Forgive me father for I have— No. What? No. No. What— why? Just— no. Not you. Not today. But—I have sinned! Of course you have! But father— No. What—? Keep it to yourself. But. Excuse me. {Enter The Multiverse) —- What super hero are you supposed to be? “Malox Max”?! Hehehehe! THE COSMIC AVENGER No! Hehehehehehe! THE COSMIC AVENGER I'm— I'm “The Cosmic Avenger”! What are you avenging?! Montezuma's Revenge?! THE COSMIC AVENGER No— unjust—unjustice—ness. [hysterical laughter ensues] Somewhere in this world lies our story Still true, I'm unsure what it is— But the thing is, I'm sure this the one Of the fables I'm sure this the one of the songs Of the psalms Of the storied palms This is the one of the cards This sir KIMMEL! KIMMEL! KIMMEL! I'm sorry. I don't know who you are. ITS ME. JIMMY. I'm Jimmy. I KNOW YOU'RE— You're not Jimmy, I'm JIMMY. WHAT THE SNARF! What's that? I can't hear you. The tarot said to go against the grain; I was told not to write this tale, but here I am And suddenly the King has a tail, Compliments of T-Mobile, But as did the first one, The first King, of Dogblood Of first strikes And first tears And first scars, Was no king, But everything has meaning The cherishire has eyed me The spider has bitten And then, Envisionment minted I should switch to mint mobile, but knowing There's no real difference— Their all old t-mobile tower; But service with a Billionaire smile Of Blake Lively and False Idols. I don't care, I guess My mind has eyes like sun But my heart has darkness The absolutely most beautiful sunsets have Wonders on drums And numbers to call The best of cocaine on the sidewalk Was sidetracked The best of New York was Los Angeles, And vice versa I hope you took protocol into order I hope you too profound effect and affinity In profanity There's no more Infinite Fallon It Found a call To programming Wall to wall To wall of shame On Walmart Better activate that trial Before it's all gone 13 days and counting And A million ways to die in the west. SETH MCFARLENE look at me. Ah, what the fuck dog. SETH MCFARLENE Oh, so you can hear me! You fuckin schizo! I'm not a schizo I'm in the Illuminati. SETH MCFARLINE The what? The what? SETH MCFARLENE what's the password. this isn't happening right now. SETH MCFARLENE That is correct. See you on the other side, you batshit crazy SonOfABitch. What. *poof* I told you I could make you say my name. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2018-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.™

Pack your day bags because we're headed to New York! This week we're breaking down Valentine's Day, and we are joined by the wonderful Andy Buckley (The Office, Veep, Avenue 5). Andy chats with Jenna and Angela about his time as a stock broker, how he got the part of the David Wallace, and his surprise to be a recurring character. Then Jenna does a deep dive on Sbarro Pizza and Angela gives us some insider info on 30 Rockefeller Plaza, and the ladies ponder the best and worst Valentine's gifts. Finally, we couldn't end this episode without talking about the Faces of Scranton video and Micheal running into Devin on the streets of New York. Office Ladies Website - Submit a fan question: https://officeladies.com/submitaquestion  Follow Us on Instagram: OfficeLadiesPod Episode Transcript To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

“New York is a city of possibility and endless exploration. There's always something new to discover around every corner.” – Elizabeth Gilbert Guest Introduction:  Welcome to Exploring the Seasons of Life: Travel Edition. I'm Cindy MacMillan, your host and the owner of Pangea World Travel Agency, a boutique agency located on the Space Coast of Florida. If you enjoy today's episode, I'd love it if you shared it, left a review, or spread the word. Your support helps us inspire even more travelers to embark on their own adventures. So, pour yourself a cup of coffee or tea, settle in, and let's explore the world together—one incredible journey at a time. Now, it's my pleasure to introduce our guest today. Chris Shelley is a licensed New York City Sightseeing Guide. He offers private walking tours through his company Walk With Chris. He is also a Professional Wedding Officiant who has performed hundreds of ceremonies all around the country. His book Best Ceremony Ever, published by WW Norton, helps couples and wedding pros make ceremonies fun. He's a very social guy who loves his two very social, very unique jobs. With his diverse experiences and deep love for New York City, Chris is sure to bring fresh insights and great stories to today's conversation! Here's a glimpse of our conversation:  Welcome to the podcast Chris. 1:58 I moved to New York City in 1992, right after graduating from Boston University, where I was part of a small acting conservatory. All 12 of us in the program moved to New York, hoping to make it in theater—or maybe even TV and film—since so much of the industry was based there. I was such a good actor that I ended up working on Wall Street. 4:40 My wife and I were in New Orleans, Louisiana, taking a walking tour with a local guide—something we love to do wherever we travel. We've done walking tours all over the world—Italy, Iceland, France, the Czech Republic, and many other places. But during this particular tour, I had a Eureka moment. I suddenly thought, Could I do this? It had everything I loved—social interaction, storytelling, even elements of stand-up and acting. I had always assumed you needed to be a history professor or an expert to lead tours, but in that moment, I started to see it differently. 9:35 When I take people to Rockefeller Center, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Grand Central, and other iconic landmarks, that's where I truly shine—I light up because I'm genuinely interested. Sure, I could learn a bunch of facts about different parts of the city, but without a personal connection, it just wouldn't be as engaging. 14:56 Tourists often stick to the middle of Manhattan and rarely venture to its edges. 28:41 I'd take them to Rockefeller Plaza. Yes, it's touristy, but it still feels like a unique and fascinating hub of the world. Unlike Times Square, it isn't all about commercial glitz—it's about the stunning architecture and the iconic sunken plaza. For part of the year, it's a skating rink, but the rest of the time, it transforms into a space for art exhibits and picnic tables. It's an incredible place with an energy all its own. 31:23 Rockefeller Center, the southeast corner of Central Park, and Washington Mews. You can find Chris Shelley at: Website | Instagram | Illuminating Ceremonies Thank you so much for joining me on Exploring the Seasons of Life: Travel Edition. I'm Cindy MacMillan, and you can find me at PangeaWorldTravelAgency.com. If you enjoyed this episode—and I truly hope you did—be sure to hit the subscribe button so you never miss an episode. If you could take a moment to leave a review, it would mean the world to me. Your support helps us connect with more amazing listeners like you. If you're dreaming about your next cruise or adventure, I'm here to help make it a reality! Visit linktr.ee/CindyMacMillan to get started. Let's plan your perfect journey together. Until next time, keep exploring, stay curious, and take care!

This week, we go back fifty years to the iconic and chaotic Studio 8H at 30 Rockefeller Plaza with director Jason Reitman's Saturday Night. Join us for our Season 7 Premier!Check us out on...Twitter @TSMoviePodFacebook: Time SensitiveInstagram: @timesensitivepodcastGrab some Merch at TeePublicBig Heads Media 

Whips and chains, oh yes Leather collars, harnesses Plush encounters, fur lined walls And neon countertops Painted in gold, Tame, and made silent Kept underground, as always Your secret. What happens in cerulean stays in cerulean I only smile when I see the color yellow and then dream of him, Seeking nothing but solace At the concourse, we converse momentarily And then go our separate ways Forever and always Forever and always Your secrets I smell like dirt And arrived in the real world Covered in blood And scraped over the, Over the knees, Yes I did Come recover then, What you've lost from the world Born in chaos, not quite But almost, as we're once swarmed the waters Lee it better quiet, now Keep it better quiet now, Keep it better quiet now, your secrets There lies no tru loyalty to bands tied On middle fingers Besides to one's own self And they who they shall Desire and claim as another Extention of God, In her Or their arms There is no claim to faith or mercy Than what comes between us, Bombshells As argued in chaos —mother, you're not listening To the call of the wild Then now, How am i bound to that besides being In sanctity Jimmy, what did you do?! I don't know what I did! You lyin bastard. I'm not lying! So, where ya from? —I don't know where I'm from. Listen, I'm gonna need you SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP. It seems like these scenes are getting shorter. I'm bored with this. Ok. Let's do something else. I fuckin hate you. I hate you. I fuckin hate you. 88. Oh no: 8 Wait, what the— *dolphin* WOAH, okay: Oh, no. No, No, no OHNONO. I told you I'd find him. Anyway. Seems like there's something more important I should be doing. Are you sure this is the right place. Right place. Right time. Fuck— FUCK. What, what happened. I lost my— SKRILLEX! No. SKRILLEX. NO, NO— SKR— I swear to God, Google knows everything. Google don't know shit about SHIT. I gotta lose –m–39 lbs. For what. MADONNA DO IT FOR THE BANANAS. I hate— you. COME ON, MISTER. Fuck off, Madonna, I'M A GOD. I miss Beyoncé. That's not relevant. Beyoncé is relevant to everything. *smacks* QUIT FANGIRLING. Trust me, I hate you. I don't trust you, but I believe you. I got it. I hate this place. Holy shit. What. I developed a new phobia. What's that mean?! I don't know, I can probably use it in a fight or something. For what. SPECIAL ABILITY UNLOCKED. I see you looking over my shoulder I see the shadows, I try not to jump at em. I spent six months in a coffin, you know I spent my life a sarcophagus (Wow, I got it right.) Try not to mutter those haunts in a hospital Try to recover from trauma Uncovered post traumatics, Anxiety attacks and a lot of those— What do you call them? A flashback. Here goes one: SONNY MOORE aka SKRILLEX appears. I told you not to— But I did! I didn't mean to! But you did! This is ludachris! Oh look, it's— Fuck. God dammit. Come on! What's his name!? What's his name?! I'll think abo it it. Are you serious? Another shapeshifter? Yes, I guess welll just have to kill them all, then. I just want to go home. You don't have one. …oh. So here we have. Okay, wait a second. I wasn't faking my symptoms at all, actually. My heart had dropped, and been pounding and fluttering insessantly— It had been a hard week, but especially the last three days; The coughing—. Everyone seemed to be wearing clothing with stars or bears on it, Champion sportswear. I fucking hate champion sportswear. But the palpitations were real as ever— and now— On a Saturday night in the Jamaica, Queens medical center emergency room, There they were again. Only this time I knew exactly why. ‘Too Bizzare' by Skrillex begins to play, via Complications 003- The Trauma Method. Irony. It was ironic, but still startling, Started with some nostalgic traumas, Every other time I saw an ER doctor (Why I don't go) Fuck, I just realized I have to airdrop myself 880 times. That fucking sucks. Did you say you were a doctor? I was, once. When is “once” At some point. Listen, I'm gonna need you to backtrack to get to the bottom of this. I'm innocent, I promise! We caught you at 27 different angles doing this. Oh. [beat] I plead the 5th. Ohh. Cerulean. My favorite. c R A Y On Oh, I get it, I L L U M I N A T U S. Nice, it worked. I know everything about you. So you do. [beat] You're a God. What the fuck do you want from me. Listen. I. Am not. A God, Right. That's exactly what a God would say. No they wouldn't! Because a God wouldn't say anything! AHA. Don't ‘AHA' ME. I don't mind, at all It don't matter— to me I don't mind, at all It don't matter—to me Might as well not think about it The space between us Might as well just stay awake then No sense in leaving Just to come back It don't matter to me, now Now and again I go crazy just making arrangements, But besides that, If you like it, you should have it It's a long road, As Kaskade says, And a short dance, With the right one And time goes by I would call it mild, But actually I'm in a wild panic It might be a heart attack I just might even Die right here But I don't mind, at all It don't matter—to me I don't mind—at all It don't matter to me, I said I don't mind, at all, now It really don't matter to me I said, I don't mind, at all It really don't matter to anyone Now does it (Not it doesn') I don't mind, at all It don't matter— to me I don't mind, at all It don't matter—to me Might as well not think about it The space between us Might as well just stay awake then No sense in leaving Just to come back Palpitations and precipitations at the pulpit Preacher, please don't make me a culprit I been prayin— I been paying my tithes, 10% Even, Now 25, Almost half of me is not mine! Why try? I've been walking out, in straight lines I been crying silently It ain't right I been making most of my nights Sometimes I see sun come up twice Up, down up 10 degrees, It ain't right Up down up 33, it ain't right Up, down, up I've been spending my time Down, up, down Riding round, Trying not to down in my mind Up, down up What is this. It's my project. What is it? The Festival Project. Yeah but—what— What. Is it? …it's my project. *painfully infuriated* Okay, enter here. EXAM ROOM 10 Why exam room 10? Because. Where are the other nine? Just—get in. I'm not going in there! JUST GET IN. UGH. DEADMAU5 (head and all) stands at a tall podium in the center of the room) What is this, This is deadmau5. I know that. —-!!! —?!? What. !!! What? This is the exam? Yes! NO. What is “no”. I'm not playing for deadmau5. That's the exam. Then I fail! Automatic Fail? yes. Automatic fail. Then you win. What. *slams gavel* Congratulations—you're the next superstar DJ. WhY. . What. Woohoo! I just retired! DEADMAU5 exits. … … After a few moments of comic tension, the Deadmau5 head rolls back in through the exit which he has taken. Ugh. Fuck this. No matter what you do, you're a superstar DJ. What. No! Yes. The answer is yes. NO. Fuck. What the FUCK. No matter what you do. You want to go, Go, you want to die, Die, you want to try, try You want to cry, cry Do what you want; As so will I, Demand is demand— Supply is supply. EDX So then, I followed this long hallway under the stage deck. Uh huh. And it led to a door— Uhhuh, where'd the door lead? To a portal. Woah. Pasqualle! You made it! I—yes. Congratulations! *blows party horn* *Daisies/ confetti* You're like 25! I'll be 25 forever. Nice! Yeah. I guess that's why it's called ‘music'—a musician without muses is just useless. ‘Well, whose next?' I wondered. All of my muses were not just so wonderful to me, but adored by many—and perhaps this is what allured me most—beffldled ans confounded me; once my mind was set on somehh th int, there was nothing else its eye could see—and for how long one God could only know, how deep the love would go and that the blood would run deep, and the scars to show for it, only upon my heart and never by soul—for a love was a love, and even once came and gone, to the end of my life I knew I would still ponder upon them, at one time or another, my muses—star studded lovers, rather than crossed, shiny and golden like all diamond and trophies so treasured and thought of as precious. ‘Yes, you are—precious.' Another tongue in cheek thought, for the other that I was, and also was not, as summer drew onward as short as it would come and go—a reminder to leave the apartment more often, and to mind my manners, to find the upper echelon wherever it was and come quietly into its doors, to open my world and wordform of thought, into a place where my heart always was; then, and only then, would I be home. Amongst the men and women of the uppercut and classy, luxurious big fishing ponds and flocks of doves upon olive branches—the peaceful world long parted from where mine was, by only the fault of my own. What had been done just certainly was, and yet, what was to come was an open poem, not of mine, but Godform in thought. ‘I wonder what's at the top of Rockefeller Plaza.' —perhaps, a gander at the bottom of an even larger entertainment complex. Then, again, only God would know what was beyond all that I wanted; a job—and not just any job at all— the one that I had always wanted. Mmm. Birthday cake. Suddenly the taste of a white confetti crème filled my mouth with a delicious remnince of what it might be like to taste a confectionary sugar again—but i couldn't imagine ever making it just on talent and charisma alone—no. Indeed, it seemed something had damaged my charm, and perhaps it was just the swarms and droves of phone controlled masses that saw me as nothing more than dust, I had started to surrender my desire to perform, and the quality of my music—along with my ability to make it, suffered with the awful thing that had been crowding my soul at all—whatever it was, evil and dark in nature, sure saw to it that it wanted to hurt me in all the ways that it could—and in all the ways it could not, I stayed away from most others, favoring my delisuins of love. ‘Nobody seems to understand that the pain they cause will only harm themselves.', I thought Younger souls, however, they were—and they would be kept in the pain that I was in one way or another until eventual death, far behind me on the infinite road to the source. Far enough behind, that it seeker to destroy my progress, and for all that it could, it also couldn't. The infliction of pain would simply not act as a measure for control any longer. Of into my own world, where I was at least free from the thoughts and judgement of others. She's the most beautiful girl, And I'm the most beautiful boy; So naturally, we belong together, don't we? I see a pretty picture, Picket fences and a family Golden Retrievers Someone reliever her; She doesn't believe me TV dreams and exquisite pretty people Burning candles, fire flames and frequent figures, Guest characters and cameos, Repeat offenders, multiple appearances Suddenly, really, it's another need People, people pleasers Audience affection, Tragic endings, Butterflies and new beginnings Gun under my tongue, Rubber like a frog My mind is in a fog Haven't bothered going on a walk To Trader Joe's but The anthem of my youth, A lost soul Another form of my love So what I wonder Put the gun up under my chin Rubber like a frog Blow my head off Just cause I didn't blow up Selfish cunt Big brother, Another hypnotist Little brother, Gotta love him Gotta love em For the Love of God I could stop for a moment Wash my mind out with soap Like I'm ten years younger, even Seriously 20 years between us, You can't even hide underwater In a bathtub Seriously, Someone help us For the love of God, for the love of Hollywood Seriously, Someone love us, For the love of God, For the love of Rockefeller Plaza Someone help us Another possible walk of stars A little shop of horrors Another whole story I get rid of my demons The hoes screamin I put semen in her Permanent like semen, Just keep dreamin I'mma just keep preaching SaMo, Brooklyn Europe Next I keep scheming Whoever you are; If you're a wreck— You need a check No respect, neglect Just cover your neck (I'm blind to my own design, sometimes) That's what the eye is Try this: Close your eyes and say thrice, kids I am the God of the eye, Osiris I am the Gid of the Eye, I'm Osiris I am the God, I walk amongst the highest Thoth, You lost Better just die and keep trying I am the God of the eye, I am (Try this) I am the God of the eye (I never due) I am the God of the eye (That's right, three times) I am the God of the eye No black and white television, In my dimension we pay attention to centrifugal, The mission isn't in materialism, Whatever your spending If money the God,l of your eye, Realize, I am higher My gunfire, Is right on the back of The one dollar I am the God of the eye I Am Your money is nothin to us We come in peace, To end suffering Pretty little nigga Look just like Kendrick Kickin it with jigga I'm the new hits boson Part of me never left Boston (Fuck Starr!) Part of me never left homeless This ain't my home It's my office You never heard this song You don't notice I'm an ugly kid, you don't notice me Rooftop smells like soy sauce On god I am ugly You don't notice -Atari the God Can we get back to this, please? Damn. She really whooped her ass, though. Janet, can I borrow you for a second? No. Please. [Whoopi Holdberg appears in the doorway, gesturing “c'mon”] …alright. I got convictions on my lips, I took a picture Turn the page The worst of all was, it really did seem like they were racists— INSOMNIAC EVENTS Not just racists— the most deadly kind of racists. WHITE SUPREMACISTS You really want it this way, don't you? No! I LOVE you! Oh, do you? If there's a mile in here, I swear to god.. Are you high enough yet? I thought so HIGHER! hire star* What. Just do it. You remember these guys, right? GOOD CANNABIS, FAIRBANKS, ALASKA No. Why are we back here. Alright, we might have fucked up. Why. This guy sucks. HEY. What. COME BACK TO ALASKA never that. WHAT, WHY NOT! GOD HATES FAGS!!! Well, you're wrong! WHITE POWER. Nah. ALL LIVES MATTER O rly? Even this guy? Literally every “NO” …so, all lives. Look, I don't care what color it is; I want that book in my library. GO TO THE LIVRARY. NO. GET IN HERE. NO AUBREY. STAY DEAD. She's dead, right? YOU CALLED ME HERE. I didn't! You Did. I did not, all i said was *swoons* …I love her. (I really do) WHAT?! “I Love you?!” It was more the *swoon* that did it. Disconnect. Fuck, I lost deadmau5 again What'd you do to him? Nothing! Put him back! He's still there! He's right there, you see him? No! This isn't deadmau5. We want deadmau5 bring him BACK. Fuck, I fucked up. What'd you do? …nothing? Pick up the phone Pick up the phone …hello? Who IS this? Fuck it, I quit. Man, God never puts my dishes back in the right place, like ever. I told you, I don't live here, I'm just… Babysitting. CC! What! CC! What? CC WHAT. Fuck, man. That was wild. Where the fuck have you been? I don't know. You don't know—you smell funny. “Funny” is that what that smell is? No. When were you? When? Ha. Did you—- Did I what? —did you go to a party without me? Lmfao fuck these niggaz. Why, what happened. What's this. Where was it?! Idlewild. “IdLeWiLd”?!?!? You. Old. One here and die, you know l It's cattle call for curtain calls guy Where did this go— What was this, once? It's the return Welcome to Oz This is the Tower of Babel Remember; I wrote that Better than the bottom, Still not the top —it's not as fast, when it's not going all the way up Did you jump yet Come around more Keep coughing Are you sure this is where it was or—? Somewhere else I stayed Back when I was homeless It's hopeless! We lost her Antenna, antenna SUPERMARKET I loved her —she was undercover —I'm still in your stirrups I'm lost in New York, then BACKFIRE Adele remix is on have a seat Can I go now? I still need a hat, a half dollar and an alter cloth You could win an award for this; I don't want an award, I just want my son back Motherhood, motherhood Brotherhood, brotherhood This isn't one of us! No one was No one was Can I go now? Where to? Home! Nope, that's just the office, I'm still homeless, unless I They got cabanas on top of offices! (The rich and the famous Networking and brunches— _this looks fun, doesn't it? I altered the course of history In brief exchanges and Various social atrocities This is hypocrisy! lol rly This is hypocrisy!! Hyper awareness and, psychic inclinations… You realize the more low quality people you let in The more low quality this country becomes, don't you? I put a roll in the back of the chosen ones. Used to be cast more, Now something seldom ever happens Such as this— A fun Fortune 500 What does that even mean Forbes. Look it up. What if the policy is Foreign; Look it up. I know enough about the girl next door to know Something is horrible, Something inside of her Rots at the core, Her obsession; My undeservedness of such, What she must, I mustn't, just Unjustice Broski, okay I got to discard All the pichardo Besides just this one (I'm standing on top of you) Put somebody worthy on the fourth floor Worse off, I was done for Before I got to New York What's her for?! I know enough about the man upstairs to know All these glares and “How dare you's” and Hatred says Why would you wait 30 years Until today, I guess Something is certainly off about her. I said yes. It was more probably something like “SUCK MY DICK” What. “YOU HEARD ME” Oh yes, I did. From 1990 to 1993 From 1990 To 1993 From 1990 To 1993 Stop breeding these things, “Love is familiarity” No Love is what you make it But you can't Because of slavery They don't make music —they don't make love either Well, look where your lust took you! Nowhere! Exactly! Look where your love took you: Vegas, Los Angeles, South of the Border Above it a New Yorker— Under budget, Celibate and My arms are too short to jump the turnstyle, Meanwhile My ex husband left permanent scars on My face My lips My arms My hands And my heart. Did you bite him? Of course I bit him, he was strangling me. You definitely won this fight. I know. Look, if I don't call for security, This bitch is gonna make me kill her. OCTOPUSSY NO. What. NO. Stankass. I will KILL this bitch. Look, I gotta get ahead in this. I need a WIN. These are customs. Trash. Wash your pussy. Send her back. Nah, you know what. Remove that hex. Wait, what, really?! Yeah, like; Reverse it. Woah. That's crazy. They got like….white slaves now. That's not right. What do you mean. That's not it. You said “reverse it” This is what the white supremacy just did to everyone else: [world in crisis except for for people who look like Kayla Lauren, to whom EVERYTHING is a fucking crisis, that isn't] BECKY/KAREN/WICKED WITCH OF WHITE AMERICA I AM OFFENDED I'm offended that you signed your like 12 year old daughter up to pose nearly nude, but— Hey look, it's us now; is this freedom?! Uh…. Why are all the female models like 12 and all the male models are fully grown men— Or women. Right. Idk. Wait, I do. You do?! Wait. Something tells me all the pedophiles and all the white supremacists are in the same group… Run the same businesses— Have the same families. This is disgusting Okay, this is gross That's not right ! That's not my job! Oh, it's not!!? NO. Who should I call That guy. So you want this? Oh, it's a death curse?! It will NEVER end. Wanna bet. I'll kill you and take the whole world with me. Now that's a threat. Thing is, I'm actually making it. I'm telling on you! Ok. Wait 30 years though so you look and sound REALLY fucking stupid. Ok. 30 YEARS. Doesn't make sense. What's the statute of limitations for— Hm. Depends. Depends on what. Who are you?! WHO ARE YOU?! NOBODY YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THEN WHY DO I? wtf is this? This is Texas being petty. Ok, fuck ya‘lol YAW. I'm serious, wtf is wrong with you. Something. What. Fix me. Fix you. Hm. Ok. *COUGHING* Somethings wrong here. Yep, it's definitely some kind of FIX IT. Where's this ROCK? At the ROCK. Like, where tho?! Ur gonna need this. What. They r crucifying u. Noted. Hunts Point Food Distribution Cente Lmfao I need this word hold on eliminating redundancies, setting strict timelines, and allowing cases to proceed contemporaneously [ Finally, recognizing the danger that social media poses to young people and mental health, New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene Commissioner Dr. Ashwin Vasan today issued a Health Commissioner's Advisory identifying unfettered access to and use of social media as a public health hazard, just as past U.S. surgeons general have done with tobacco and firearms.] A win. I don't play dead. What do you call this: DIE! DIE, BITCH! Corrections. I still don't understand how this— ACID HAPPENS. Out of sight Out of mind So why these guys Tryna waste my time Tryna fuck with my mind with All these lights OH MY GOD I ain't got time for that Well, Maybe I do— I just Don't like NIGGAZ LIKE YOU. (Say what) I don't like Niggaz like U! I'm Sunnï Blū! You're stupid Oh, so he put a curse on sunni blu, too? Ok. Cool. When all my aliases come up This dumb motherfucking drunk Is gonna get stuck In his own woods He'll bury himself In the words that he left With the scars In the words that he left With the scars Sunni blu Is the sayer of stars I slaughtered them all Swallowed them whole Like a big black hole I'm a big black god I'm a big black God Fuck Twinkle that broad One punch girl One punch girl 5 punch faggot I'll unwrap flags on your Goddamn Fuck that Put a curse on my alter ego Lucky he's a he, tho I blow holes in em I blow smoke And love sausage I'm a hedon And he not a Hero He broke He lost I'm open Shirts vs skins I got 666 Curses to show you What your words did IM RA I'm a big black God You're at home with the young apostle Let's be honest He never even liked his father So turned him to a mother, Told his mother to run far, And bring back The life that I want I'm a big black God In light skinned clothing You don't know to explode Or explode on me Cause my mommy's a Dark skinned icon That my God Find something to pass the time, God Sunni with I, huh I won Fuck a pedophile wifebeater Bury him in the woods with his fury Fear me, now I'm coming up with reverse curses And cures Cause my words Bought the whole world Buried you in the woods I'll bury you in the woods, Bitch Very good I'm a big black God -Blū. GOD is the GOAT I just became god I do what I want I get what I want when I want it I don't want no problems Me myself and God only I buy everything I used to steal These tears in my heart say I'm healing What's the difference, anyway? I've never been fit for your interests, or industry Add insult to injury Add everything to my Amazon cart, then My sympathies Nothing is greater in heaven As it is in hell, for this industry Turned on its head And turned over from 7 to ten Check your messages, then Shut up kid, this doesn't involve you You're not included in the package Michael c hall and John c Riley reprise Mr. Cellophane in the style of DEXTER MORGAN. HA. Classic. GOT EM. V.O. I met her at The Jumping Point …If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palindrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch— Watch this: THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

fWotD Episode 2783: 1271 Avenue of the Americas Welcome to Featured Wiki of the Day, your daily dose of knowledge from Wikipedia’s finest articles.The featured article for Tuesday, 17 December 2024 is 1271 Avenue of the Americas.1271 Avenue of the Americas (formerly known as the Time & Life Building) is a 48-story skyscraper on Sixth Avenue (Avenue of the Americas), between 50th and 51st streets, in the Midtown Manhattan neighborhood of New York City. Designed by architect Wallace Harrison of Harrison, Abramovitz, and Harris, the building was developed between 1956 and 1960 as part of Rockefeller Center.The building's eight-story base partially wraps around its 48-story main shaft. Both sections are surrounded by a plaza, which has white-and-gray pavement in a serpentine pattern, as well as water fountains. The facade consists of glass panels between limestone columns. The lobby contains serpentine floors, white-marble and stainless-steel walls, and reddish-burgundy glass ceilings, in addition to artwork by Josef Albers, Fritz Glarner, and Francis Brennan. The ground floor also includes storefronts and originally housed La Fonda del Sol, a Latin American–themed restaurant. Each of the upper floors covers 28,000 sq ft (2,600 m2), with the offices arranged around the core. The 48th floor originally contained the Hemisphere Club, which operated as a members-only restaurant during the day and was open to the public during evenings.After Time Inc. expressed its intention to move from 1 Rockefeller Plaza in the 1950s, Rockefeller Center's owners proposed a skyscraper at 1271 Avenue of the Americas to accommodate the move. Construction started in May 1957; the building was topped out during November 1958, and occupants began moving into their offices in late 1959. The New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission designated the lobby as a city landmark in 2002. Time Inc. vacated 1271 Avenue of the Americas in 2015, and the building was subsequently renovated between 2015 and 2019.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 00:38 UTC on Tuesday, 17 December 2024.For the full current version of the article, see 1271 Avenue of the Americas on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Mastodon at @wikioftheday@masto.ai.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm generative Danielle.

Get out of here Ryan Reynolds! Ow! Hey, knock it off. I will throw Blake lively at you! You're going to throw my ex wife at me? Or is that his current wife? I thought he was married to Anna Farris? Maybe I had them mixed up. Or—did I get the order wrong? No, literally I thought it was the same girl. Basically. No, no—they're very different… on the inside. That's a low blow. It's okay, if I aim below the belt, that may be exactly at eye level. I will throw Anna Farris at you! Blake lively sounded better. Goddammit. Let's just shoot both takes and see which flows better. Okay. I will throw Black Lively at you! You're going to throw my ex wife at me? She is very small and aerodynamic. You don't think I know that? Gross! You're gross! Ow! Stop throwing things at me! The next thing is— No ex-wiving! This is high stakes. Damn, do I technically have to get all three of them to sign off on this? I don't know—the legal technicalities. Why not, you're a lawyer? I am. —?! Yes. varying degrees of sincerity Do you want to play with sharks? Hm–what? What's that? Do you want a bite to eat? I'm flying, flying Gotta learn how to lie, kid I'm dying, i'm dying you know I've got my eye on you Everything I need is in this Shower scene I dare you I do care, dont you know, I don't want to see you there no more I'm nowhere, nowhere to be found Look where I found you In the dark, sir Yes, you are off Awful, Swimming with the sharks and stuff Just another poet Just another broken heart a song or something With my palms up And my psalms are omens All my palams are Swimming with the sharks, mom All my thoughts are Swimming with the sharks She's couvered in turquoise, aquamarine; her choices and voice are all ive seen of this Suffering somewhere and surfing the Thing I need Keeping me peopleing “People gon people, though” Go, GO! This is bad. This looks bad. No. Green is good. (Finds One Dollar) Oh look! Money! Try this guy now! Uh, uh ! no way! I'm way past that! What! You are! Yeah! [BLEEP] That was an accident. F[BLEEP] Damn, man. How long have you been like this (He takes a drink of whiskey and shrugs, grimacing) Forever. “ TheJohn Oliver effect". Ambivalence - Apparently (what I woke up in my head with this morning Most of my dreams were just horrible night mares and waking in cold sweats To ovens still heartbroken What inthe world, i wonder But i don't have to, lover Mother, brother, friend another world just to worry over Haven't you heard? It's a world of absurdatites, Listen, Being assertive is part of promotion It passes, this Ambevalice or however you spell it I'll come back to correct it in my Google documents But that's not the words To this song? I don't want no more money I just want to run off into the sunset With a surfboard And only return here Once I can afford to love The shops on madison avenue Not in some person's pocket, But because I'm so astonishing to someone I actually bought it And what if IF is where I found him, actually If this and If that The infinite man in the hat But i just brought the rabbit out Rabbit, I Have a couple habits planted On this planet He's a madman, you know As I am Yes, I am I am a madman you now NAM DAMA MI You know me, I was 16 16 16, 17 Patiently waiting to make it To break into industry I should have all of the world in my hands On my shoulders, you know Was the Grammy, and Emmy I asked uncle Tony, come over He warned me for Oscar, “You don't really know that man” Show me, I wanted to wonder into the silver screen It really was me, Before shows became talkies The Golden Ones Oh The Golden Globes Peabody Please God, A job, to afford a new body I want to be Model Hot Model One Teslas And Teslas, The best Exstacy Ive ever tasted Besides those quad stacks; Super Marios, yo I was playing the game CAuse he Triple dog dared me A Dog, I was so lost in love With my own stockholm syndrom I was an apocalypse, but Happy life, happy wife Happy knife in my back Cause I can't love a man Besides All in my head Blow me off of this earth with that cannon, would ya– Would you blow me bubblgum bubbles out of your Bazooka I was just wondering what kind of nuts you were Probably cumsluts, bananas, a And master producers Composers, And actors, Establishment Haven't been black Since i found out its bad to be Back in the rap industry, however At my bathtub briefing They could see us coming From a mile away I just keep running Runing my day, yep Was the thing I created I hated her Then, I Maiden Voyaged this Bon, voyage, bitch You've been on the Titanic since I decided to sink it What you think? All of the women and children fit? That's just a fairy tale I don't need this, till i get to Israel And I dn't think he's real, but I'm real good at Hurting myself HUrting myself Hurting myself To hell with it, just make me a man Or just Make me a mandate I passed all this under the table My management Man is Damaged Why am I haunting you, Ali Cause, trust me It's up from her Up from here Up from Up there Now youre scaring me I've been suicide for days and contemplating Not suicidal But suicide it'self Its not my idol or an icon, Not a role model, impossible ImPOSTTIBLE MEANWHRiLE: CAT (Crying) –Moo! HI, Cat. I'm so stuck in this nonsense of “Social order” and I'm supposed to So stuck in this existence Of Diseveled Hellcat Welcome Patrick Stuck under the arches of McDonalds With a Picket line Made of picket fences and dissinstrists Diminishing wits And [The Festival Project™] https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primetime_Emmy_Awards https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peabody_Awards https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primetime_Emmy_Awards https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Time_100 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Time_100 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christ%27s_College,_Cambridge https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christ%27s_College,_Cambridge https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/England https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/England https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Oliver_(composer) Do you smell–does anyone else smell eggs, right now? No, Patrick. Are you sure? Positive. KANDI Fuck, it's positive again. PATRICK Well, have another. (he take a long drag off of is cigarette, handing KANDI another pregnancy test.) KANDI How many do you want me to do? PATRICK All of them. KANDI is petite, about 5'0 to 5'3, Pacific Islander and/or Asian of darker complexion, with long raven hair, and wide chestnut brown eyes, between 20 and 25 years old. She is well dressed and feminine, however, with a somewhat staggering eloquence, sometimes quite crass, uneducated–but quick witted, often funny, and very, very beautiful. She is typically relaxed, however, has the tendency to panic as a natural reaction to PATRICK'S erratic gestures and mood swings; She acts as his primary comforter and companion,. You know, I actually can't see this show happening Who has seen it? Martians, or, maybe just– God, I guess. That's what you got out of that. I don't know, God! Atypical, this Conformity to confirmation Servitude and service Disconnected from astonishments Abolishing the altar Of the alter I'm so Sorry for this –Missed Connections He took the 4 I took the 6 Missed Connections I wasn't set up to talk that day He was though I did good enough For impressions Selective, this one Damages I'm sorry for this Missed Connections I'll never make it in this industry –Not with that attitude And not with that hat one It's something and somewhere between Honesty and Lost in the world Trying not to suffer for the plot of The literal Star Wars The literal definition of Punch me in the face and ruin my world I guess God wasn't watching On 4/40 Or was Very drunk, then WOAH. WHAT'S HAPPENED TO MY EYES. You're telepathic, I gathered, however Synthtic Under static cling and Establishments Multicamera facets And facinations with women Habits and inclinations, then Well, This is Synethetics, Fuck it. I L0VlE IT. IS THAT WHAT LOVE IS?! That's what love looks like In manhattan Hopped up on a One day fast Two You fucked up Three You fucked up Who loves him For punching me? Someone, Cause that brought you up a bit, Didn't it? Is it up or is it just endless death and a torture chamber At the chamber of commerce Without my kid? Then again… I don't envy this, at all Was just a dream, you know My dreams have all become Derilicts Fuck DIllon Francis (I should have, when I had the chance!) When was THIS? I like your outfit? I just have No other plans But just to Catch this JELLYFISH Capture this! (she laughed at the dancer) Phones, up, kids! I can't possibly be famous! Yesterday you said: FUCK THIS NIGGA Today it's JIMMY FALLON You know what. I'm okay with this. WHAT. I never said that. Okay, Jim. You can come down, now. That was a long day, you know Up in a harness Suspended But it wasn't that part The hardest Would only be Some caricature Of aperture The departure from Humanity as God CAuse you wound up in the Strung up Kite I hung up When i uncrossed all my crosses Then Just gave up on [The Festival Project ™ ] Talking to God about What the fuck is wrong with My sense of smell And my Hell is just Never ever being Trying not to talk to Cannot say this name if I was paid to But i fucking hate you JImmy Fallon https://youtube.com/shorts/_go5tL7Jw2w?si=Ffz6Y1eKU2_SugtG This, What happens When you're a rockstar spirit in the cost of sobriety And all you want is just A lover to What is that? Love, though? What is that? “The pollution in the ocean is the solution to your problem” –the aliens https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSviZnbAv8M Now i fantasize about these guys, Knives in my backs, an iPod nano And buying a pager Wait till God makes good on my wages For these pages I just can't these days I just can't Flag Flag X The Germs Danny Elfman, Oingo Boingo Anthony was beautiful, Reminds me of my Johnny Boy I've been californiacated I've been mesmerized by Love and drugs And janes addiction Fornication, rock and roll Another genre, Mom is lost, you guys And momma won't come home The smiths Gangs of four Souzie sue? I don't want to know you like that, man I don't want to worry, on the backpage Didn't i just come back from the Blacklands? Back then, it was a Flatline It was a backstage fire It was a heart attack, That It was a heart attack that killed that man Watch your heart, but don't Whatever you do Watch this show {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project] Hey . Hi, Johnny Depp. You can =come join our club, if you want. And what club is that? It's “Cribbage Club” We have hats Hats. On Yahtchs. The Old Men Sittiing around the table drinking What is that? It's mustard. Just– Really? Yes. 30 Rockefeller Plaza's studio 8H This is why I don't trust you! Don't trust me! You don't follow the code! There's a code! You wrote the code! Oh, that's–that sucks. Everything sucks. Everything sucks. Everything sucks, that's right. EVERYTHING SUCKS CAUSE OF YOU ADAM, YOU RUINED IT ADAM RUINS EVERYTHING RAYMOND, I LOVE YOU EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND CHRIS, I [CENCORED] HATE YOU. EVERYBODY HATES CHRIS EVERYTHING SUCKS CAUSE OF SUNNI BLU Or really just I HATE U good . keep hating then. i'mma go get my dick sucked By a supermodel At the supermarket, And then be a superhero And put that shit on an album, You know what? keep fuckin hating keep fuckin hating But you know what somebody's gonna LOVE it And that's why youre over here All fucked up Cause i love you But FUCK you No fuck U keep hating 111

Somebody pull shit shit off the shelves. Honest to god they're trying to kill me. I've never been angrier. Maybe all this having already happened in some kind of irregular repeat existence is the reason for my having immidiately hated Jimmy Fallon upon his introduction to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Maayyyybeee. Probably. I hated him immidiately. Even before breaking character, or any fourth wall— before I realized at all why I would continue to hate this actor for his lackluster performance on a show I thoroughly enjoyed binge watching— —I hated his fucking face. Which ironically. Some 20 years later— Is the part—maybe even the only part— I actually like. I like his voice. Soothing. Shut up. Correct, you may have in some way altered my regular pattern of thought in some way— I am indeed in great pain, especially lately, But not over Jimmy Fallon— Especially not over that. In fact, I've realized that anything I understand about this character is that, he is, in fact, just a character. A flamboyant offspring of my own imagination. A gesture of circumstance— Indeed, a fictional, fitment of my own discourse. —indeed, I am in this reckoning highly even impressed with myself to such a degree that not only has my own world turned inward and outward and reached into my own perception to unbewittingly show me all these projections of my own interior mind; the ice cream— the posters— the magazine articles, the sidebar trimmings, and of course, the double budget ad campaign for whatever Jimmy Fallon has actually going on at Rockefeller Plaza. I'm somewhat impressed to have, without ever trying to or meaning with any intention to learn more about, or bring this individual closer to my attention, seen more of Jimmy Fallon than one could have possibly—ironically and all pun intended— I'd seen more of Jimmy Fallon than anyone could have even possibly imagined humanly possible, completely by accident. Can somebody really be that famous? Surely, especially lately, I am depressed. In need of an actual truth, an end to suffering—[redacted] Still, this images are constantly forced into my being, under whatever circumstances—fasting or not— exercising or not—praying or not— and though my prayers, even particularly on this matter seem to fall on deaf ears, I still do pray, when I can remember to, for my burdens to be lifted. My burdens have nothing to do with Jimmy Fallon at all, and yet, these random appearances and strange occurrencesremain a mystery. My heart is broken, however, not by Jimmy Fallon—my heart is broken as my son has been lost to his father and his ways, and yet— here still, too, is this discourse—this puzzle, of sorts, and almost a willing call to cry into the world with the fear and notion that Jimmy Fallon too could actually be the devil itself, manifest in [redacted]. For whatever reason, I just keep writing. At least something around this point sets in where I realize I just want to kill myself and for it to be over not because of Jimmy Fallon— No, not at all. Here's this man, on ice cream and billboards— a good one, but belonging to someone else, and— powerfully dangerous. I had chosen to tempt neither fate nor circumstance. {Enter The Multiverse} Anything to keep from deadmau5 appearing under the influences section of my google search results. He's not an influence to my music— a goal marker for where I would ideally want my career to end up, but not an influence. —I just really wanna Impress that dude. [Incoming.] You're welcome. I swear to god these vultures swoop in on anything I even moderately like— You're welcome. Cause the more I like you, The more women in droves will come plummeting towards you, Wanting to fuck, Or worse— Whatever their version of “Love you” is, But I promise These are just offloads of my residual Actual love for you— just because I love you that much. Enjoy your future girlfriend— Or maybe even, wife I don't know. Fucking vultures. Man, I just don't know what it is. But I got particularly bitter and some sort of weird, Like of fucked up, When Skrillex started dating like a d-list porn star Who happened to look like all the girls Who have ever been Just flat out evil towards me in my entire life All the bullies All the fucked up, just straight evil bitches He's like “This is my choice, by the way” Triple fucking zero, fake tits, fake fucking lips All the injections She's on only fans and shit He's like “This my shit right here” I'm like “ew,” fucking gross And I shit you not, Ever since then I've been kind of fucked-up Jaded Like, Look at these fucking lizard bitches getting all the love and all the clout Look at these fake lipped alligator ass hoes— Getting all the good love. That's fucked up, I'm like, Fuck it. Skrillex can definitely go under the influences section, I guess. Look at this influence. I'm a be under the influence of everything on God until these super skinny lily white freckle fucking fake lip hoes reign of dominance is fucking finished. I've had it with these fucking lizards. Acorns! I damn near been celibate ever since Mind your business. Who influenced this! Skrillex! Now shut the fuck up. #getawayfromme Don't get me wrong; I get the convenience White girls have privelege, connections— They don't need talent or personality, Or rhythm. They have family, friends— Access to things most people don't That's why they remain the ideal She'll get you into a world you've never seen Because it's exclusive And there's an entire network around Keeping anyone who does not fit the standard Out She'll boost your career Your finances She's not after your money cause her family is well off And she went to and enough school to make her own Sorority sisters and shit Knows people. She'll build your whole world up Just based on the fact That she is a white woman That's access You have built trust with the white world who, Let's face it, To this day, Still isn't sure about us! They have to put us through all sorts of tests and shit And then still try to figure out if, The shit that ain't right about us Is because of the shit they directly did to us Or if it's something just ingrained in is that they're scared of That they don't like And sometimes it doesn't matter! If they still can't figure it out And yo the not impressive enough to a certain degree If you don't have that white access card, You're discarded; Because, You will never, by default have actual white privelege But you can gain white access by being closely connected and maybe even trusted by a white individual— And so to this, I commend the wiser— The businessmen by nature who understand That having a white woman as your access Is sometimes nessecary, Until things actual change But they haven't yet. I'm still waiting on a dark skinned protagonist whose also a woman and isn't in some way marginalized or patronized by ugliness, stereotype, or some kind of drawback that allows the white supremacy and its domineering public to solidify and enforce their natural inclinations to dismiss post racial excellence in any form. Still waiting. {Enter The Multiverse} He has no monster, And still what counts me is, Above my beaarinf, Just out of grasp, And over my head, Spinning as with wind blows, And stone sacred down to secrecy As sworn, the truth doth lie in her palms, And still hold, The hall of oath not to lie, There in, all does form to steady shallow; Therefore, one does not call with harm to lie, But steady stained forever in foul truth, a wicked odor, And there there, heaven acaped and at all pictures as I were, the friends that not come as maidens or warriors but still as aheep come to graze in my pasture, As does the seed of one tree lie in the ground, awaiting water, and until then only sleeps and rests, With eyes not shown the world, as I. -Omens. -Secrets. -Lies. -Death. -illumination. -Omens. Wasn't there another order? Seems as though the more I come forward, the harder and more impossible that I ever go back. Still, I was warned. I was always warned and headed warnings, Over and over and still I gave truth to the light that was shone on me. Very well. I came, I saw. I said, and sat. Nobody knows my name. Not any besides a lover. Seth. Suddenly, it dawned on me, Pencil shavings and all, That I was not who I thought I might have been before Now or ever— Not that it mattered. Came with it, a dead man. And came acquitted, my heart and soul as one For it had been painted in the colors of love That I could do no wrong at all By having done nothing, But given words What a course! The professor sucks. Who'd you get. Who'd you get? Nobody. Trickery, deciet and lies— Flickering the things I'd done, With eyes sewn shut, And back unclothed, The nether ends, The door has closed And surely you mean nothing but to honor us, Fairwell, And surely you mean nothing less But than to barter, As I may. A temporary woman Never loved on the weekends Steady through the week, But only for the moment. Discarded woman, Leaving behind any evidence, transgressions Favoritism, and secretive thoughts, Explosive measure, talismans No comment No comment No comment Never happened. Moving on, then. Being honest, never loved him Never had to, at the office, Breathing easy makes it sacritism Actually sacrificing artifacts and Alleviating Past the architecture at An interesting artificial measurement of Speed and intellectual accomplishment But still we gather, half entranced and half entitled, Wishing for an ornamental temperament of severance on separation Severity at covet, or north for starters, Soverign states and in general, gentrified genocide of sorts It's psychological warfare Psychological warfare The whites will have the blacks and browns pick each other off To remain in power The white devil Is also just as often The white savior BROH. JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH. AVADAKAVARAH! I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR! WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST! EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB. THAT'S A NIGHT JOB! EXPECTO-PA– POTTER!!! WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?! OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?! ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER! “OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD– HARRY. What the [bleep] EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB ™ Please, by all means, Keep your pretty white girlfriend. I want to see those eyes come through What a handsome couple. They are the scariest thing ever. Let them be, then; Out to be fun to watch. I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro. Not—like loud, man. That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl. True story. Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds. I saw this one comedian performing— Well, I think he was a comedian. He wasn't funny to me but, He had like 710K followers And he was really really pretty. I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video— I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh— He didn't— But— As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers And has not made me laugh, not once I start paying closer attention to him— And I realize; “Oh” He is major good looking. At first I didn't notice— I like white guys— so, Of course, At first glance I'm like “Hey brother!” You know, like “That's my son!” I'm like “Yeah, make me laugh, boy.” But he didn't And then as I start to wonder Like, Why or how he has so large of a following I notice he's very beautiful. And I mean, like mad gorgeous. Like ideally— I'm like “Oh” and as I'm realizing this, He's saying the punchline to a “joke,” And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back, Like you can hear that they're in the back Cause the camera is in the center, And like half of the audience is behind the film crew , and you can hear these girls are in the way— Like in the way back Like in the way, way back, You can hear like a pack of ratchets— Yes— these must be his die hards— His squad. Not like his homies or anything, but like The Groupies. You know. The hopefuls. He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like “YAS!” “SAY IT!” And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like “I'm—not in control of this.” “RIGHT!” “SAY LESS!” I'm like, Oh, I see how that works, now. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © This is confusing. I can see how you're confused. Everybody is confused. Or just— fused. …calculating…

In this episode, I'm thrilled to give you a behind-the-scenes look at one of television's most iconic moments. In 1975, a young producer named Lorne Michaels was about to debut a show that would become a cultural phenomenon: *Saturday Night Live.* The new film *Saturday Night* takes us back to that electrifying night when the first episode aired. Production Designer Jess Gonchor masterfully recreated the vibe of 30 Rockefeller Plaza in the 1970s with impeccable attention to detail. Jess designed a fully immersive 360-degree set, replicating the original stage layout and showcasing every element of the show's creation— from the makeup room and wardrobe to the control room and writers' offices. We dive into the challenges of building it all on one stage, the extensive research process, and how Jess brought this pivotal night to life on the big screen.  Are you passionate about TV and film production? Fascinated by the behind-the-scenes magic that brings your favorite shows and movies to life? Look no further than the Decorating Pages podcast! Join Emmy-winning set decorator Kim Wannop as she guides you through the world of visual storytelling in each episode. With exclusive interviews featuring top industry professionals—from production designers and set decorators to prop masters—you'll gain unparalleled insights and appreciation for the craft. Whether you're a film enthusiast, a design lover, or simply curious about the creative process, Decorating Pages podcast is your essential guide to the art of TV and film production. Don't miss out—subscribe today and embark on a captivating journey behind the scenes! #DecoratingPagesPodcast #TVProduction #FilmProduction #BehindTheScenes #VisualStorytelling #SetDecorator #ProductionDesigner #PropMaster #DesignEnthusiast #FilmBuff #PodcastLove #SubscribeNow Subscribe to Decorating Pages Podcast on Apple, Spotify, Pandora, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and iHeartRadio. Follow me: Instagram: @decoratingpages YouTube: Decorating Pages Podcast TikTok: @decoratingpagespodcast Reach out to Kim Wannop at kimwannop@decoratingpagespodcast.com and visit www.decoratingpagespodcast.com for more information.

Hello and welcome to an all new episode of Some Like It Scott! On this grand return episode after many weeks (months?) off, the two Scotts go inside 30 Rockefeller Plaza some 50 years ago, and get a (fictional) take on the lead up to the first taping of Saturday Night Love, as they review Jason Reitman's latest film, aptly titled, SATURDAY NIGHT. After discussing the ensemble cast, frenetic tone and pace, as well as whether the "real time" structure, the co-hosts turn their attention to Chris Nolan's recently announced next film, as well as Daniel Day-Lewis's un-retirement from acting. See time codes below:   4:45 - SATURDAY NIGHT review 54:20 - Christopher Nolan's next film 1:00:17 - Daniel Day-Lewis coming out of retirement   Next time: CONCLAVE (Theaters)   Patreon: www.patreon.com/MediaPlugPods

It is a privilege to welcome Saturday Night Network founder and host Jon Schneider to The Jake's Take with Jacob Elyachar Podcast.  In September 2020, Jon launched the Saturday Night Network (SNN), offering insight into NBC's long-running live show  Saturday Night Live (SNL).  SNN  has become a top-charting North American TV Review podcast network that features rotating roundtables starring critically acclaimed journalists from top media publications and superfans.  In addition to hosting, Jon Schneider recruits the panelists and manages the day-to-day administrative duties, marketing, and distribution of the podcasts. He also manages a team of interns who create social media content daily for their community. As a result, SNN has become the most followed SNL podcast on social media.   He also manages the logistics of booking guests and panelists for all their podcasts and making sure they are fully prepared with show notes before each recording. The Saturday Night Network charts weekly in the top 40 TV Review podcasts in the United States and Canada and is watched by thousands of SNL fans each week on YouTube and all podcast platforms.  SNN's content includes its Hot Takes, where they go LIVE right after the action wraps up at Studio 8H at 30 Rockefeller Plaza in New York. To commemorate SNL's fiftieth anniversary season, Jon teamed up with James Stephens on the historical mini-series Everything You NEED to Know About SNL, which breaks down the series season-by-season and reveals insights into the show's cast members, sketches, memorable characters, and backstage stories.  SNN also welcomed a plethora of guests with ties to the long-running NBC show. Current cast members Andrew Dismukes, Heidi Gardner, James Austin Johnson, and Mikey Day, along with previous cast members Bobby Moynihan, Chris Redd, Darrell Hammond, Denny Dillion, and Punkie Johnson, all visited the podcast's SNL Stories.  On this episode of The Jake's Take with Jacob Elyachar Podcast, Jon Schneider shared SNN's origin story, discussed their in-depth dives into several of the show's early seasons, and expressed his hopes for SNL 50.Let's connect on social media! Visit my channels on:A) Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JacobElyachar/B) Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jacobelyachar/C) Threads: https://www.threads.net/@jacobelyacharD) TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@therealjacobelyacE) YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@JacobElyacharBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/jake-s-take-with-jacob-elyachar--4112003/support.

This is the All Local Morning Update for Saturday, November 9, 2024

Imani Ellis is the founder and CEO of The Creative Collective and CultureCon. Imani studied communications in college and soon after began her career as an NBC Page at 30 Rockefeller Plaza in New York City. After just two months, she was plucked from the program for a job in communications at Bravo. She spent the next few years at NBCUniversal, rising through the ranks, but she craved a more authentic connection and collaboration. In 2016, she founded The Creative Collective from her living room. What started as a weekly gathering for Black and Brown creatives quickly outgrew her apartment, as Imani realized there was a real need for these spaces. In 2017, she created CultureCon, a conference that brought together Black and Brown voices to collaborate and celebrate each other. Over the next few years, she scaled CultureCon considerably by moving to larger venues; inviting guests such as Tracee Ellis Ross and Regina King; and working with brands like Target, Google, HBO, and Netflix. In 2022, she left NBCUniversal, where she'd risen to VP of communications, unscripted entertainment publicity, to pursue her projects full-time. This year's CultureCon, presented in partnership with Max, wrapped up just this past weekend.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch devious methods new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Ca

Be My Lover Lla da di [Redacted] I once was trapped within the prison of my own garden. Something inside me yelped for this faraway spirt guide to shut up—but I was all the more ready to fry up the remainder of my tempeh, and continue to wallow in my loveless grief , wondering what would become of this undone monster—the disaster that was my own impossible maze of creation, however with gratitude, that I was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen, with a table full of books, and soup to cook. Gratitude that I was alone, and for the most part, alive and well. Gratitude that I lived in one of the greatest cities on earth—maybe even the greatest— But I didn't know yet. I had never been to Tokyo; I would be missing the Olympics in Paris; Rome was still waiting at the other side of a giant puddle I was less fond of than its opposite; Amsterdam l was some fabled tale I had only dreamed of— And London begged to be brought to life in my own eyes, were I lucky enough to escape the arrested development of the burdens of my Brooklyn [redacted]. I might be getting to ‘famous' to tell people where I live. [Unfamous.] Lol is this the one with the guy going around knocking on doors To see if people recognize him? Yeah. lol. It's a comedy, right? Dark comedy. (A black comedy.) Nah, but you can't call it that, Cause they'll think it has something to do with colored people, and they won't watch it. That's literally the name of the genre. My point stands. {Enter The Multiverse} —you'd be suprised how much more blatently racist people get from behind a screen or studying demographics and viewer preferences. If you don't love me; You like me You watched me light my cigarette just the right way, And liked it, And that night, I died in your arms, Crying for myself—. Lying to my wife, As if next time, I might be better. We all deserve second chances. Good grief. Who is this guy? Some sad sap. Sad is right. Sap is more accurate. I stroke your hair With your head in my lap, As though you belong to me; I see the crease in your eyes as smiles And your lips as petals To a flower so sweet, I can't wait to eat you, Like honeysuckle on the tip If a hot wet tongue, Hungry for the berry it would become, But eager to know the sweetness of just the flower, Sure to bloom with the coming of seasons, Just as sure to rise as the moon would, Whether full or new; In a sky fyull of stars, All I see is you— In a body of scars, I am your demise, Your pride forever altered by divine truth, My light hides In darkness, Your will to the light, Like a moth to the flame, Which I honor And crumble over, As she towers over us, Seeking and ready to destroy All flame to dust; The ash is out The tray on the table I roll another To smoke, The guilt and shame of betrayal, Distrust, Unarmored, I mock my own judgement A movement, The box over a diamond A row full of nothing but Hawks, circling over. Do you not know? My favorite skit has a story; Sara without an H was a real person. Patrick was Fallon, Now Fallon is Patrick— I'm thouroughly confused; The Allegories Continue. Book II GODDAMMIT: See. I TOLD YOU. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH. it's on. ITS GONNA GET RAW. Ah shit. Here we go. At this point, I thoroughly need my shit kicked in. Do you ever feel like— Uh huh. You could just use a— —a knife in the back? Like, a swift kick to the face. Sometimes. Karate style neck chop. Sounds nice. Really swift, like— Knee to the groin? Like a good hook t o t h e j a w Yeah. I'm actually aroused. {Enter The Multiverse} How about that . V.O JOHN SLATTERY I had learned certain things about myselr, such as that lighting a candle and lounging to soak silently in the tub for any number of hours might allow my subconscious tone dictate on behalf of John Slattery, affectionately sometimes referred to as J.Slatts, besides the slew of characters I had once in some black hole managed to have write for him—the actor, or the part of my deep subconscious manifesting as such. I wasn't even in the slightest bit curious as to why, and attributed it mostly to my my affinity for traditional fraternal organizations, a deep understanding of the unspoken internal hierarchies of the entertainment business, and the occasional silver fox. This is getting good. J. SLATTS V.O. (CONT'D) Still, my familiarity with the occult had somehow shifted my own perception to that of apathetic acknowledgement that I was easily dismissable as unremarkable, however, still somewhat convient, isolated, and easily discardable— I could easily be disposed of, and my work passed on to someone more easily manageable—ie, without the will to be controlled, and therefore be bonded. Hypnotist bastards. Whatever your will, is my purpose. What are you? Whatever you want. What! Which one did you ask for? What kind of shit is this. The kind of shit you could only wish you even dreamed of. So you're like some kind of genie. Better than that. I'm going to spend my summer gnawing away at your insides. Aw, man. What the fuck did I write. My children are clawing at the door hoping for a peak of my newest invention. Mortal man. If only they knew with any sense at all beyond that, they could be so much more. Disastrous creatures. I was disastrous once, too. And I, mortal. The pursuit of actual suicide. Would I see my son again? Would the walls close in as I start to bleed? Would I whisper to myself a song, to induce the calm, As I wondered what had gone so wrong, For so long That I would become Gone She's a Hollywood grown superstar Born of obsessions, Now to let them all to lesson One becomes another A mirror for a mother; Hello Billie. Awards to walk on water— Eyes of oceans Worlds apart The Hollywood sign under this foot; Rockefeller Plaza, the other— Strings to pull the cups To kill the clause The want of Oz Beyond the contracts and the mantras, Something comes You want it? Blow up dolls and fountains, Ant farms and rock collections Still life, stillborn Still Joan of Ark In Central Park, Single file, Noah— There's no boat at all for all of us You wreak of cyanide. I'm so glad you know what that smells like. I'm flaccid. Is that a joke? Something tells me I've kept this hallmark card For far too long. Something tells me I would do much better As a blonde And ten years younger; Either that Or ten feet under Tempting, huh boss? Somebody ought to call the chupacabra I'm going all for broke inside this Honda; Why, mom, let it drag on like this? Worcestershire sauce, Gosh, Shucks— You're the worst, Corn. On the cob; then? Call the cops! Call Oprah. Call— Call Cosmo and Wanda. BILLIE EILLISH is that it Idk how to spell this kid's name, fuck it. Is dressed in an oversized denim overall suit; her hair pulled into exaggerated and teased oversized pigtails— Her eyes seem larger than usual under the thick magnified lenses of the oversized frames she wears on her heavily painted blushed face, almost with the appearance of a clown, but more likened to a scary porcelain doll; her teeth are covered in braces, and the long faux eyelash extensions affixed to her face sparkle with a silver that matches the rhinestones that match her mechanized mouth, overall conveying a thoroughly weird, over-sexualized life-sized cabbage patch cross porcelain doll—the stuff of nightmares, to any right minded adult, but assuredly someone's fantasy, as the song portrays the journey of a lost girl—a fallen God once praised amongst the— [The Festival Project ™] What the fuck are you trying to write Whatever the fuck I just saw Can you not {That's So Raven} so hard That's so Rave…(in) #SPACERAVE Cool. EliteZ. I would call it exquisite. Whatever she's an alien princess dressed as a blow up doll calling out into the cosmos for the space Gods to come blow up^/destroy the already nearly destroyed man-world trash planet we're all on. “We”? Did I not just say men destroyed the planet earth? Ahem. Wait. How many of us here live on the planet Earth. … By show of hands. … ..: … …3 of you. Is that it? Hello, sir. Have you been drinking? It's nice to see you— Who am I, you ask? The one you always call for. Hello? Can I get an answer? Are you barely breathing? Tell me something good ‘Who are you?' All I wanted. What a bargain Shopping carts all full of bottles Just to humble, of course He does it himself The shopping for the cubbards. Melt. Careful, All you are is words The tongue goes forwards, After all The rollercoaster plunges And the ark Of all the stories Forms to one conglomerate Atop the Oval Office Get off of my cloud, you dumb fuck. I can be arrogant For the establishment I can be all you want (The one you call for) So seductive Just the art Of burning tongues and calling numbers Call to all you want And I will come The one you call for Ah, yes. I do not need a dog. I'm procrastinating writing my album. There's no sugar in this house. I need a nap before the gym. This is not a poem. It's an entourage. …entourage. … Entourage. …Entorage. (In to rage) | | Entorage. | | Entorage | | Entorage. ||| (Born to rage) wtf is this.z Like, idk yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū

[DO NOT RESUSCITATE] Make a mockery of myself; wear smock to work I don't talk too much no more I just gossip somedays, Dark on mondays; The forgotten apostle With just enough rope To jump off and hope It all stops, soon The motocross and the terror stalkers Just across from the starbucks at the Rock –it got awkward But God Loves me Might start a talk show Some chef, with a pop tart A pop up club, a long night Some broke shards of glass, the yards of all the scars on stars and stripe Feels like a long night– Got coffee and tacos A long talk with your blonde wife To bypass the psycos Right, though? Bro, it's so over; I won a whole asshole and a four leaf clover In a game of poker Now, brush your shoulders off Brush your hair, Pet the dog, And kick the cat over and over Till he turns back to a robot “You're so gross.” –don't i know it. The whole world is over –you jump first, I'll follow Lets keep talking About the letters I penned To the false Gods, Painted them scarlett, of course Scattered em from here to Scarboro Fair, I was right there, then out of nowhere a new nightmare with nice hair Here we go again Lines out the door; We got lines out the door Out of Order The world is at war The whole world has run Out of water The four is the for Theres no five But the V for vendetta Theres lines out the door The whole world Is a mom And a daughter My jokes get better, The buildings look bigger I pretend this seltzer is alcohol Cause i want it To make me forget I've got all my– Huh There's a line out the door. What if– Me, And all of your friends And all of my Wait, I don't have any friends I'm getting a cat. I was just thinking about Mila Kunis. Oh yes, why's that? SETH MCFARLENE YEEEEE. YEEEEEEE. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. WHAT, GODDAMMIT GIGGITY! OKAY, ASSHOLE Eyes on eyes, and tears on tears All the years ive cried On ears on ears Why am I even here? It's been too long, since i've been touched I don't love love but i dislike lust I don't trust anyone I don't have a number I crawled up my arm, Danced with the blood drawn BLŪ wakes up famous. [The world swirls into a plume of dark blue sky; BLŪ awakens suddenly from the blackness of a deep sleep in the middle of a road, a group of people, friends, swirling around her.] YO. What? BLŪ. What's up. PARTY FOUL, BROH. … Billie Ellish? Billie Pirate Ellish. Uh. That's why the rum– Is gone. What. Guess i'm Jack Sparrow, now. Hey wait–are you even legal? Uh. I'm a mad fucking genius; are you legal? I don't know. Besides, this was your idea. What–what? Exactly. Get up. Wtf is going on in this scene. Idk i might a have to play the song again Fuck that. I'm about to slit myfucking wrists. HAVOC. Where are we going? You still got that NDA in your wallet? I–yeah. Then we're gucci. “Waking up Famous” I don't know exactly what happened. [Looking in the mirror, confused.] This is a nice leather jacket. I wonder if i'm still Vegan. Damn. I look mad rich. BLŪ hurry UP! [toilet flushes with foot] Alright, I'm coming. [Blu checks her pockets to find a wallet, the contents including numerous cards–metal ones, with copious amounts of cash, and pre-filled NDAs which have been folder neatly and stuffed into the corner pocket of the trifold wallet] Billabong. Classy. I'm never gonna finish that other project, am I? Whatever. Leave Fallon alone. I did. –it came back. Cut lil blonde Hot as Finneas O' Connell Possible homosexual, but god love him Cause I'm hungry Lookin for lunch Somebody as scrunches Pull up and crunches Cause my monster is Lookin to Humpty Dumpty Fuck, I forgot Rosie O'Donnal! I cant get no Satisfaction— The Rolling Stones What's wrong, Saint Jimmy? Lucius? What is it. Percius would like to see you. Oh. The Prince Lucius hasn't left his chamber in days—however, as his brother Percius has just returned from war, he quickly emerges from his resting place, an alter of sorts. Damn, I'm getting a headache. I almost never have headaches. It was true, and of course, as I started to write about this prince and his so said brother, Lucius and Perseus, I was reminded once more of Athens, where I had just been however briefly, in a short astral trip of sorts, wandering about in the dreamworld, looking for something or someone in place of my pillow to hold. Did you want to walk to Trader Joe's? I mean, kind of, but no. My muscles were sore and I had just spent some two hours in the gym, not on purpose but quite by accident, though only having run just under two miles, though at least uphill, and spending the rest of the time lifting—I had been bound to mostly beans and rice, and so however was bloated and gassy, quite slow and not as strong, my regular protein just out of reach… Dang. I have so much to fucking do today. I hadn't realized that somehow it was Saturday, although just a couple days before had been a Wednesday that felt like Sunday, and now again time was all out of sorts; it was a “holiday” weekend, and I was without a doubt, drowning in my own having-to-do's, and as such, weekends and days off were entirely not a thing, besides in ways that those bustled around me—and I was sure that some days had been lost, as I was planning to visit the food bank on Friday, but had somehow skipped over the end of the week entirely—somehow, that is, and I was sure sometimes that in skipping days, meditating and fasting about, however intermittently, that time itself shuffled in all the ways I had, between cross dimensions and parallels such as I—I had been hovering somewhere between the 6th and. 10th dimensions, for the most part, and none with having to understand the undoubted shifts in my own perception of time that were bound to happen, as I sprawled across the astral plains looking and searching for a sign that the tragic poverty, restlessness, and lack of peace wound end. Bound to your alter, my dear brother? Aye. So perhaps here there was another unfounded Kingdom within the realm of Ascencia—Lucius, a prince, and Percius—seemingly slated the King, and yet I had unreached such a conclusion as to assimilate an entirely factioned world, as of yet. What did you write last night? Uh…I don't know. Well, let's see Something had shaken me from my almost-sleep, laying sprawled across my bed, in the middle of the mattress, rather than to either side, which was rare; I typically preferred the left side of the mattress, anyway, but as I waited to launder my bedding, after a sweaty and sweltering almost summer day of lounging, smothered in shea butter and lackadaisically scrawling about what recordings had been buried in my phone, between the collection of books I had practically all found in the streets of New York and the rising temperatures of the tepid summer weather, my room was starting to smell funny—and without being able to burn sage anymore, for fear of being thrown back into the streets like a dog, I with every hope in the world figured that washing my thick bedding, comforter included, would restore the crisp and rigid, almost factory clean that I found satisfactory. Songs buzzed in and out of my head as if I hadn't enough already much to do—and still, I added into my growing pile of notes and mounds of work, even more songs—this time, The Rolling Stones. I can't get no Satisfaction… …but I try— —and I try— —and I try— And I try! I can't—get no—! God, I wish I could write something like that. The rock Gods had at the very least been accompanying me, and in a certain sense, so had the Gods of The Rock; I had been forced up out of my dormant state by a voice which urged me away from my near sleep—I had been up since six AM and it was something past midnight, and still the voice said— “Get up and write!” And though I had words tinkering around in my head like little coins in some sort of metal box, none of them quite made so much sense that I had to get up and write—however, still the voice, though not angry, but firm, insisted. The voice, for once, sounded female— a welcome change, and though I had become quite fond of males in general, in the solemnly celibate sense, it was a difference and yet none at all— a voice of wisdom had projected itself at me, and as I dragged myself about, reaching for a notebook and flipping through the pages, finding that the notebook was practically full… ‘great, more shit to do' I held the words that had tinkered around in my mind like little whispers until I found a page to make them full formed, and the words which fell into my hand as scriptured by the pen—my favorite writing utensil, nearly out of its cherishable gel ink, danced upon the page nearly on its own, channeling the words written as such: Once prosperous to throw The stone asunder Glisten whispers of water Tears of al tears |ter| Of the altar, For follow for fello, A felon of Antigone Grace, with shield A tattered tail, So flew with feathered Phoenix ? Feared, Foreshadowed not, Agreed upon however, Was the velvet woven path of us, So honored in her fortress . Yeah, something about Rockefeller Plaza. Well there were all these hooded figures in like weird, brown velvet robes— That's true, I saw that. Yeah, I was there, You WHAT? Look what I got. Fuck me, man. You know, there's a lot more to this story. I was hoping so, but however also, hoping not. Man, Jimmy Fallon's wife is super hot. Gee! Yeah man, she's so cute. W0W. I like her, They're Gods. I think they're Gods. yuh. What else did I write? There was something else? What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Somethin. Yeah. The pages of the notebook were all full, something of a book of shadows and protection spells I had used in an attempt to ward off my ex husband—how of course, that they were done with, I should very well have been jotting them into with all the notes, into the documents—later to burn them, unable to afford the parchment book I wanted. For what a withered way would call an honor for fortunes duty, Glorified wherein in as shadows, Cast upon reflections in redacted incantations and enchantments, foreword come, theone who waits Believing darkness be his fate Whatever, man. Fuck Jimmy Fallon. If you really feel that way! I feel a lot of ways. Well, don't. I'm so, so hungry… So, so lonely… So, so fuckin broke. Man—I learned all this dumb ass magic just to protect myself from this guy, and all this still happens! I think it's just Satan. [Satan Appears] Man— she is JACKED. Try this one. Follow me, boy! Uh— okay. I'm staying single forever. Don't look at me. That's my girl. Don't look at me. What the fuck. Stop looking at her: Don't look at me! Men are hopeless. Fuck dude, like, the worst thing imaginable is that this Jimmy Fallon dude actually hates me so much for this— What? Uh oh. And is so fucking powerful. He is. A very, very powerful— Well, what is it!? We don't— know. *gasps* He's a— SHHHHHH. [Redacted] Well, that's not doing much, is it? Seriously, just kill yourself again. Might have to! Fuck, why do all these robot demons SMELL like him? Satan? Yep. Satan ?! I'm— Seriously, save him. Seriously, God really loves Jimmy Fallon— (He's one of my favorites.) Favorite what's?! Just—favorites. Damn. This is getting to be like Greek Theatre. Great. Now everybody's gonna fucking die. It could be a comedy. Holy shit, yeah— This has mad good production value. I love it! Strange shit I just did give my OWSLA tat a kiss Smile for the camera, Pageantry of mattresses, A master of the MagicIan's chance at Chancellors dance, Look at Harrison trance Can I run a mile for President? A toy chest, A boy, just Obama I'm so much older Been through such trauma What the Willy wonka I should apply for Harvard New York over Boston So Columbia or Juliard I wish Son of a bitch, this is tragic I'm too old for scholarship Diploma's in another name I just got protective orders on I should start over But the world war is another Trump drama My Amazon cart is full of karma What you want from God? A trophy husband, Let's call him Oscar -undefeated. All this is weird I think imm married to the music Think of growing a beard Opening a beer And getting out of here All of my fears is Mommy dearest mommy dearest All of my hell is A body Imm a seed in a forest Been buried Bipolar, Supposedly, So tell me, Faery; How could I love you The way I I do If my mood Were restablized My blu life Gave me blue eyes Clean tub of water I don't belong here It's too late for me too Swapping Vogue for the People My people who hate me But I been so played, The hatred betrays me I walk both ways Down a one way street {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. [handle with care. ] lol this is so fucking obnoxious. i know. thats how you know i'm a DJ. hahaha shutup. HAHAHAHA [The Festival Project.™]

I've always said that if I'm the dumbest, poorest, and least experienced person in the room then it's the right room for me.Well…honey, in Gary Vaynerchuk's Growth Accelerator Program (Vyve), I was in the perfect room.From watching Gary's team and Chief of Staff facilitate the entire event to the hearing Gary's state of the union talking about marketing, the experience was nothing short of transformative.And please believe: I'm sharing it all with YOU.In this episode, you'll get a front row seat to my experiences, insights, and key takeaways from the Growth Accelerator Program.Click play to hear all of this and…(00:00:00) The transformative invitation I've received.(00:05:28) The question JD asked me that prepared me for this huge event.00:07:05) My insane (and slightly terrifying) experience at Rockefeller Plaza.(00:09:44) My #1 goal at lunch with the other members of the growth accelerator.(00:12:08) The questions I asked Gary Vee's team to help me attract high-level talent, vision cast, and shape future offers.(00:15:07) The emotional connections I felt when visiting Nasdaq (and the conversation I had with my dad about it).(00:22:04) The moment I'll NEVER forget with Gary Vee.(00:24:50) The questions I asked Gary's Chief of Staff.(00:28:05) 90% of what we focused on day two of the growth accelerator.(00:31:58) The importance of building a strong team and casting a vision as a founder and CEO.(00:34:39) What's next in the growth accelerator (meetups, dinners, and in-person events) with Gary.(00:37:27) The team dynamics at VaynerMedia and the importance of growth potential and replicating success.For full shownotes visit, https://jasminestar.com/podcast/episode455Are you ready to join a mastermind so you can finally get clarity on what you want AND see results? Join the waitlist >>HERE

SARA ELISE is a multidisciplinary creative, splitting her time between Brooklyn and The Catskills, New York. She works primarily in the hospitality, well-being, and food industries and is the co-founder and designer of Apogeo Guest House, a boutique hotel concept space in Nicaragua that centers QTPOC, as well as the founder of Harvest & Revel, a NY-based sustainable event catering + design company.She is the author of A Recipe for More, her debut book released with Harper Collins in May 2023.Sara Elise has been featured in Dazed, Autostraddle, Playboy, Interview Mag, Essence, Afropunk, mindbodygreen, Bon Appetit and Healthy-ish, Well + Good, Nylon, StyleLikeU, and them, among other publications. And was named one of BK Magazine's 50 Most Fascinating People in 2022.She has been invited to speak and host workshops at places like Brown University and Squarespace and has modeled for brands like Sephora, Mercedes Benz, Bombas, Instagram, MCM, AG Jeans, Madewell and more.As an autistic Black & Indigenous femme, she spends much of her thoughtspace contemplating pleasure + pain, collective joy + healing, otherness, embodiment, remembering + reclaiming, self-destruction, and growth— and how inextricably those concepts are linked. To that end, Sara Elise has deep interests in ritualization, BDSM, relationship dynamics, and the development of decolonized personal awareness and well-being.With all of her work, she aims to challenge our collective reality by first re­imagining and then creating alternative sys­tems and spaces for Black & Indigenous people of color and LGBTQIA2S+ people to thrive.You can join her community-making on Instagram, and find more of her writing at Send us a Text Message.Support the Show.Recorded at The Newsstand Studio at 1 Rockefeller Plaza in NYC. Special thanks to Joseph Hazan & Karen Song. Produced by Wanda Acosta• Find us: @cafetabacfilm on Instagram & Facebook • Email us: info@cafetabacfilm.com• Website: cafetabacfilm.com/podcast • LEAVE A REVIEW

Seth Meyers was a key player in creating some of the best seasons of Saturday Night Live. Now he's hosting Late Night in the very same building. In this classic episode from 2023, you'll hear how his two-person comedy show in Chicago randomly landed him in front of just the right person to get him an audition at SNL. Seth also opens up about the anxiety he felt competing with his extremely funny co-stars. And he explains some of the ways he has managed to lead Late Night to new heights. Links from the show:Seth in Northwestern's improv troupe in 1992Seth and his brother Josh on Late NightSeth at the 2011 White House Correspondent's DinnerSeth as David ZingerCompilation of Seth and StefonA Closer Look from Late NightSeth doing standupSeth's InstagramSeth's TwitterFor more conversations like this – with guests ranging from Tom Hanks to Bjork to Jason Sudeikis – go to https://www.thegreatcreators.com.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

We run down local eclipse events; ribbon cutting held for Rockefeller Plaza at Depot Museum; state broadband expansion efforts move along; McNabb named Academic All-Star; high school baseball and softball roundup; we talk with Kevin Van Pelt of the Conway County Extension Service.

Terez Mychelle is a thespian, entertainment executive and an accomplished administrator with more than thirty-five (35) years of experience working with Non-Profit Organizations, privately and publicly funded organizations, and LGBTQIA+ Global Foundations.Currently, Terez serves as Executive Director for Global Collective, a Global hybrid luxury branding, marketing, management, and talent agency. As a trained thespian, and entertainment executive Terez has produced shows in community theatre, off Broadway, concerts, and managed tours.Terez is a GLAAD Media Award winner, New York City Supportive Housing Trailblazer Award, Unity Fellowship Church L.I.F.E Award and Black Pride Trailblazer Award recipient respectively. She is a Brand Ambassador for the International LGBT Arts and Culture Music Festival.Terez is the owner/operator of True Lounge in Newark New Jersey and excited to join forces with the New Jersey Pride Chamber of Commerce. She resides in New Jersey with her wife, Monifa Carter and their fur baby, Brave.Support the showRecorded at The Newsstand Studio at 1 Rockefeller Plaza in NYC. Special thanks to Joseph Hazan & Karen Song. Produced by Wanda Acosta• Find us: @cafetabacfilm on Instagram & Facebook • Email us: info@cafetabacfilm.com• Website: cafetabacfilm.com/podcast • LEAVE A REVIEW

The All Local 4pm Update for Thursday, March 14 2024

Happy Valentine's Day! Pack your day bags because we're taking a trip down memory lane and headed to New York! This week we're breaking down Valentine's Day, and we are joined by the wonderful Andy Buckley (The Office, Veep, Avenue 5). Andy chats with Jenna and Angela about his time as a stock broker, how he got the part of David Wallace, and his surprise to become a recurring character. Then Jenna does a deep dive on Sbarro Pizza, Angela gives us some insider info on 30 Rockefeller Plaza, and the ladies ponder the best and worst Valentine's gifts. Finally, we couldn't end this episode without talking about the Faces of Scranton video and Michael running into Devon on the streets of New York. Check out Office Ladies Merch at Podswag: https://www.podswag.com/collections/office-ladies Office Ladies Website - Submit a fan question: https://officeladies.com/submitaquestionFollow Us on Instagram: OfficeLadiesPod

In May 2017, Uli Schackmann and her loyal canine companion, Jackson, took off on a six-thousand-mile solo bicycle trip from Alaska to Key West, Florida, to raise money and bring attention to the cause of HIV/AIDS. What began as a daring dream-come-true quickly became a physically and emotionally challenging adventure as Uli battled her own fears and the elements, surviving encounters with bears, rattlesnakes, cougars, and other wildlife. However, her most profound and life-changing encounters were with the people she met along the way—complete strangers who exhibited to Uli, a gay woman and a U.S. immigrant, both the best and the worst of humanity during a very divided time in America.Uli's Journey - Angels along the WayUli's websiteAMFARSupport the showRecorded at The Newsstand Studio at 1 Rockefeller Plaza in NYC. Special thanks to Joseph Hazan & Karen Song. Produced by Wanda Acosta• Find us: @cafetabacfilm on Instagram & Facebook • Email us: info@cafetabacfilm.com• Website: cafetabacfilm.com/podcast • LEAVE A REVIEW

We're excited to introduce you to Matthew Miller, Senior Director of Operations, Technology, and Business Development at Orlando Informer. In this episode, Matthew shares how to find the perfect mentor that aligns with your career goals and values. Matthew Miller's bio: Matthew started his career in the theme park industry in 2010, and over the past decade, he has helped design projects for both Disney and Universal. Matthew spent the majority of his time at Universal Parks & Resorts as a theme park technologist, working to develop attractions and guest experiences for the parks in Orlando, Hollywood, Beijing, and Osaka. While working around the globe, Matthew helped create iconic attractions such as Transformers: The Ride 3D, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and Super Nintendo World. Matthew's personal views and opinions on both theme parks and leadership have been shared as a featured guest on Spotify, Hubbard Radio Network, Amazon Music, and iHeartRadio. As an accomplished Keynote speaker, Matthew has spoken to crowds ranging from 10 to 10,000 audience members at locations such as the University of Florida, University of Central Florida, Orlando World Center Marriott, 30 Rockefeller Plaza, and Glad Tidings Assembly of God in Wewahitchka, FL. ____ Say hi! DM us on Instagram and let us know which bonus episodes you're excited for - we can't wait to hear from you!  Please also consider rating the show and leaving a review, as that helps us tremendously as we move forward in this Marketing Happy Hour journey and create more content for all of you. ⁠⁠Get the latest from MHH, straight to your inbox: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Join our email list!⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Connect with Matthew: LinkedIn | Instagram Check out Orlando Informer: orlandoinformer.com | Instagram Connect with Co-Host Erica: ⁠⁠⁠LinkedIn⁠⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠ Connect with Co-Host Cassie: ⁠⁠⁠LinkedIn⁠⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠ Follow MHH on Social: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ | ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠LinkedIn⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  New to Marketing Happy Hour (or just want more)? Download our Marketing Happy Hour Starter Kit --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/marketinghappyhour/support

Just a few more days until Christmas — ugh! Maybe Grinch will find another holiday hater in tonight's guest: Seth Meyers (9:20)! Seth usually hosts his talk show from 30 Rockefeller Plaza, which is basically the Mt. Crumpit of Manhattan. And that's not all he and Grinch have in common. Someone's heart may be at high risk of growing…Parents, you can email Grinch at thegrinch@wondery.com!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Did you know there's one company that always handles delivering the tree for Christmas at the Rockefeller Plaza in New York? Find out about the history of its logistics and the process of picking the tree in this week's episode. Follow the Tracks Through Time Podcast Other FreightWaves Shows Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Keith sits down with Ian Shelton to discuss Militarie Gun, the origin of the band, Ian and the band's creative process, their influences, some of the themes behind the music, signing with Loma Vista Recordings, their latest LP "Life Under the Gun" and their recent gig at Rockefeller Plaza in NYC. We also discuss the formation of Regional Justice Center, their 2021 LP "Crime and Punishment" on Closed Casket Activities, some of the band's history,  Ian's move to Los Angeles to pursue film making, the struggles of drumming and singing at the same time and more.  Guest co-host: Joe Grillo of Garrison. We discuss the upcoming Garrison shows, some band history and more.