Podcasts about Sunn

Servus zusammen, diesmal dreht sich alles um Sporternährung. Erstmals haben wir (Lukas und Oliver) gemeinsam einen Gast. Constantin Leinekugel, Mitgründer von SUNN.Nutrition sowie The North Face Athlete unterhält sich ausgiebig mit uns über deren ersten beiden Produkte. Wir Fragen wie es zur Gründung kam und vor allem, was die Vision hinter einer weiteren Sporternährungsmarke ist.Was sollen wir sagen: Wir sind von der Idee begeistert. Und wie Lukas und Oliver die Produkte selbst finden, erfahrt ihr neben vielen spannenden Insights ebenfalls in dieser Folge.VIEL SPASSGutscheincode für Deine erste Bestellung 10% Rabatt: verwende "Elevation10" PS: Wir sind nicht gesponort und haben unsere ersten Packungen selbst bezahlt!Wenn Du SUNN folgen möchtest, kannst Du das hier tun:Insta: @sunn.fulingartsInst (Consti): constantin_leinekugelWeb: www.sunnnutrition.de⁠Wir freuen uns unabhängig von dieser Spezialfolge jederzeit über Dein Feedback und über Deine Fragen. Also immer her damit. Vielen Dank undviel Spaß!Folgt uns auf Instagram @elevation_podcast.Und hier der Link zum Elevation-Addiction YouTube Kanal: https://youtube.com/@Elevation_AddictionLukas und Oliver

“FRED BITES” INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit. In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling. BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously. FRED (Grinning widely) Nah. Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space. BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon! FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie. The Winnebago swerves violently. BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG! FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way. He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances. BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here? BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the— The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time. BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH! CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing… OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry. Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust. WRITER #1 I hope you croak. WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly. Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish. CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't. CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed. FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï. SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags? Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door. FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise! SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny. FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—? Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity. FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers? He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing. FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN! Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back. Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine. SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?! BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro. BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool. Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before. FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET. L E G E N D S [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

“FRED BITES” INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit. In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling. BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously. FRED (Grinning widely) Nah. Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space. BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon! FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie. The Winnebago swerves violently. BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG! FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way. He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances. BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here? BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the— The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time. BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH! CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing… OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry. Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust. WRITER #1 I hope you croak. WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly. Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish. CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't. CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed. FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï. SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags? Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door. FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise! SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny. FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—? Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity. FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers? He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing. FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN! Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back. Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine. SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?! BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro. BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool. Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before. FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET. L E G E N D S [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

“FRED BITES” INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit. In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling. BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously. FRED (Grinning widely) Nah. Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space. BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon! FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie. The Winnebago swerves violently. BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG! FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way. He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances. BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here? BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the— The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time. BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH! CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing… OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently. OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry. Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust. WRITER #1 I hope you croak. WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly. Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish. CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't. CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed. FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï. SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags? Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door. FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise! SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny. FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—? Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity. FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers? He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing. FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN! Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back. Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine. SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?! BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro. BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool. Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before. FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET. L E G E N D S [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl

Melina har vært med venninna si på keisersnitt! Hun forteller om den fantastiske og spesielle opplevelsen. Hanna har kommet seg fra winter wonderland i nord og er klar for bypåske med familien. I denne episoden deler jentene tips til aktiviteter du kan gjøre sammen med barna i påsken og ikke minst sunne alternativer du kan putte i påskeegget. God lytt!See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

REDs - relativ energimangel i idretten, er utbredt blant mange unge idrettsutøvere.  Har du lest historiene på nrk.no i vinter om Iver (18) og Niels (14), som fikk konstatert beinskjørhet og måtte endre kostholdet sitt radikalt? I NIH-podden møter Hanne Hjelbak, mor til mellomdistanseløperen Iver, som forteller om hvordan de la om kostholdet i familien etter at Iver fikk beskjeden om at han var beinskjør etter mange tretthetsbrudd. Du får svar på hva som kjennetegner en utøver med REDs, hva du bør følge med på og hva slags konsekvenser det kan gi.  Svarene får du fra Christian Johnston, klinisk ernæringsfysiolog ved Idrettens helsesenter og Stine Østvold Aamodt, prosjektleder for Helhetlig helse på Wang og konsulent ved Olympiatoppen.  Trenger du faglige råd etter å ha hørt episoden?  Ta kontakt med Sunn idrett: post@sunnidrett.no Idrettens helsesenter Eller NIH på postmottak@nih.no  Programleder er Gjermund Erikstein-Midtbø. Redigerer er Eskil Byrkjeland.     

I denne episoden dykker vi ned i fordeler og ulemper med å ha en sterk treningsidentitet, og diskuterer hvordan oppfatningen av oss selv påvirker valg og livsstil. Pia og Silje deler seks konkrete tips som kan styrke egen treningsidentitet som er gull verdt inn i sporty og travelt hverdagsliv! Samtidig har Pia opplevd å besvime etter trenings-event, og Silje har kjent på treningsabstinenser og «mista rumpa». Hey hvor det går, god lytt! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Lytt inn til to episoder stappfulle av tull og tøys rundt menn, kvinner, relasjoner, følelser, sex, dynamikker, mannsarbeid, sårbarhet og andre overfladiske, lette tema.  Mammarollen, papparollen, lille gutten og jenta i relasjoner.  Anders Wilmann driver mannfolk.org og er engasjert i hvordan menn kan bli mer menneskelige.    Musikk av Lennart Hansen; Holy Hubris  https://open.spotify.com/artist/5gHzTp8pUzQH8ASPrlFzJv?si=9TJZ_-miTa61jwplSCKKeQ     Om Meg:  Jeg er Therese Fallentin, du kan lese mer om meg og tjenestene mine her;   https://www.empowermentdynamics.no/   og om podcasten her https://magefolelsen.com/hjem   Magefølelsen aka The Gut Feeling er også på Youtube @TheGutFeeling_Therese   https://youtu.be/ZVQmHSvX394?si=azV-UKxdvBsvRZxC   og på Instagram  https://www.instagram.com/magefoelelsen.podcast/     Lag deg selv en god dag.    Om Anders  Da jeg ble plassert i en workshop med menn på en Tantra festival for godt over en håndfull år siden, innså jeg at mine mellommenneskelige ferdigheter, spesielt med menn, ikke var så gode som jeg hadde trodd. Blant de andre deltakerne så jeg ikke brødre, men heller konkurrenter. På grunn av min avvisning av mine egne skyggesider, bar jeg mange dommer mot menn og generell maskulinitet, og brukte stigmatiserende merkelapper som «offermentalitet,» «kvinnebedårer,» «player,» «egoistisk nihilist,» «usikker mobber,» osv mot alle menn rundt meg. Og alt dette levde jo egentlig i meg selv og mitt syn på mine medbrødre ble selvfølgelig preget av disse fordømmende etikettene. Jeg selv, selvfølgelig, betraktet meg som «helgenen.» Denne erkjennelsen markerte begynnelsen på min reise inn i arbeidet med menn. Målet var å lege forholdet mitt til menn, maskulinitet, og ikke minst, til meg selv. Dette var veien mot mannsarbeidet. Selv om reisen ikke er fullført, har jeg kommet langt. Det er likevel dager hvor jeg føler meg som et spedbarn, dager hvor jeg knapt kan «gå» i det hele tatt. Likevel har jeg nådd et punkt hvor jeg tydelig ser at jeg har utviklet meg på mange områder. Les mer om Anders på hjemmesiden hans:   https://www.mannfolk.org/anders-wilmann 

Lytt inn til to episoder stappfulle av tull og tøys rundt menn, kvinner, relasjoner, følelser, sex, dynamikker, mannsarbeid, sårbarhet og andre overfladiske, lette tema.  Mammarollen, papparollen, lille gutten og jenta i relasjoner.  Anders Wilmann driver mannfolk.org og er engasjert i hvordan menn kan bli mer menneskelige.    Musikk av Lennart Hansen; Holy Hubris  https://open.spotify.com/artist/5gHzTp8pUzQH8ASPrlFzJv?si=9TJZ_-miTa61jwplSCKKeQ     Om Meg:  Jeg er Therese Fallentin, du kan lese mer om meg og tjenestene mine her;   https://www.empowermentdynamics.no/   og om podcasten her https://magefolelsen.com/hjem   Magefølelsen aka The Gut Feeling er også på Youtube @TheGutFeeling_Therese   https://youtu.be/ZVQmHSvX394?si=azV-UKxdvBsvRZxC   og på Instagram  https://www.instagram.com/magefoelelsen.podcast/     Lag deg selv en god dag.    Om Anders  Da jeg ble plassert i en workshop med menn på en Tantra festival for godt over en håndfull år siden, innså jeg at mine mellommenneskelige ferdigheter, spesielt med menn, ikke var så gode som jeg hadde trodd. Blant de andre deltakerne så jeg ikke brødre, men heller konkurrenter. På grunn av min avvisning av mine egne skyggesider, bar jeg mange dommer mot menn og generell maskulinitet, og brukte stigmatiserende merkelapper som «offermentalitet,» «kvinnebedårer,» «player,» «egoistisk nihilist,» «usikker mobber,» osv mot alle menn rundt meg. Og alt dette levde jo egentlig i meg selv og mitt syn på mine medbrødre ble selvfølgelig preget av disse fordømmende etikettene. Jeg selv, selvfølgelig, betraktet meg som «helgenen.» Denne erkjennelsen markerte begynnelsen på min reise inn i arbeidet med menn. Målet var å lege forholdet mitt til menn, maskulinitet, og ikke minst, til meg selv. Dette var veien mot mannsarbeidet. Selv om reisen ikke er fullført, har jeg kommet langt. Det er likevel dager hvor jeg føler meg som et spedbarn, dager hvor jeg knapt kan «gå» i det hele tatt. Likevel har jeg nådd et punkt hvor jeg tydelig ser at jeg har utviklet meg på mange områder. Les mer om Anders på hjemmesiden hans:   https://www.mannfolk.org/anders-wilmann 

Today on the show, we welcome Fany Gerson into the studio. Fany is the chef and owner of a diverse roster of New York City food businesses, including La Newyorkina, famous for ice cream and paletas, and Fan Fan Doughnuts, which was recently named a James Beard Award semifinalist. In this episode, we talk about her amazing career, her many cookbooks, and what it's like to run a restaurant in these tumultuous times. Fany is one of my favorite people in food, and I hope you enjoy our conversation.Also on the show we present to you a spring restaurant preview of sorts. Aliza and Matt go over a number of restaurants they want to visit. They are opening their Apple Notes "Restaurants" page for all to see, and land on some good ones, including Zimmi's, Golden HOF, Sunn's, Smithereens, Rasarumah, Cafe Kestrel, and many more.Do you enjoy This Is TASTE? Drop us a review on Apple, or star us on Spotify. We'd love to hear from you. READ MORE:Mexican Desserts and the Magical Can [TASTE]This Is TASTE 87: Fany GersonBuy: Paletas, My Sweet Mexico, Mexican Ice CreamSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hva skal egentlig til for å få til en varig livsstilsendring? Hvordan bygger du gode vaner som varer livet ut?Og hvordan kan du ta best vare på deg selv, så du får tilbake gløden?I denne episoden av Level Up har jeg med meg Rita Parvanova som har over 30 år i treningsbransjen! Hun deler sine beste tips om hva som faktisk fungerer når du vil skape et liv med mer energi, balanse og god helse

Greetings! What's New?  Most of today's program, that's what. In addition, we remember King Crimson percussionist Jamie Muir who recently passed and there's a bit of Sunn 0))) thrown in for good measure. Enjoy! Joel e-mail: pushingtheenvelopewhus@gmail.com Blue Sky: https://bsky.app/profile/envpusher1.bsky.social    2-22-25 PTE Playlist   Alien Fig Yogurt Incident /  origins #5 [pelso mix] - Geiger von Müller - Alien Fig Yogurt Incident (single, A & B sides) - digital release (2024) https://geigervon.bandcamp.com/album/alien-fig-yogurt-incident    Roxa (Purple) I / Terra da Garoa (Land of Drizzle) - Nick Storring - Mirante (Lookout) - We Are Busy Bodies - (March 2025) https://nickstorring.bandcamp.com/album/mirante    The Talking Drum / Larks Tongues in Aspic, Part II (Steven Wilson 2023 Stereo Mixes) - Larks Tongues in Aspic - Larks' Tongues In Aspic - The Complete Recording Sessions - DGM (2023) https://www.dgmlive.com/news/a-tribute-to-jamie-from-bill-bruford    Impression du dehors - Torche! - 8 NOTIONS OF RELAXATION - Circum-Disc (2025) https://circum-disc.bandcamp.com/album/8-notions-de-d-tente    J'espère être absoute (I hope to be absolved) /  Affalée sur le sol (Slumped on the ground) - composer: Nour Symon /words: Roxane Desjardins - je suis calme et enragé•e (I am calm and enraged) - Ambiances Magnétiques (March 2025) https://ambiances-magnetiques.bandcamp.com/album/je-suis-calme-et-enrag-e    White Out - John Oliver - John Oliver Live at Red Gate - John Oliver Music (2025) https://johnolivermusic.bandcamp.com/album/john-oliver-live-at-red-gate    Date Night - Jeff Myers - Goodnight - Neuma Records (2025) https://jeffmyers.bandcamp.com/album/goodnight-2    Alice - Sunn 0))) - Monoliths & Dimensions - Southern Lord (2009) https://sunn.bandcamp.com/album/monoliths-dimensions    4AM - David Walraff - Insomnia - cassette/digital self-release (2025) https://davidwallraf.bandcamp.com/album/insomnia    VII - IS-CAT - DRONE//AMBIENT - digital release (2024) https://is-cat.bandcamp.com/album/drone-ambient 

Vi har besøk av Berit Nordstrand, lege, spesialist i klinisk farmakologi, rusavhengighet og avhengighetsmedisin, kognitiv terapeut, og pioner innen tarmhelse. Med 25 års erfaring som kliniker og seksbarns mor deler Berit sin enorme kunnskap om tarmhelse og hvordan du kan få en sunn livsstil som gir overskudd. Hennes nyeste bok, "På lag med marmen", tar oss med på en reise gjennom de nyeste forskningsfunnene, samtidig som hun gir praktiske tips og triks for å få lørdagsfølelsen hele uken. Hvordan kan du ta smarte valg i hverdagen for å støtte tarmen og oppnå bedre helse? Vi snakker om: - Hva er GØT, og hvordan kan appen hjelpe deg å ta smarte valg? - Hva skiller "På lag med tarmen» fra Berits tidligere bøker? - De fire viktige pilarene for tarmhelsen. - Er det mulig å få lekktarm av å trene for mye? - Hvordan periodisk faste og spisevindu påvirker tarmen. - Hvorfor ketose er bra for tarmene. - Hva er autofagi og hvorfor er dyp søvn viktig for tarmhelsen?- Forskjellen på forskningsbasert og erfaringsbasert kunnskap. - Hvordan sosiale måltider kan støtte tarmhelsen. - Hva din avføring kan lære deg om tarmens tilstand. - Er du for opptatt av sterilitet i livet ditt, og kan det påvirke tarmen? - Hvordan mikrobiomet vårt kan påvirkes av trening, mat og livsstil. - Berits kjøkkenhacks, bruke hele dyret, bruke mer av grønnsakene, oppbevaring og tipsBerit deler også sine tanker om fettsyrer, fiber, rapsolje, og om noen av de ultraprosesserte matvarene kan være bra for oss. Små justeringer i hverdagen kan ha stor betydning for tarmhelsen og generelt velvære. Kos deg med episoden og lær hvordan du kan få bedre helse, mer overskudd, og en tarm som fungerer optimalt!Du finner Berit Nordstrand her:https://beritnordstrand.no/ Instagram: @beritnordstrand Boken "På lag med magen" finner du her: https://www.norli.no/boker/hobby-og-fritid/mat-og-drikke/kokeboker/pa-lag-med-magen-9788234722288?gad_source=1&gbraid=0AAAAADsxdPAzjB2RRNTD07eBJaarlrFX6Takk til våre samarbeidspartnere:Osloskinlab.no: rabattkode: bio60gave I marsSkinome.com: BIOHACKINGGIRLS20 i marsBiohacking Weekend: https://kongresspartner.no/no/biohacking-weekend-2025Her kan du forhåndsbestille Biohacking Girls Bok, BIOHACKING: https://www.ark.no/produkt/boker/hobbyboker-og-fritid/biohacking-9788205611474?gad_source=1&gbraid=0AAAAAD22RQFwcQnch8FmQY_G-fzUql4Ip

In this episode of Seeing Them Live, host Charles Berman interviews Giuliana Funkhauser, a transdisciplinary artist known for her innovative blend of digital code and synthesized audio to create immersive art installations. Giuliana, based on the U.S. East Coast, completed her graduate studies at the San Francisco Art Institute, concentrating on art and technology, with a particular interest in sound synthesis. Besides her artistic endeavors, she teaches courses on data sonification and video game development. Her collaborative projects include working with musical artist Elizabeth Verosa and visual artist Alison Tannenhaus, performing excerpts from their EP '2021' in events such as the 2022 New England Synthesizer Festival. Additionally, Verosa and Funkhauser's track is featured in the Rewoven Transmissions collection, a remix of Cathode Raytube's works.Giuliana's shares how she got introduced to music and her unique concert experiences, ranging from middle school outings to witnessing legendary bands like Everclear, Judas Priest, and Iggy Pop. She recounts attending the Radio 104 Fest and vividly describes how Everclear was not her favorite but ended up being the main act she saw due to time restrictions. A humorous and memorable moment emerges from a misunderstanding that led to her attending a performance by Mono of Japan instead of the expected European band Mono, a life-changing encounter that profoundly influenced her musical tastesGiuliana also narrates her experiences at the Halloween Industrial Music Fest during Hurricane Sandy, where she saw numerous notable acts like Author & Punisher and Theologian in an incredibly intense, weather-challenged environment. Her story culminates in recounting the remarkable Sunn O show, a visceral and intense performance where the sheer power of the sound and visuals led to a memorable audience connection.Throughout the discussion, Giuliana elaborates on her creative process, revealing how she and her collaborators use data sonification and visual cues to guide their live performances and improvisations. Listeners are invited to explore Giuliana's work further on her website  gfunkhouser.com and through various platforms like Bandcamp that feature her recordings.BANDS: Animals, Author and Punisher, Big Brave, Bohemia, Butthole Surfers, Candlebox, Cathode Ray Tube, Cracker, David Linton, Dead Voices on Air, Dear Woman, Dishwalla, Everclear, Flock of Seagulls, Freeze Pop, Go Go's, Harpy, Iggy pop, Inkanti, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, King Gizzard, Lady Purge, Local H, Lush, Mogwai, Mono, Otto von Schirach, Police, Semisonic, Snowbeasts, Stabbing Westward, Sunn, The Pretenders, Theologian, Tony the Floyd Dementia, Uriah HeepVENUES: Club X, Radio 104 Fest PATREON:https://www.patreon.com/SeeingThemLivePlease help us defer the cost of producing this podcast by making a donation on Patreon.WEBSITE:https://seeingthemlive.com/Visit the Seeing Them Live website for bonus materials including the show blog, resource links for concert buffs, photos, materials related to our episodes, and our Ticket Stub Museum.INSTAGRAM:https://www.instagram.com/seeingthemlive/FACEBOOK:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61550090670708

Vi hører stadig om pasienter som står uten nødvendige medisiner på grunn av høye priser eller mangel på tilgjengelige legemidler. Hva ligger bak disse problemene? Hvordan påvirker konkurransesituasjonen i legemiddelmarkedet dette? Vi utforsker saker om ulovlig samarbeid, misbruk av dominerende stilling og skadelige oppkjøp i legemiddelmarkedet.Programleder: Margrethe GudbrandsenEpisodens gjest: Magnus Friis ReitanProdusent: Lina Vinje Rasmussen. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Manu Huber est le sélectionneur et entraineur national des équipes de France de VTT Gravity.En trente années de carrière à la Fédération Française de Cyclisme, Manu Huber a vu défiler, détecté, accompagné et formé des centaines de pilotes dont beaucoup ont marqué l'histoire.Il a donc tout naturellement été au cœur de moments mythiques, que ce soit des grandes victoires,  ou de grandes déceptions qu'il partage avec passion.Mais Manu n'est pas uniquement un nostalgique du passé. Il est aussi et surtout tourné vers l'avenir, vers celui du sport dont il est passionné et vers celui des athlètes français qu'il accompagne vers le plus haut niveau.Un échange passionnant pendant lequel vous découvrirez:- Ses explications sur la domination des pilotes  Français, notamment en VTT de descente- Ses meilleures anecdotes glânées auprès des plus grands pilotes français.- Les clés qui font selon lui la différence entre un bon pilote et un champion- Comment il sélectionne et intègre les pilotes au sein équipe de France et comment il les accompagne vers le haut niveau- Quelques conseils aux parents qui veulent faire de leurs enfants des champions- Son avis sur les championnats du Monde de Snowbike- Son éclairage sur le programme en descente et enduro en 2025- Et bien plus encore.--Les chapitres de la vidéo00:00 Teaser01:16 Présentation de l'invité02:25 Présentation d'En Roue Libre03:05 Abonnez-vous!03:48 Pourquoi la France est si forte04:41 Comment ça a commencé07:58 Une section "Gravity" à la FFC25:33 Des pilotes qui l'ont marqué27:08 Mickaël Pascal, un pilote unique31:45 Est-on à une époque comparable à celle du team Sunn?36:26 L'influence des membres de l'équipe de France38:41 L'importance du partage avec les fans43:14 Concentration Vs mauvaise énergie46:46 Qu'est-ce qui constitue un champion en descente?51:43 Pourquoi les pilotes ne font pas plus de prépa mentale?57:16 L'équipe de France01:05:30 Les sélections01:12:37 La structuration du sport01:17:49 L'accès aux coupes du Monde01:21:28 L'avenir de l'Enduro01:25:23 le Snowbike01:30:50 Le Snowbike aux JO?01:35:29 la descente urbaine01:39:52 un prochain invité?01:50:31 Outro-En Roue Libre sur le web:Soutenez le travail d'En Roue Libre sur la plateforme Tipeee: tipeee.com/enrouelibreAbonnez-vous à la newsletter En Roue Libre ici: bit.ly/newsletterEnRoueLibreSuivez En Roue Libre sur Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/enrouelibrepodcast/Suivez-moi sur Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/in/taillo/Visitez le site enrouelibre.ccEt pour donner un coup de boost à vos projets dans le vélo et augmenter vos chances de succès, faites appel à LINE en réservant un appel avec moi directement sur agenceline.frHébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Bell2Bell's latest podcast features Dr. Richard Lu, President and CEO of SolarBank Corporation (NASDAQ: SUUN) (Cboe CA: SUNN), a premier developer and owner of renewable and clean energy projects specializing in distributed and community solar initiatives throughout Canada and the United States. During the interview, Lu discussed SolarBank's business model and value proposition for investors. “When you look at civilization over the years, originally, we depended on the sun to give us light for agriculture. Then, we relied on burning oil to break the darkness of the night. During industrialization, electricity allowed us to keep the lights on and now keeps us all connected. The driving force behind today's digital economy is electricity. SolarBank is a clean and renewable power supplier focused on delivering electricity from non-emitting sources. That has been the mission and vision of the company for over 12 years.” Lu also provided insight into the company's current pipeline and near-term goals. “We recently signed a $50 million USD contract with Qcells and are also building a 60 MWh battery storage project that we will own. As a vertically integrated company, we handle development, construction and ownership. Our pipeline includes solar, battery storage and EV charging projects totaling over 1 gigawatt of capacity across Canada and the U.S.” “This year, we plan to continue delivering to the Honeywell portfolio with additional projects while fulfilling the Qcells contract. We are also expanding our portfolio with major infrastructure projects. Last year, through a $45 million valued all-stock deal, we acquired solar assets developed by our team over the past decade, which are now contributing to our recurring revenue. We currently own about $180 million in assets. In terms of revenue, we generated approximately $60 million in fiscal 2024, and, as of January, we have secured major contracts supporting our continued growth.” Join IBN's Carmel Fisher and Dr. Richard Lu, President and CEO of SolarBank Corporation, as they discuss SolarBank's long-term goals and strategy for capitalizing on forecast growth, particularly in the data center industry. To hear the episode and subscribe for future podcasts, visit https://podcast.bell2bell.com.

Bell2Bell's latest podcast features Dr. Richard Lu, President and CEO of SolarBank Corporation (NASDAQ: SUUN) (Cboe CA: SUNN), a premier developer and owner of renewable and clean energy projects specializing in distributed and community solar initiatives throughout Canada and the United States. During the interview, Lu discussed SolarBank's business model and value proposition for investors. “When you look at civilization over the years, originally, we depended on the sun to give us light for agriculture. Then, we relied on burning oil to break the darkness of the night. During industrialization, electricity allowed us to keep the lights on and now keeps us all connected. The driving force behind today's digital economy is electricity. SolarBank is a clean and renewable power supplier focused on delivering electricity from non-emitting sources. That has been the mission and vision of the company for over 12 years.” Lu also provided insight into the company's current pipeline and near-term goals. “We recently signed a $50 million USD contract with Qcells and are also building a 60 MWh battery storage project that we will own. As a vertically integrated company, we handle development, construction and ownership. Our pipeline includes solar, battery storage and EV charging projects totaling over 1 gigawatt of capacity across Canada and the U.S.” “This year, we plan to continue delivering to the Honeywell portfolio with additional projects while fulfilling the Qcells contract. We are also expanding our portfolio with major infrastructure projects. Last year, through a $45 million valued all-stock deal, we acquired solar assets developed by our team over the past decade, which are now contributing to our recurring revenue. We currently own about $180 million in assets. In terms of revenue, we generated approximately $60 million in fiscal 2024, and, as of January, we have secured major contracts supporting our continued growth.” Join IBN's Carmel Fisher and Dr. Richard Lu, President and CEO of SolarBank Corporation, as they discuss SolarBank's long-term goals and strategy for capitalizing on forecast growth, particularly in the data center industry. To hear the episode and subscribe for future podcasts, visit https://podcast.bell2bell.com.

On this episode of Hardcore Surf History, we explore surfing in the time of the Hawaiian Renaissance of the late 60's and 70s. Lopez, BK, Bertleman, Buttons, Reno, Sunn, are just a few names that represented a new paradigm in surfing. The Hawaiians were no longer taking a backseat to their mainland brethren. They were leading the charge of performance surfing while Hawaiians of all walks of life were experiencing a rediscovery of their culture after decades of suppression from colonialists. These two things didn't just randomly coincide. The movement had a lasting impact and surfing would forever be changed. Plus, listen one Breuer Bro receives a historical pounding with another round of Stump my bro! All on this episode of Hardcore Surf History. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Målet er ikke lenger å bli tynn som en strek eller følge en diett som til slutt bare ikke er bærekraftig. Nå vil hun styrke helsen sin og leve lengst mulig for familien sin. Vi har med oss Guro Fostervold Tvedten - hun er journalist, tidligere podkaster (Guro og Guru), programleder i TV", sportskommentator, mamma til to treningsivrige tenåringer og gift med tidligere landslagsspiller i håndball, Håvard Tvedten. Hun er aktuell med et treningsunviers som passer for ALLE, fra utrente bakkekrypere til topptrente atleter. Guro har selv kjent på den apatiske inaktivitetskjelleren, vært sofasliter i altfor lang tid, er midt i overgangsalderen vil nå ta treningen inn i sitt liv. Guro er selv i førersetet og tar med seg andre inn i et nytt optimistisk treningsunivers, Målet er mer energi og overskudd. «Pinne for livet»- konseptet er inspirert av hennes økter i «Pinnebakken». Hennes ønske er at vi skal bli enda flinkere til å snakke om livet og alt det som kommer med, sånn at vi ikke føler oss så alene. "Det kan gå bra" er hennes motto! Dette er lavterskeltrening for alle, for deg i overgangsalder, for deg som er topptrent, for deg som trenger motivasjon, for deg som bør hvile fra mobilen..I denne nære og energiske samtalen med Guro samtaler vi om:Ikke tenke tynn, men sunnTrening for sofaslitere, fra nybegynnere til topptrenteAt hun vil inspirere folk til å bli stolt av seg selv igjen, ta plass i livet sittOvergangsalder og trening i denne tidenGuros plager i overgangsalder og hormonerNår hormonplaster er utsolgt på apoteket, og hvor dyrt det erHvordan motiverer seg til trening når man tror man ikke orkerHva bør man spise i overgangsalderenHvorfor vil vi spise frokost, uavhengig av om du vil trene morgen eller kveldDen treningsøkten du får til er den besteHvordan holde treningsmotivasjon oppe og invitere med familie eller vennerHva gjør at dopaminet treffer oss, hva skal tilHvorfor er vi så forskjellige, noen blir idrettsivrige mens andre ikke blir detHva er langvarig god helse, hva er man ute etterFølelsen etter en treningsøkt, velværet og gledenHvorfor det er viktig å ikke ha «TYNN» som et mål mht treningHvor viktig er hvile og restituereMobiltelefoner og gode livshacks med mobilstasjon for hele familienIkke tro at å scrolle på mobilen er å hente seg innSøvn blir bedre uten mobilen på soverommetHvordan bli med hos Guro og i hennes treningsuniversHvordan grunderlivet nå erDu finner Guro Fostervold Tvedten her:Insta: @gurotvedtenPinne for livet: https://gurotvedten.noTusen takk til våre samarbeidspartnere:CSOAPS: www.csoaps.com - rabattkode i februar: Biohacking20KOLLAGEN: Osloskinlab.no rabattkode i februar: Biohacking60+gaveHELSE KONGRESS BIOHACKING WEEKEND 2025: https://kongresspartner.no/no/biohacking-weekend-2025Redigert av Mic Drop Media

Max Commençal calls her the queen of queens of queens. And I guarantee that after listening to this episode, you'll understand why.Anne-Caroline Chausson is a 12-time Downhill Mountain Bike World Champion and an Olympic BMX racing Champion, winning gold at the 2008 Beijing Olympics.------Please pay a visit to our sponsor buycycle and save 30% off the seller's and buyers's fees with the code ENROUE30 on buycycleCheck:  bit.ly/enrouelibrebuycycle------A huge thanks to Max Commençal for supporting this very special episode

Fabien Barel a grandi dans la même rue que Nicolas Vouilloz à Peille, dans l'arrière Pays niçois. et certains disent qu'il y avait quelque chose dans l'eau du village.Pendant cet épisode, vous découvrirez qu'il y avait bien plus que ça.Fabien Barel est ancien pilote professionnel de VTT de descente, 4X champion du Monde et aujourd'hui consultant pour des marques dans l'industrie du vélo.Quand on regarde sa carrière et sa longévité dans le sport et l'industrie, on se demande d'où lui vient cette énergie.Car le parcours de Fabien a été jalonné d'obstacles, de victoires incroyables, de coups d'éclats, de blessures dont personne ne pensait qu'il allait pouvoir revenir.Et pourtant.C'était sans compter sur un mental d'acier qu'il s'est forgé au fil du temps au contact de grands champions et d'expériences qui l'ont challengé et qui lui ont permis de développer la hargne qui le caractérise, cette capacité à ne rien lâcher même face aux plus grandes épreuves.Cet état d'esprit, il le transmet aujourd'hui, au pilotes de son team mais également à d'autres qui ont du faire face à des épreuves proches de la sienne comme Yannis Pelé.Dans cet épisode, attendez vous à découvir:Quelles ont été les inspirations qui ont nourri sa passion pour le VTTUn autre regard sur l'intérieur du team Sunn de l'époqueSon aventure américaine chez GT aux côtés de Steve Peat et Eric CarterTous les détails de la préparation et de run victorieux aux mondiaux des Gets en 2004Comment il a remis le couvert l'année suivante à LivignoD'où lui vient sa passion pour la préparation mentaleComment il a accompagné Yannis Pelé dans son combat pour re-marcherSon rôle de manager chez CanyonQuelques belles leçons de vieEt bien plus encore---Cet épisode d'En Roue Libre vous est présenté par notre sponsor buycycle, la plateforme leader pour les vélos d'occasion reconditionnés.Chez buycycle, vous trouverez ce qui manque depuis longtemps aux passionnés de vélo: un moyen sûr et simple d'acheter et de vendre des vélos d'occasion reconditionnés, Et ce, dans plus de 30 pays. Vendez votre vélo actuel et choisissez le prochain parmi les 25000 références disponibles sur buycycle.com avec des vélos de route, gravel, mountain et triathlon disponibles sur buycycle.com, donc vous trouverez certainement le vélo qui vous correspondAvec le code ENROUELIBRE30, vous économisez 30% sur la protection du vendeur L'offre est valable pour une durée limitéeRendez-vous sur buycycle.com——

Did I forget Steve Allen? I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert. WHY! Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you! There's three of us. Where's number four?! {Enter The Multiverse} Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all. Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least. The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind. Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them. —Tales of a superstar DJ. LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio Lindsay, wake up. Mmfh. [Does not wake up. At all.] Lindsay. Mmf. Tequila. [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ] *very serious knocks on the door* Oh shit. [suddenly, more drunk again] –oh shit. *three more knocks* Where's the tequila? SUNNÏ Ah, shit. Is that your lawyer, or your manager? Shit, maybe both. SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR . –Might even be my agent, too. OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR. (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert} I CHIMED IN WITH A HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF [Sunni opens the door. No, it's “closing the door– not “open the door” “The Goddamn door.” Right, Goddamit. –where's the tequila. Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth. Eww–”morning aftery” Not like that. *addendum* [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very –Very Holy Shit , God. What. You rule. [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.] So fucking fancy. Was that lindsay lohan? Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen– –It's ‘Morgan” –She's just over there now. Not was How are you even friends. FLASHBACK ‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though… in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food, Then on the music. —Tales of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Did I forget Steve Allen? I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert. WHY! Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you! There's three of us. Where's number four?! {Enter The Multiverse} Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all. Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least. The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind. Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them. —Tales of a superstar DJ. LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio Lindsay, wake up. Mmfh. [Does not wake up. At all.] Lindsay. Mmf. Tequila. [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ] *very serious knocks on the door* Oh shit. [suddenly, more drunk again] –oh shit. *three more knocks* Where's the tequila? SUNNÏ Ah, shit. Is that your lawyer, or your manager? Shit, maybe both. SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR . –Might even be my agent, too. OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR. (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert} I CHIMED IN WITH A HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF [Sunni opens the door. No, it's “closing the door– not “open the door” “The Goddamn door.” Right, Goddamit. –where's the tequila. Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth. Eww–”morning aftery” Not like that. *addendum* [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very –Very Holy Shit , God. What. You rule. [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.] So fucking fancy. Was that lindsay lohan? Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen– –It's ‘Morgan” –She's just over there now. Not was How are you even friends. FLASHBACK ‘ j don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Fallon made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence?!” Seemed personal, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Did I forget Steve Allen? I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert. WHY! Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you! There's three of us. Where's number four?! {Enter The Multiverse} Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all. Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least. The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind. Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them. —Tales of a superstar DJ. LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio Lindsay, wake up. Mmfh. [Does not wake up. At all.] Lindsay. Mmf. Tequila. [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ] *very serious knocks on the door* Oh shit. [suddenly, more drunk again] –oh shit. *three more knocks* Where's the tequila? SUNNÏ Ah, shit. Is that your lawyer, or your manager? Shit, maybe both. SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR . –Might even be my agent, too. OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR. (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert} I CHIMED IN WITH A HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF [Sunni opens the door. No, it's “closing the door– not “open the door” “The Goddamn door.” Right, Goddamit. –where's the tequila. Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth. Eww–”morning aftery” Not like that. *addendum* [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very –Very Holy Shit , God. What. You rule. [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.] So fucking fancy. Was that lindsay lohan? Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen– –It's ‘Morgan” –She's just over there now. Not was How are you even friends. FLASHBACK ‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though… in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food, Then on the music. —Tales of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though… in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food, Then on the music. —Tales of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though… in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food, Then on the music. —Tales of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Max Commençal l'appelle la reine des reines des reines. Et je vous garantis qu'après avoir écouté cet épisode, vous saurez pourquoi.Anne-Caroline Chausson est 12 fois championne du Monde de VTT de descente et championne olympique de BMX au jeux de Pékin en 2008.Anne Caro est du genre calme et discrère, presque timide dans la vie de tous les jours. Mais quand elle enfile son casque, elle enclenche le mode guerrière, ou plus précisément, le mode Jedi.C'est d'ailleurs à l'image d'un Jedi qu'elle a rassemblé tout ce qu'elle avait appris durant sa carrière de descendeuse pour atteindre le grâal, le point d'aboutissement de tous ses efforts: devenir la première championne Olympique de BMX à Pékin, .Mais après une carrière aussi riche, Anne-Caro n'en a pour autant pas fini de se battre. Car son plus gros concurrent aujourd'hui, c'est la maladie, qu'elle affronte avec le même mindset que sur le vélo. Et si vous vous attendiez à entendre une femme extraordinaire et qui ne lâche rien, sachez que de ce point de vue là également, vous allez être servis.Pendant cet échange, j'ai eu le privilège d'entendre non seulement une immense championne qui a marqué son sport, mais aussi une femme dont le mental et la détermination à relever d'immenses défis dans le sport et la vie m'ont m'ont profondément marqué et inspiré la plus grande humilité.Dans cet épisode, attendez-vous à découvrir:Comment en venant du BMX et sans expérience, Anne-Caro s'est retouvée propulsée dans le plus gros team de VTT de l'époque: le légendaire team Sunn.Comment s'est fait le choix de passer du BMX au VTT et comment elle s'y est adaptée.Pourquoi est-ce qu'elle était crainte sur les coupes du Monde non seulement par ses concurrentes féminines mais aussi par les hommes Pourquoi elle ne s'est mise que très tard à la préparation mentale et pourquoi elle pense aujourd'hui qu'elle aurait du s'y mettre avant.Toutes les étapes de sa minutieuse et singulière préparation pour les JO de Pékin et quelques détails croustillants sur sa stratégie de course pour battre ses concurrentes.Le point sur son état de santé, son combat contre la maladie et la place du sport et du mental dans la réussite des traitements.Et bien plus encore.-Bonjour, je m'appelle Antoine Taillefer et vous êtes les bienvenus dans En Roue Libre.En Roue Libre, c'est l'émission qui nourrit votre passion du vélo.Dans En Roue Libre, je reçois des invités inspirants, des athlètes, des champions, des entrepreneurs et des ingénieurs d'hier et d'aujourd'hui pour un échange approfondi afin qu'ils nous partagent leur histoire, leur expertise, leurs conseils et fassent grandir votre passion du vélo.-En Roue Libre est produit par l'agence Line, l'agence conseil que je dirige.Avec Line, j'accompagne les entreprises qui souhaitent s'implanter ou se développer dans l'univers du vélo en leur apportant toute l'expertise et les ressources dont elles ont besoin pour la réussite de leur projet.Concrètement, je leur apporte un regard d'expert pour les aider à affiner leur stratégie, définir leur positionnement, concevoir leur produits et créer leurs contenus.Pour plus d'information à propos de Line, rendez-vous sur agenceline.fr

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.

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.

I ukas episode får du servert konkrete tips til hvordan du kan ta vare på helsa i jula, samtidig som du får maks utbytte av all julekosen. Her får du tips til sunn julemat samt andre hacks som kan sikre at du får en jul med godfølelse og overskudd. Men husk, jula er NÅ, og det er mye god helse i å kose seg! GOD JUL!

[As his girlfriend begins giving him a sensual and passionate fellacio, the man senses something isn't right.] …baby. Mm-hmm? Um… —whafths wrng? Uh—nothing it's just— —wht— —that—just— Uh huh? What did you do earlier? Before this? Yeah. I hada massage— —before that— —before that? Yeah. Hot ones. WHAT? Yeah—what?! I had a hot ones interview! THATS WHY MY DICK IS ON FIRE?! YOUR DICK IS FIRE— —nah, wait— your dick is on fire?! WHAT THE FUCK! YO. Oh. That makes sense. WHAT THE FUCK! [he begins furiously rinsing his crotch with cool water] Did you not think to brush your teeth!?! I did brush my teeth! With toothpaste!? AND FLOSS. Oh, really. AND mouthwash! I don't believe you! Believe me! They gave me a whole gift basket after the interview—that's where I got the coupon for the massage! FLASHBACK: Sean Evan's gifts [Sunnï Blū] a gift basket full of hot ones essentials; DA BathBOMB, hot sauce body oils, first we feast (then we brush) toothpaste, all scoville scale inspired goods and products; LATER: Sean Evan's is taking a jacuzzi bath in a tub full of steamy red boiling hot sauce, when (the man) enters furiously and red faced, aiming for Sean Evans' neck; he stands up calmly and wraps himself in a towel, which looks like bacon. Ah. I've been expecting you. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Dans cet extrait, Max Commençal raconte le team Sunn, Anne-Caroline Chausson et Nicolas Vouilloz.Pour retrouver l'épisode complet, tapez "#55 - Max Commençal - Comment il a changé le Monde du VTT, et bien plus encore"----

Dans cet extrait, Max Commençal raconte comment il a créé SunnPour retrouver l'épisode complet, tapez "#55 - Max Commençal - Comment il a changé le Monde du VTT, et bien plus encore"----

Max Commençal est le fondateur de la marque Sunn et de Commençal Bicycles.En créant Sunn, Max a eu un impact majeur dans le BMX, mais a surtout transformé et façonné le VTT en un sport cool grâce aux pilotes BMX qu'il a ramené sur les courses à l'époque ou la pratique naissante ressemblait plus au cyclo cross qu'à autre chose.Des pilotes, il en a croisé, formé et accompagné.Et certains d'entre eux à l'image d'Anne-Caroline Chausson, Cédric Gracia ou Nicolas Vouilloz pour ne citer qu'eux ont marqué l'histoire grâce aux conditions exceptionnelles que Max a crée avec le légendaire team Sunn.Après son éviction de Sunn et la création de Commençal en 1999, Max Commençal s'est toujours attaché à distiller dans tout ce qu'il a fait la signature unique d'un visionnaire dont l'influence dépasse les seuls vélos qui portent son nom.Et si on en croit les résultats des pilotes qui les utilisent comme Myriam Nicole, Amaury Pierron, Benoit Coulanges ou Alex Rudeau, récemment couronné champion du Monde d'Enduro, on peut dire que c'est une recette qui marche.Dans cet épisode, attendez vous à découvrir:Comment Max est arrivé dans le monde du vélo par la petite porteComment il a eu l'idée de la marque Sunn et comment il en a fait l'une des marques les plus emblématiques de l'histoire du VTT.Pourquoi il est autant fasciné par la compétiton et pourquoi passe ses week-ends auprès des pilotes qui roulent avec ses vélos.Les raisons pour lesquelles vous n'êtes pas prêts de voir du carbone chez CommençalLes raisons, les conséquences et les challenges du passage à la vente en direct pour CommençalComment Max est revenu à ses premiers amours en équipant Sylvain André, récemment médaillé d'argent au JO de Paris en BMX Race.Ses prédictions pour le futur du VTTAEEt pleins d'autres choses…—Avec Upway, l'expert du vélo à assistance électrique reconditionné, vous choisissez en ligne votre vélo idéal dans la plus large sélection de VTTAE parmi plus de 200 marques populaires de vélos de ville aux VTT en passant par les vélos cargo ou pliants).Avec le code ENROUELIBRE vous économisez 150€ sur l'achat de votre prochain vélo sur www.upway.fr/ENROUELIBRE pour toute commande supérieure à 500€-------

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

'koi.' Collection II - 'antithesis.' Track 03. - 'koi.' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū. They said I must never go black— Or I may not come back— And so I decided, upon that day, that I must go black, whilst also being able to still “go back” and so— I became— …”Jack Black” So what was your name before, then? …that's not important. [The IMPENETRABLE TEN] Tina Fey - the boss of things and people's Yeah, but what's her power? That is her power I'm not doing this show! You are doing this show. Amy Peohler or however you spell it Gazunrite. You're—welcome? What's her power? Fear of NOTHING. (And I mean absolutely nothing. ) At all. Ever. Maya Rudolph - is actually an ancient psyc mystic who crafts potions, casts spells, enchants objects, and crafts vehicles capable of entering interdimensional hyperspace, Ratchel Dratch - power over cats — as many as all the cats in the world at once, sometimes, even. Kristen Wiig- bewilderment - bedazzling Kristen Shaal mindfuckery/ mindbowing Melissa Mccarthy - general shapeshifting and miscellaneous. Miscellaneous? The Cosmic Avenger Damn. That dude lost his whole name. He lost everything. What's his power. Shut up. (Whatever.) So what are the rest of their names, then? What, they want names? I just figured out their powers! (Besides shape shifting and scaring the everlivingshit out of people—) AIGH! *toots* (Sometimes literally.) Are we really sinking low enough to do fart jokes? Are we really squatting low enough to actually— *toots* {Enter The Multiverse} Yes. “The Toot Fairy” What! Which one is that! (I'll let you figure it out.) MS. CELLANEOUS. MISS CILANEOUS? MIS— That's— MELISSA MCCARTHY OBVIOUSLY, it's me—right? It's me? It's— whatever. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S CUT TO: Oh, I get it— They're Taylor swifting me! Taylor swifting is the act of making threatning or frightening gestures to a future celebrity in order to make them jump, react or flinch. [Taylor Swift] As you can see, this has worked miraculously well. [shit blows up] People screaming, panicking— Trampling, stampeding TAYLOR SWIFT -_- {Enter The Multiverse} SETH MCFARLENE Only ever pretty much says *giggity* And— Yee. —and nobody is sure that its even him the whole time, or just like— [another alien shapeshifter] Giggity. Yee. His entire character arch is literally almost having no other lines, to his frustration, as he tries to communicate his wants and needs, but cannot. (throwing his arms up in frustration) YEE. *big mad* GIGGITY. CUT TO: WHERE ARE MY PANTS? YONCÉ, WHERE'S THAT COFEE? I'M COMING, JESUS– JESUS Watch it. Amen. If you drop that watermelon, i'll kill you. Oh NO! Ok. Ok. [pause] Now, run. DON'T DROP THE SOAP. WHAT *SOAP* W000000AHHH. THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL. THIS IS OUT OF– GOD I got this. GOD, YOU'RE DRUNK You know, this one was almost right– You got your dopplegangers? UH huh. Alright. Come on. Hm. Wait. Just make sure s/he– Is it a “she” Whatever, come on. Just make sure she sees you. Look. I just got. A lot on my mind right now, I can't write this. GOF I got this. Wtf is going on HERE. VO. Hmm let me guess YOUNG JACK BLACK [Insert here] Close enough. I got this. Something, something– lalala OK, GET ME OUT OF THIS MOVIE GET ME OUT OF THIS PARTY. I WANT TO GO HOME. GOD, GO HOME, YOU'RE DRUNK. THIS IS MY HOUSE. That's right. It's your HOUSE: GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS. SO go HOME. GOD YOu know what. You're right. I don't need this. FInally. God, she's so wasted. Where's my Keys? OKay, now i'm understanding DRIVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Jesus, this thing just goes on and Look at this point , ALICIA KEYS I'm on it. GOD is writing this, i'm just– An actor, I guess. TV-MA Drama When the— [The Festival Project ™ ] Nvm? I guess!? RITA is the first AI designed specifically with asset protection in mind— RITA, protect my assets. LATER: RITA (robotic voice, but gangster) Yo, Peter. RITA [robotic AI voice] This mother fucker right here actually tried to play me for a fool. Please elaborate, RITA RITA Divulging plot for political assasination and asset liquidation… In the heights Complications Man, it's just crazy how they assimilated you with reverence What exactly does that even mean? Let's find out You know what? You're right. Reverend. Major Tom. Sire! You must come quickly. Must I? You must *must DIE!* For what? No time for an explanation, the page is turning SN-TRASHFREE-4XR4-ZV6W-4ZR4-VYA9 It ain't easy being supa me So I switch it to sunni b So sweet, I'm a honey be Money don't mean a thing If I ain't got no love in it I been craving some Mickey d's But I'm vegan, so luckily My energy is tripling Three threes, I bet your listening I'm livin in the Kingdom of Heaven yes I'm blessed, kids; That was just a test, kids -ū It's true, this: I didn't want to do this: I'm sick of this Sunnï Blū shit If orange is the new black And hello yellow Like pikachu, I choose too Pull it like a loose tooth, Loose change, two strange truths To shoot thru Pull up in AK I might shoot ū LA one day, Uptown A Confused YouTube Today to JFK Poof, dude! I'm the toothe fairy You should bury me—like seeds I grow trees and I Speak in tongues, (just like cree, RIP, though) You can't scare me, I don't care And I'm too aware of you Tie you to a chair And I'm preparing you for Cake, bitch Happy Birthday, I'm famous, baby just don't— Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave! Maybe I spoke too soon I opened your notebook, so consumer Prove me wrong but I could be much blonder And I could have two sons And one less drunk Ex-husband (That's funny, don't.) Shh. Don't bring it up again Cause it's beginning to ruffle feathers My expressions of these deep regressions No regrets though, I begets flow, 10 doors open every time One closes, So Portal— I got my foot in all of em I'm walking awkward, Cause my cock is swinging To the theme of Johnny Cochran This is not as seen on TV but amen Just promise, if you gon leave We gone stay friends, Like Jennifer Aniston Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave! Curiosity has just killed two cats But the truth is, I just wanted the algorithm to see me Confused as to Who switched with him This isn't him, I'll admit: the one that's meant for me Or was, at least, Again, adjust my misery and memories With sympathies for something haunting me In dreams an frequencies Please, believe me I needed you And might still need Somebody Everybody's nothing but just a body or a hobby Not a husband, or a daughter, Or a son: All I lost was Over Okay, stop it What you've got to know is: Every time this lady sings this song, Something amazing happens– What is so great about this– I don't get it. But like, Behind her. Every time. Does not disappoint What do you want from me? Ooh, it's bad . What don't I want from you? [BILLIE ELLISH'S Grammies begin singing in a harmony, forming a great symphony. She doubles back, pausing for a moment—then shrugging it off, before a grand gesture I'm on my hands and knees Just seeing dreams Whatare you saving it for What are you saving it for Grocery store horror show Slow motion drum roll What are you saving it for What are you saving it for I'd rather a friend than a father figure Video games and department show shopping Discretion and internet interests, Never more than the start in Athens The triad, the triggers You promised! Though not as important Of the promise you once made No more arguments, man It's like all of a sudden, She loves me again But it doesn't take back all the things she said All the things she did All the things I did For the things she did All the things she said For the things she did The things she said The things she said Plant a seed, let it grow Let it breathe, don't you know Take it easy, the day off Don't say a word, Don't move a muscle Easy, easy on the eyes Easy, easier on the years Shivers on the mark of the beast Cause it's been 6 years at least Since he— Don't do it: Time moves different here, In the 9th dimension Light a candle, spread some ashes on some Simple synchronicities Remember me When you forget yourself To be remembered remember the family Fame, defiling, misfortune The torture The fortune My name up in lights on the awning I'm under In some google drive A long drive out from Boston Bassoon in my onyx My name in the Name in the Cherubs on the tusks Cheeriot on top I polished off a box of cereal On some rooftop Just earlier, Thanks for the reminder. Imm burned as the beats on the countertop Burned, like the end of the gun Could have forgotten your number Could have figured the father for Dollars I've got in the [The Festival Project ™] The pleasure sensors Changing with the wind —I have a lot to do today Staring at the plague Became the fit To get the fitness in her Seven sacred songs she's writing Kept beneath her pillow Like a gunfight But who moved faster!? She wished and then became another Never narrow eyes Or birds of feather Playing games and praying Saving for yourself Only the best part Remember then The games we played At heavens gates From light, Eternal Death (The plague, the plague) Fastened in your monster, Facinating embers in your memory You thought you'd burned But are awakened once again Playing in your memory For time, the shadow Waiting under blue light In your room (The plague, the plague) Move over Four hours in the light, and 20 in the shadows; A good man always does Bad things, With a family. Staying balanced, 20 icons becoming unmantled 20 eyes, and only one soul One, God But it runs the whole world, Don't it! I want a dozen donuts, And one more problem 20 Hours in the Dark, For four hours or so, We're rolling. I meditated a home in Zion In Athens, in Rome, once The only problem was, It was pro- Pompei part one. (I'm gonna go off.) Don't you get it, Ms. That depositing your money In my spank bank Is paying you a compliment? Don't you know that I love you? We have the same taste in men! Don't you know that I love God, And she wouldn't steer me wrong about That one object, I've been Dying my eyes on And plucking my blondes Doing wall squats I love all mantras Old classic cars, —flavored sparking water I love jackets And purses And politics Irons And orgasms I love what I love And a curse is a curse— For a robot But I woke up with blood in my boner And mugs full of coffee I'm on God (Keep slamming the door, you'll get older.) I'm growing backwards like Benjamin button That's Benjamin Franklin And frankly Thomas Edison died —whose that check complimenting? I want a divorce And a shovel Police report promises Amazon out of my arteries Objects and all of the Things that I want That God promised For watching Tonight Show (the one starring Carson) I picked Jack Paar. That wasn't an option. Well, that's my choice. Fine, but you're not winning any arguments with that one. What arguments. Nobody knows who that guy is. I can name them in order The dojo was open this morning The Dodji was functional; All Aliocha For all of my Honest to God, I want water and salt At the same time Where'd you go when you died? Looking for you! That— !! I was there the whole time. INT. NEW YORK. DAY Bad decisions were indeed about to be made. The time is currently frozen. Speaking of frozen… let it GO. I don't know. I've been fascinated with the talking heads lately…I think that might be one of them. No, this is more like scary monsters —and super creeps. Hm. I'll have to admit— This is getting quite interesting; Oh, hello. First, there was the ghost of Johnny Carson. How do you do? How do you do? That guy is wild af. Or was. Now there's this Jack Paar Guy, who I'm sure is somehow…. Oh, the magic of television! Is it possible that The Devil could be using this man as a disguise to hant me with temptation, and bend my mind? It is possible that Jimmy Fallon is the devil himself, yes. I doubt that. I frankly don't, in fact. I'd yet at all discovered what his true placement within the hierarchy were; an obvious workhorse, and successful operative— this man was indeed being used by someone or something— but the only question left standing was— WHO? Don't you touch that man. He's fragile. There, there. I've become quite belligerent lately and my intentions are no longer as certain even to myself as they once were before— but definitely not to anyone else. Is there anyone else? I thought you should know, they've found your letter. Which letter, exactly? Aha, alright— That's enough, now. Heathens. Whatever. Stay out of my way. Stay out of my face. I'll try not to pose as a camera. What the fuck are you doing? I'm taking a nap. How could you sleep like this?! I'm not sleeping like that. I'm sleeping like this. whatever. Didn't I tell you before to lay off of it? I did lay off of it. It kept laying back on. And? And?! What do you want? I've got mind controlled robot drones circling my block, one to the left of my apartment and one to my right. I might be the only free thinking person in this neighborhood for miles. And you've chosen with all of your free thoughts to think about Jimmy Fallon? I've chosen not to talk about the recurring thoughts that I can't talk about—- And chosen to focus on the multiple dramas interwoven into the project which may- or-may- not involve a handful of like-minded and equally skilled monologuists and top not performers as such Oh, nevermind—- I figured out what he was, after all. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S No, that was the other one. It's gonna be really hard for me to sit here and not slap the shit out of you. I can't feel, anyway. (Shrugs) all for the best. Strawberry cornbread. That does sound good. Whatever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū

What are you doing? Nothing you wouldn't. Hm. [a pause.] —It smells of blood. Hm. Keen sense of smell—and familiarity with uncommon scents. A bird flew into my window this morning. BIRD hey! *smashes against window* …it wasn't open. Damn! How does that happen?! GOD Did you see that, though? Yeah, God—okay, you win. I'm up, I'm up. GOD You okay, Jack? I'm fine, I'm okay. Try being a better bird. I'm—the best bird I can be. I meant— a bigger bird. Much smarter. It's not my fault; I thought that the fourth wall was already broken. It was; your mistake however lies in the simple fact that that wasn't the fourth wall, it was a window. My mistake. Try a Seagul. Wouldn't it be amazing if peacocks could fly. CUT TO: [PEACOCKS can fly.] OH DEAR GOD. CUT BACK TO: No, it would not. Kesha — tik tok Ohhhhh, that was Kesha. Yes. I get it now. No, no you really don't. Should I be afraid of whatever's about to happen? I think you should be more concerned about the things that shouldn't, and are. Oh…Kay… Every kiss begins with —kill the bitch. Holy shit! Another one! Don't worry about it. The DJs (It would be the DJs doing this) It would have to be! Have developed a bird-cannon. (Actually, it's just a t-shirt cannon from the music festival.) Which music festival? Idk, you pick MAGIC MIKES MUSIC MAYHEM {Sponsored by Mike's Hard Lemonade} Sure. I like that one. It—yeah. Whatever. Isn't it just technically— INT. THE INFINITE RAVE. —wait, are you naked right now? … I'm always naked. GROSS. Barf. If you want. I'm not changing. The three DJ's with the bird cannon have successfully tricked— Who is it Idk —The DJ inside into rescuing the three birds catapulted at the window; this results in the DJs then shapeshifting into the three birds in order to infiltrate the DJ's kitchen, which has been reportedly used as a multidimensional portal. We soon discover (or have already discovered, keeping on the series progression or multidimensional arc,) that the entire building itself can be transported throughout time and space, which the DJ, [who has been revealed as an immortal mystic space God] often moves through realms and throughout time and space in order to bend and manipulate reality—destined to find a hospitable destination, where likely the planet's inhabitants have reversed earth's untimely demise and preserved humanity, and ideally, where the world is living in peace and harmony with itself and one another. Lol the building moves. It doesn't exist! It kind of exists! It has to! Yeah— kind of. Psh! I'm so hot That I put Pancakes on my Mancakes. Psssst. (Sizzle) I put pancakes on my mancakes (Flip em) I put pancakes on my pancakes. (Sweet and hot like a McGriddle) I put pancakes on my mancakes. For rizzle. SUNNI BLŪ has become so visibly veluptuous that people are beginning to talk about it— a lot. I told you, stop squatting! I can't! All the tour bus gots is barbells! Can't you just go running like a NORMAL person? Go run where?! My face is on everything! CUT TO. FLASHBACK- before: FANS Omg is that him. *girls screaming* *cattle stampeding* *pandemonium* CUT BACK TO: —and that was at my house! Sunni— —in Iowa! s—you bought I house in Iowa? Hence the cattle. Duh. God. I thought it would be quiet there! SUNNI BLU counters this speculation with a new single which references having glutes so intensely hot that one is able to cook pancakes atop them, in which the music video showcases Sunni's bottom being used as a pancake griddle and features rap legend SNOOP DOGG— MANCAKES ft. SNOOP DOGG Models and dancers surround SUNNI rapping and take turns making pancakes on the veluptuous butt—ie—“mancakes.” Dressed in scantily clad chefs outfits/ sexy aprons and barbecue outfits// a barbecue pool party scene in which the booty is used as a pancake grill while the models and dancers drink mimosas at a backyard brunch. The song wins numerous accolades including song of the year, and skyrockets sunni BLU even further into fame—luckily, this distracts the public from further speculation, however— a small group of other celebrities become suspicious after unanimously deciding that the “jiggle factor” of the butt is explicitly female, and launch a secret csmpaign to expose Sunnï Blū as a transgender—thinking that this will upset the rap and hip hop community, and resulting in Sunnï Blu's removal from the top of the pyramid crowned as the entertainment kingpin. The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Medieval Muslim legal theorists devised increasingly complex categorisations of linguistic clarity and ambiguity. This paper traces the emergence of key terms including muḥkam, mutashābih, mujmal, and ẓāhir, which eventually crystalised in a four-fold Shāfiʿī classification and an eight-fold Ḥanafī one. Both these systems treated clarity and ambiguity not as features of the words and sentences of scripture, but as interpretive claims about the hermeneutical relationship between a text and a proposed interpretation of it. Both the Shāfiʿī and Ḥanafī systems served the same purpose, which was not to pin down meanings but to give the jurists as much interpretive power and flexibility as they reasonably could within the bounds of ordinary linguistic usage. Those legal theorists who resisted this combination of power and flexibility, including Ẓāhirīs and Akhbārīs, could not prevail against the flexible mainstream paradigm that took hold among Sunnīs and Imāmīs alike, and that still tacitly undergirds most legal discourse today. Today modern reformers and traditionalists alike exploit the vocabulary of clarity and ambiguity to support their interpretations. One highly original reformulation of these concepts comes from the Egyptian thinker Hassan Hanafi, who compounds the flexibility of the classical hermeneutic by retaining the flexible mainstream legal theorists' analysis of ambiguity, albeit transposed into the language of twentieth-century European phenomenology, and then adding two more layers of ambiguity or subjectivity through his theory of how language relates to phenomenal reality and human action. This aspect of Hanafi's hermeneutic has been much appreciated in some quarters, but all by itself interpretive flexibility is not the panacea some reformers take it to be, for flexibility cuts both ways: it can be used to justify reform or to uphold the status quo, and if anything is more readily amenable to the latter. As Hanafi himself illustrates, those who seek to justify the most radical reinterpretations cannot pin their hermeneutical hopes on the ambiguity of language, but are compelled to reconsider the whole theory of language and meaning on which classical legal theory rested.

The intricate relationships among the various sources of Islamic legal reasoning have long constituted some of the most vigorously discussed and contentious subjects. These include the relationships between: The Qurʾān and Sunna; text (naṣṣ) and reason (ʿaql); consensus (ijmaʿ) and the Qurʾān and Sunna; the internal dynamics within the religious texts themselves; the connections between analogical reasoning (qiyās) and textual evidence (al-adilla al-lafẓiyya), and others. Notably, the question of how conjectural Sunna (al-sunna al-ẓanniyya) like solitary narrations (pl. al-akhbār al-āḥād) relate to and potentially qualify (taqyīd) or specify (takhṣīṣ) the Qurʾān has been a pivotal topic extensively debated throughout the history of Islamic legal theory. Carrying profound implications on whether or not such solitary narrations possess the epistemic authority to specify and/or qualify the general indication of the Qurʾān or not. This paper aims to trace the historical evolution of the theory permitting ‘specifying of the Qurʾān through solitary reports' (takhṣīṣ al-Qurʾān bil-khabr al-wāḥid) , analysing perspectives from both Sunnī and Shīʿī traditions. Among Sunnī scholars, the issue sparked numerous debates and stark scholarly divisions. In contrast, the Imāmī Shīʿī majority endorsed such qualification/specification, albeit with certain significant exceptions from early scholars. I will review the major critiques levelled against this specification theory and the responses from its proponents, as well as examine both the methodological and epistemological grounds underlying its construction within Sunnī and Shīʿī legal theories. Additionally, I will address the crucial issue of delineating the relationship between qualifying or specifying the Qurʾān through solitary reports, and the theory of abrogation (naskh) of the Qurʾān through such narrations, along with the consequent implications. Building upon this analysis, I will evaluate and critique the fundamental premises of the specification theory and uncover the extent to which the specification or qualification of the Qurʾān by solitary narrations is present in the practise of ijtihād. This will be done by examining whether the Qurʾān actually contains any general indications (ʿumūmāt), such that a jurist is able to qualify or specify the general indication of the Qurʾān by a solitary report. This entails analysing the legal (sharʿī) nature of the Qurʾānic texts regarding their amenability to generalisation. Ultimately, conclusions will be drawn regarding the extent to which rejecting the theory of specifying or qualifying the Qurʾān through solitary narrations impacts the overall corpus of Islamic legal theory and the juristic edicts (pl. fatāwa) in contemporary times.

HALLE BERRY is that how you spell it It is for now. Fuck going online “That ain't part of my day” Shut up Drake, not now. You'll thank me later “If You're Reading This, It's Too Late” [HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award-- Which one's her favorite? CUT TO: BEFORE HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.] —I like this guy. The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process. Come on! This guy! AGAIN!? UGH. CUT BACK TO: [HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ] WHAT THE—COME ON I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE. (I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode Or without cell service at all) wtf my phone is ringing. That's weird. You don't even— —I don't even have a phone. Right. (Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.) The fuck. [it's JIMMY FALLON] Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever. Like fucking ever. Always shows up at the worst —THE WORST MOMENT. [HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again] WHAT THE— [She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until— [JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.] (Calmly, kind of) Hey, WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I called first! I KNOW THAT— Went to voicemail. YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE. Just—calm down. NO. Look. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically. —yeah, but your FACE is in my house— —I hear that's the best part. —What?! Listen— Get out— No, look, listen— I need to borrow your Oscar. What?! For what?! That's not important. Oh really?! Yeah. It seems important. It's not that important Just—- What! Give it to me! [He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.] Just—trade me. What! What for?! Just—trust me— I do not— Just trust me—! WHAT! Congratulations. As you were. Kind of. WHAT—JIMMY— [She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing] —he was my favorite… [SUDDENLY, though the other window Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate? For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside. Fans are weird. CUT TO: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I LOVE YOU. CUT TO: What's this place. It's my house, Where are the windows? They don't exist. CUT BACK TO [DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.] YO. WHAT THE FUCK! Chill, Halle Berry. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'm the guy who wrote this. You should have called first! Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?! NO. I LIKE HIS face. Huh. Is that what it is… I GUESS I DONT KNOW. —who are YOU—?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE— I am not in, technically— I DONT CARE! Ooh— Is that a Grammy award?! I didn't know you had a Grammy! Gimmie! [he snatches the Grammy] HEY! Is—what is this, for COMEDY?! FOR COMEDY?! WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?! I DONT KNOW, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK. It's not important. What. Anyway, thanks. Toodeloo. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Freebreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenetire intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that i wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more of putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with Fallon—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep inside me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viwingbspace, an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my masked. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and bryknnd: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mistress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the car would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in in struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packaged and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. https://linktr.ee/codenameblu {Now You See Me} From Google: Charismatic magician Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) leads a team of talented illusionists called the Four Horsemen. Atlas and his comrades mesmerize audiences with a pair of amazing magic shows that drain the bank accounts of the corrupt and funnel the money to audience members. A federal agent (Mark Ruffalo) and an Interpol detective (Mélanie Laurent) intend to rein in the Horsemen before their next caper, and they turn to Thaddeus (Morgan Freeman), a famous debunker, for help. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} 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 sacafagus 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 conciousness, 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 wenwere 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 worshipped 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 everpresent 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 bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious 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 i

[EXTRAIT] Olivier Bossard raconte les coulisses de sa collaboration avec Max Commençal chez Sunn et de comment ils ont révolutionné le monde du VTT.Pour retrouver l'épisode complet, tapez "#47 - Olivier Bossard - Le Boss de la suspenson a-t-il vraiment fini de bousculer le monde du VTT?"------Olivier Bossard est le fondateur de Bos suspensionLorsqu'il a créé sa première fourche à suspension à 23 ans, Olivier n'imaginait surement pas qu'elle allait marquer le début d'une d'une ère d'innovations et de victoires.Mais c'était sans compter sur la rencontre avec Max Commençal qui a fait des étincelles, changé sa vie et contribué à transformer durablement le monde du VTT avec des innovations qui restent encore d'actualité aujourd'hui.De 1994 à 1999, le duo a pratiquement tout gagné avec des pilotes comme François Gachet, Nicolas Vouilloz, Anne-Caroline Chausson et Cédric Gracia et a contribué à faire du team Sunn un époque mythique dont les passionnés se rappellent avec émotion.Mais vous allez voir qu'Olivier est loin de vivre dans le passé et que son présent est bien fourni et que l'avenir peut encore réserver quelques surprises.Dans cet épisode, attendez-vous à: Découvrir pourquoi Olivier Bossard s'est lancé dans la suspension de VTTComment s'est fait la rencontre avec Max CommençalL'origine des premiers vélos de descente Sunn et les débuts pas évidents en compétitionLes technologies utilisées à l'époque et qui sont encore au goût du jour et celles qui pourraient voir le jour demainL'avis d'Olivier sur le marché du vélo et de la suspensionLa vraie raison derrière l'absence de Bos sur le marché du VTT et Qu'est ce qui pourrait le faire revenirEt bien plus encore----Où suivre Olivier: https://www.bos-suspension.com/L'article "History of Victory de Matt Wragg: https://www.pinkbike.com/news/Bos-Suspension-A-History-of-Victory.html-----

Olivier Bossard est le fondateur de Bos suspensionLorsqu'il a créé sa première fourche à suspension à 23 ans, Olivier n'imaginait surement pas qu'elle allait marquer le début d'une d'une ère d'innovations et de victoires.Mais c'était sans compter sur la rencontre avec Max Commençal qui a fait des étincelles, changé sa vie et contribué à transformer durablement le monde du VTT avec des innovations qui restent encore d'actualité aujourd'hui.De 1994 à 1999, le duo a pratiquement tout gagné avec des pilotes comme François Gachet, Nicolas Vouilloz, Anne-Caroline Chausson et Cédric Gracia et a contribué à faire du team Sunn un époque mythique dont les passionnés se rappellent avec émotion.Mais vous allez voir qu'Olivier est loin de vivre dans le passé et que son présent est bien fourni et que l'avenir peut encore réserver quelques surprises.Dans cet épisode, attendez-vous à: Découvrir pourquoi Olivier Bossard s'est lancé dans la suspension de VTTComment s'est fait la rencontre avec Max CommençalL'origine des premiers vélos de descente Sunn et les débuts pas évidents en compétitionLes technologies utilisées à l'époque et qui sont encore au goût du jour et celles qui pourraient voir le jour demainL'avis d'Olivier sur le marché du vélo et de la suspensionLa vraie raison derrière l'absence de Bos sur le marché du VTT et Qu'est ce qui pourrait le faire revenirEt bien plus encore----Où suivre Olivier: https://www.bos-suspension.com/-----

En este episodio muy especial de Songmess damos inicio a una nueva mini serie enfocada hacia Sinaloa! En Octubre 2023 viajamos al norte mexicano, dónde visitamos las ciudades de Mazatlán, Culiacán y Los Mochis para empaparnos de la música que suena en la capital de la banda sinaloense. En ese viaje encontramos punk, folk, corridos y música electrónica, y este primer episodio nos pone en conversación con la banda de psych y garage-punk, Holy Sunn! Conformada por Pablo Montoya e Israel Beltrán, Holy Sunn llevan unos 10 años como puntas de lanza del under y DIY en Culiacán, lanzando una serie de EPs que transitan el ruido y desenfreno y gestionando festivales, merch y hasta su propio foro. Nuestra conversación abarca los inicios y trayectoria de la banda, la más reciente edición del Holypalooza, su productora Casa del Sol, y cómo el pank sigue adelante en la marea ranchera. Playlist: Holy Sunn, Canela, Gratis y Trampa Para Hadas. Holy Sunn Bandcamp: https://holysunn.bandcamp.com/ Holy Sunn Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/7pAWtcnfmFvVLLAe7cQWcs?si=h3PgZ0wbQ022YwVB_6BdBQ Holy Sunn YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@holysunn2306 Holy Sunn Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/holysunnband/ Holy Sunn Twitter / X: https://twitter.com/HOLYSUNNBAND Holy Sunn Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/HolySunnBand Casa del Sol Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/casadelsol.wav/ Songmess Instagram: www.instagram.com/songmess/?hl=es-la Songmess Facebook: www.facebook.com/songmess/?ref=settings Songmess Twitter / X: twitter.com/songmess Songmess Merch: via DM #BOPS Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sdavi01h3AA5531D4fhGB?si=3bd4ecd9cf0e4054 Subscribe to Songmess on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, Google Play or SoundCloud, find us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, and contact us at songmessmusic@gmail.com

We're among the million social media followers who love his videos about linguistics & culture. In this conversation, we get to know the educator, linguist, artist, and Harvard professor.  This episode is sponsored by Zakat Foundation and BetterHelp. To get 10% off your first month of therapy, visit www.betterhelp.com/travelers  Hear episodes early and ad-free, plus get access to exclusive music, videos, speeches, and bonus content by Brother Ali: https://www.brotherali.com/join   Buy Travelers Podcast merchandise: https://www.brotheralistore.com/collections/travelers-podcast

Transformer talk, spaghetti carbonara, goat horn jazz, and more transformer talk...it's the 126th episode of the Truth About Vintage Amps! Want to be a part of our show? Submit your question or voice memo to podcast@fretboardjournal.com. Some of the topics discussed this week: :48 Skip types out a tube chart 3:16 This week's sponsors: Emerald City Guitars, Amplified Parts, Stringjoy Strings, and Grez Guitars; the art of bargaining at a guitar show; the Bay Area Vintage Guitar Show; Premier and Alamo amps 7:43 A Marshall Major PA-200 head at Emerald City (link) 11:48 What's on Skip's bench: an RCA PA head; Bill Krinard's return to the podcast? 15:08 RIP Earl Yarrow & Shep the dog 18:26 Junior Bonner 21:40 More Earl Yarrow 23:50 Brandy and soda 24:30 What to use in my Princeton Reverb clone: A Soursound 12-watt transformer or a Hammond 14-watt? 28:01 What to do with one single can of El Pato; avant-garde guitarist Havard Skaset; Los Pericos Quadradas chips (link); Norwegian goat horn player Karl Seglem's "Mytevegar" (Bandcamp) 33:23 Help my humming Vintage 47 Mini 37:52 What to do with a 1964 Magnatone 401, one-to-three input transformer, how to not get shocked 42:43 Should we be burning-in our amps after repairs? 46:21 Converting a Bogen MO30 to a Fender Pro circuit 51:44 Recording a tube amp at low volume by pulling the phase inverter 53:21 1952/1953 Fender Tweed Deluxes with low gain instrument jacks, input impedance 55:44 Armadillo Amp Works cabinets 56:20 Is this serviced 1970 Fender Bassman head still a Fender Bassman? gifting a tweed Bassman to your nephew 1:01:25 Thanks for the TAVA show notes; what's the deal with my one-knob, early 1960s Gibson Skylark GA-5? 1:06:50 What output transformer to use on my Trainwreck clone? Dynaco transformers 1:09:03 Heritage Auctions' typewriter sale (link) 1:10:49 Spaghetti carbonara; gutting a Peavey VTX Heritage 130 to build a bass amp with an ultra-linear transformer; Sunn amps 1:14:40 The magic of Soundmasters; Sacramento ska band Filibuster; how a family of amps can basically have the same pre-amp circuitry; 807s vs. 6L6s or EL34s 1:24:43 Thoughts on the 2024 Vintage Guitar Price Guide 1:27:57 What could cause DC voltage to build up on the grid of a power tube aside from leaky coupling caps 1:35:10 Shoutout to the Fender greats: Richard Smith, Bruce Zinky, Lynn Wheelwright, Terry Foster; a circuit baffler of sorts!  1:37:47 Spaghetti carbonara & Los Pericos Quadradas redux Love the show? We have a Patreon where you can support it and get exclusive bonus content and surprises:  https://www.patreon.com/vintageamps