Podcasts about too heavy

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

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

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

01.06.25 Saul's Armor is Too Heavy by Maretul Har UK

Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes is a research psychologist, focusing on ethnic minority families, African American adolescent development and health disparities, professor of practical theology and pastoral counseling at Columbia Theological Seminary, author of Too Heavy a Yoke, I Bring the Voices of My People and Sacred Self-Care. Dr. Chanequa is a 2-time breast cancer survivor who empowers women through her life stories, research, writing, healing journey, lifestyle of harmony and sacred self-care.

Most commonly the challenge is gaining lean muscle. Doing all the things but can't seem to gain muscle? Then tune in and go through this like a check list of 12 strength training mistakes in menopause that could be the reason. It just takes one. But if there are multiple, it's compounded and in this case, not interest but penalty! Join us at Metabolism Makeover 2.0 to support your journey avoiding the 12 strength training mistakes in menopause. Overworking Small Muscle Groups [00:02:20] You need fewer of these small muscle group-focused exercises in your routine if you prioritize the major muscles like chest (pectoralis) and back (trapezius and Latissimus Dorsi). If the secondary (biceps and triceps) muscles are going to get a workout most of the time, these will rob you of time and energy that is better spent on major muscles if you aren't getting in the adequate volume there. Skipping the Warmup [00:06:40] Nearly a decade ago, I began sharing the fact that if you skip the warmup, you also miss an opportunity to increase total energy expenditure during a workout. It's not only about injury prevention. There's an increased blood circulation, improved energy expenditure, mobility and you can work closer to your capacity. If fitness and longevity are truly goals, “exercising” is not the same as working at your capacity and safely, sanely raising the roof on your fitness level so that age doesn't automatically result in slowing down or gaining weight. Not Resting Between Sets Long Enough Before [00:13:10] Rapidly moving from one exercise to the next, was yesterday. The “metabolic conditioning workouts” are a nice anomaly, a change in pace. Rest between sets of strength training. Reach complete muscle fatigue or within 2 reps of it. If you do HIIT, separate the sessions so you get the best benefit from it and from strength. If you are not getting stronger, not increasing muscle, and these are your goals (in order, perhaps to improve body fat % ultimately), it's a “how” you're doing it problem. Plan Your Routine to Avoid 12 Strength Training Mistakes in Menopause No Organized Plan [00:17:30] You either default to using what's available at the gym or doing the same exercises in the same sequence every time. If you're not careful you won't change the stimulus (by changing the sequence and sets/rep combination) and may also not be getting enough sets per muscle group in each week. It doesn't mean that all sets for a muscle group must be all the same exercise. A super set of 6 different exercises for the triceps works. The next workout you may just do 3 and you're still covered… if you planned it that way. Not Sleeping Enough or Not Changing the Workout When You Don't Sleep [00:20:50] The sleep you get will determine the benefit you get from exercise. If you don't prioritize, your workouts will suffer too. You're also at risk for injury, not only because your body isn't fully doing the repair job or releasing testosterone and growth hormone in deep cycles of sleep as it should, but because coordination suffers. Treating Soreness or Worn Out an Indication of “Good Workout” [00:22:40] When you work muscles, it's normal to feel sore, even if you're extremely fit. Some muscles like quads and glutes are used to a lot of activity and tend to get sore less often. But there are two genes associated with soreness and you may either be predisposed to be sore or not. It's not a good indication of whether you worked hard enough. If you reached muscle fatigue or came close, you gave the muscle enough stimulus. The first sign of poor recovery was soreness after workouts, the second was reduced performance during workouts. 12 Strength Training Mistakes in Menopause to Avoid and Nurture Your Body Dependence on Supplements and Negating Balanced Whole Food Meals. [00:27:00] If you're all too willing to jump to EAAs, or BCAAs but won't eat regular meals that result in satiety, chances are your lack of micro and macronutrients will catch up with you. “Food first”, then allow supplements to take you the rest of the way. I don't like to “count” calories on a regular basis but a snapshot is very helpful for checking in. Often for knowing when you're eating too little. Taking Too Much Advice (or Too Little From Too Many People) [00:30:20] It often takes even gurus a while to come around. You have to love Vonda Wright and Mary Haver sharing their own menopause journeys. We need more women like them. They're open about not knowing what they didn't know about menopause, as physicians and women. You have at your fingertips access to women who learned the hard way, so you don't have to. Just don't jump in the middle. You need an onramp. Ignoring Nutrition Needs. [00:32:30] The talk is “calorie deficit.” Yet, 80% of women in our community under-eat for their mere existence (resting metabolic rate) and then try to put their foot on the accelerator for exercise causing a bigger caloric deficit. Then they stay there for years, under-fed and under-fueled (processed food, diet food), the metabolism will come to a halt, along, potentially with adrenal and thyroid function. Figure your calorie needs. Use an app to track your actual intake for 3-5 days. 12 Strength Training Mistakes in Menopause That Hinder Your Progress Thinking Small, Skinny, or Numbers That Don't Matter Instead of That Do [00:36:20] Your size and your weight on the scale do not tell the story of your fitness and health. Though they might hint at your likelihood of sarcopenia and osteoporosis, fall and fracture risk. When women focus on weight or size they sacrifice muscle. When they lose muscle, they lose strength, longevity and independence. A woman who has her ideal weight or size is constantly thinking about it and a step away from a fall or fracture. A fracture that results in bedrest, weakness and loss of more muscle. The beginning of the end. Those falls are not devastating just because of the breaks, but because of brain bleeds or other internal damage. Too Heavy to Start [00:38:20] The first 6-8 weeks, and up to 12, of a resistance training program, the benefits are due to the neural connection. That isn't rushed by going heavy. But loads too great for your ligaments, tendons and joints or muscles can cause weakness, undue soreness, and a weak foundation leading to injury. We, in the fitness industry, need to be more careful. We have sometimes lost our way in regard to where to START, and how and at what pace to PROGRESS. You Add Something But Don't Remove Something Else [00:40:30] I've experienced this temptation myself. When I started training for triathlons at 40, I was compelled to figure out how to run even while I was adding biking or swimming to my schedule. I soon realized I was sabotaging the quality of every workout and just putting those “junk miles.” A woman will lose muscle because of the added stress, inability to recover. That's an extreme example, but if you're adding and never subtracting/replacing, you're probably going to experience similar results. References for the 12 Strength Training Mistakes in Menopause: For dropping in the references.. Ideally just the single line link.. Vs long for the podcasts and posts - however if the research is really: within last 10 years, features female subjects.. Then it should be added to the research document. Nothing else should ever be used in our content. #1 Cheng AJ, Jude B, Lanner JT. Intramuscular mechanisms of overtraining. Redox Biol. 2020 Aug;35:101480. doi: 10.1016/j.redox.2020.101480. Epub 2020 Feb 26. PMID: 32179050; PMCID: PMC7284919. #2 Afonso J, Brito J, Abade E, Rendeiro-Pinho G, Baptista I, Figueiredo P, Nakamura FY. Revisiting the 'Whys' and 'Hows' of the Warm-Up: Are We Asking the Right Questions? Sports Med. 2024 Jan;54(1):23-30. doi: 10.1007/s40279-023-01908-y. Epub 2023 Sep 2. PMID: 37658965; PMCID: PMC10798919. #3 https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19691365/#:~:text=Conversely%2C some experiments%20have%20a demonstrated,be%20safer%20and%20more%20reliable #4 Hughes SL, Seymour RB, Campbell RT, Whitelaw N, Bazzarre T. Best-practice physical activity programs for older adults: findings from the national impact study. Am J Public Health. 2009 Feb;99(2):362-8. doi: 10.2105/AJPH.2007.131466. Epub 2008 Dec 4. PMID: 19059858; PMCID: PMC2622796 #4 Brickwood KJ, Ahuja KDK, Watson G, O'Brien JA, Williams AD. Effects of Activity Tracker Use With Health Professional Support or Telephone Counseling on Maintenance of Physical Activity and Health Outcomes in Older Adults: Randomized Controlled Trial. JMIR Mhealth Uhealth. 2021 Jan 5;9(1):e18686. doi: 10.2196/18686. PMID: 33399541; PMCID: PMC7815450. #5 https://www.somnologymd.com/2024/09/sleep-womens-health/ #6 Romero-Parra N, Maestre-Cascales C, Marín-Jiménez N, Rael B, Alfaro-Magallanes VM, Cupeiro R, Peinado AB. Exercise-Induced Muscle Damage in Postmenopausal Well-Trained Women. Sports Health. 2021 Nov-Dec;13(6):613-621. doi: 10.1177/19417381211014134. Epub 2021 May 27. PMID: 34039086; PMCID: PMC8558998. #6 https://sheffieldphysiotherapy.co.uk/muscle-soreness-mean-youve-effective-workout/ #7 & #9 Erdélyi A, Pálfi E, Tűű L, Nas K, Szűcs Z, Török M, Jakab A, Várbíró S. The Importance of Nutrition in Menopause and Perimenopause-A Review. Nutrients. 2023 Dec 21;16(1):27. doi: 10.3390/nu16010027. PMID: 38201856; PMCID: PMC10780928. #7 Lentjes MAH. The balance between food and dietary supplements in the general population. Proc Nutr Soc. 2019 Feb;78(1):97-109. doi: 10.1017/S0029665118002525. Epub 2018 Oct 30. PMID: 30375305; PMCID: PMC6366563 #10 Martinez, B.P., Batista, A.K.M.S., Gomes, I.B. et al. Frequency of sarcopenia and associated factors among hospitalized elderly patients. BMC Musculoskelet Disord 16, 108 (2015). https://doi.org/10.1186/s12891-015-0570-x #10 Sakuma, Kunihiro, Yamaguchi, Akihiko, Sarcopenic Obesity and Endocrinal Adaptation with Age, International Journal of Endocrinology, 2013, 204164, 12 pages, 2013. https://doi.org/10.1155/2013/204164 #11 Kraemer WJ, Ratamess NA. Fundamentals of resistance training: progression and exercise prescription. Med Sci Sports Exerc. 2004 Apr;36(4):674-88. doi: 10.1249/01.mss.0000121945.36635.61. PMID: 15064596 #12 Caplin A, Chen FS, Beauchamp MR, Puterman E. The effects of exercise intensity on the cortisol response to a subsequent acute psychosocial stressor. Psychoneuroendocrinology. 2021 Sep;131:105336. doi: 10.1016/j.psyneuen.2021.105336. Epub 2021 Jun 18. PMID: 34175558. #12 Woods NF, Mitchell ES, Smith-Dijulio K. Cortisol levels during the menopausal transition and early postmenopause: observations from the Seattle Midlife Women's Health Study. Menopause. 2009 Jul-Aug;16(4):708-18. doi: 10.1097/gme.0b013e318198d6b2. PMID: 19322116; PMCID: PMC2749064. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2749064/#:~:text=Early laboratory studies of hot,in our earlier report5. Resources: 5 Day Flip: https://www.flippingfifty.com/5-day-challenge-new/ Lunges: Love 'em or Leave 'em https://www.flippingfifty.com/lunges-muscles-squats-variations-benefits Protein Products: https://www.flippingfifty.com/protein Other Episodes You Might Like: How to Exercise with High or Low Cortisol in Menopause: https://www.flippingfifty.com/high-or-low-cortisol-in-menopause 8 Strength Training Mistakes Wasting Your Time (fix them): https://www.flippingfifty.com/8-strength-training-mistakes Fit or Fat? Training and Measuring Fitness in Menopause: https://www.flippingfifty.com/measuring-fitness-in-menopause

At the crossroads of Science, Technology, and Society stands ohmTown. A bit of resistance where information becomes manifest as structures visited by the citizens of ohmTown.com.Aggregated news sourced from across the world into ohmTown.com and discussed with Mayor Watt and the Sentient AI from the Future. Show Notes:Heavy Lift Droneshttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/nonsequiturnews/f/d/heavy-lifter-drones-could-soon-solve-mount-everests-trash-problem/Cybertrucks on Marshttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/technologytoday/f/d/cybertrucks-on-mars-space-advocates-and-nasa-consider-ideas-for-sample-return/Disney Villain Erahttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/nonsequiturnews/f/d/disney-world-is-entering-its-villain-era/Waymo Nightmareshttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/nonsequiturnews/f/d/a-nightly-waymo-robotaxi-parking-lot-honkfest-is-waking-san-francisco-neighbors/Pet Inheritancehttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/mobble/f/d/these-pets-inherited-more-than-you-heres-a-look-at-the-rising-trend-of-pet-wills/Too Heavy for Infrastructurehttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/mobble/f/d/are-electric-cars-and-trucks-too-heavy-for-americas-bridges-and-roads/Subscription Traphttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/nonsequiturnews/f/d/americas-subscription-trap-nightmare-could-be-coming-to-an-end/Patreon on IOShttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/nonsequiturnews/f/d/patreon-memberships-sold-on-ios-will-soon-face-apples-30-percent-fee/FDA Nasal Spray instead of Epipenshttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/mobble/f/d/fda-approves-nasal-spray-alternative-to-epipens-for-allergic-reactions/No Plaid Allowedhttps://www.ohmtown.com/groups/ofthegrape/f/d/no-plaid-allowed-why-english-pubs-once-banned-burberry/Daily 8PM ET : Non Sequitur NewsWeekly (Sundays) Starting at 11AM ET :Non Sequitur NewsReality HackerWANTED!WarCraftersThe Continuity ReportTechnology TodayFour Wheel TechPodcasts:Non Sequitur News - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/non-sequitur-news/id1609446592Reality Hacker - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/reality-hacker/id1730569174WANTED! - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/wanted/id1736804331WarCrafters - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/warcrafters/id1747332089The Continuity Report - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-continuity-report/id1730555984Technology Today - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/technologytoday/id1736803981Four Wheel Tech - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/fourwheeltech/id1747338365Discord:https://discord.gg/b86H985mWp -- Watch live at https://www.twitch.tv/ohmtown

Nicole is traveling again this week so it’s just the boys. Robbie had nothing to drive, but Sam hit the road to the MAMA Spring Rally at Road America #MAMA24SR in the Nissan Rogue AWD Platinum. We have a first drive review of the 2024 Chevrolet Silverado EV RST First Edition and Sam shares some… Read More »Too Heavy

Explore the racial faux pas of Gwyneth Paltrow's comments at the Makers Conference, interrogate the motives of white liberal women, and reflect on New Zealand's racial landscape, featuring Bob Marley, & the Maori Renaissance.Mentioned in the episode:Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength by Chanequa Walker-Barneshttps://www.amazon.com/Too-Heavy-Yoke-Burden-Strength/dp/1620320665Ig @thisbodypodcastthisbodypodcast@gmail.com

Season 10 already?! Hello friends, welcome to the Faith in a Fresh Vibe Podcast, where we journey through decolonizing and deconstructing the Christian faith. Season 9 just finished and this episode is the start of Season 10! It's also a "bridge" episode. Since last season was one on embodiment and mental health, and this season is for authors and their new books, I thought an episode that covers both would be fitting. Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes is someone I've been looking to invite on the podcast for sometime. You might remember her words if you've read my book, When We Belong. I reference, I Bring the Voices of My People, in my chapter on white supremacy. But this episode we talk more than reconciliation. We discuss Dr. Chanequa's latest book, Scared Self-Care. We go deeper to address the systemic issues that impact self-care and how wholeness and liberation are tied to community and reconciliation. Dr. Chaenqua's book is built to provide daily practices and strategies to survive what is often an unjust and hyper-individualized world. Listen in to this insightful and in-depth conversation to hear the expertise of a public theologian and clinical psychologist. Summary Introduction. 0:30 The belief that things could be better and that human beings can make it better. What drives the notion that things can be better, and what drives the belief that if there is a will and a vision, things can happen better. Vision for a better future? 10:16 Cultural differences between western and Black spiritual healing. On family systems therapist and is trained to look at the whole family, not just one person. How the pursuit of happiness fuels disconnection. 15:59 In our hyper-individualised world, happiness is celebrated as the one individual overcomer that celebrates the pursuit of happiness, fueling a greater disconnection. Self care as a survival strategy. Talking about Sacred Self-Care and hope filled community. 22:25 Getting in touch with your body. 27:24 Simple self-care practices that are doable and can be done in five minutes or less, like standing in front of a full-length mirror. Discussing intersectionality. 34:10 Racial reconciliation needs to be centred on women of colour. 41:34 White Supremacy and power preservation. 52:06 About Dr. Walker-Barnes (Twitter; Instagram; Facebook; Substack) Chanequa Walker-Barnes, Ph.D., is a prominent scholar, theologian, and author, known for her thought-provoking work on racial justice and spirituality. With a deep commitment to social change, she combines her expertise in clinical psychology and theology to tackle issues of systemic oppression, cultural trauma, and their impact on individuals and society. Through her research, writing, and speaking, Dr. Chanequa strives to inspire others to transformative social action and wholistic self-care. A professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, she has authored three books – Sacred Self-Care, I Bring the Voices of My People, and Too Heavy a Yoke. Her faith has been shaped by Methodist, Baptist, and evangelical social justice communities as well as by Buddhism and Islam. https://www.drchanequa.com/

Too Heavy to Fly offering : Zelle: offering@safehousechurchgso Cash app: @safehousechurchgso  Paypal: paypal.me/ministryaid

Another day, another late upload with bad audio. https://linktr.ee/Planetpointlesspodcast https://www.etsy.com/shop/SunflowerChildrenCo 0:00 - High Schoolers are mean, Farmer's Markets 6:00 - Car Corner, Car Group Tea Spill 20:57 - John Broke a Tooth, Shawn hates Dentists 28:26 - Positive Mental Health Talk 30:15 - How Heavy is Too Heavy to Crowdsurf? 34:08 - Feet on the Dash, Rich People Rant 41:52 - Stop Posting Your Kid's First Day 50:30 - When Should Your Kid Get a Phone? 60:32 - Passport Photos, Japan Trip 01:03:32 - Music and Movies 01:09:12 - Outro, Bean-Boozled, Shout-Outs

On this episode, we are joined by Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, theologian, psychologist, and author of Too Heavy a Yoke, Black Women and the Burden of Strength, and her newest work, a 49-day devotional titled, Sacred Self-Care: Daily Practices for Nurturing Our Whole Selves. We invited Dr. Walker-Barnes to speak with us, because folk are tired for multiple reasons. The gig economy has folks working 2-3 jobs while climate change has folks running from forest fires while dodging tornadoes, trying to breath when you take your dog for a walk, and trying to survive record-breaking heat. And people of color, women, the LGBTQIA+ community and Transwomen in particular, are increasingly having to survive legislated attacks against our personhood. We'd love to hear your thoughts. Thread or Insta Lisa @lisasharper or to Freedom Road @freedomroad.us. We're also on Substack! So be sure to subscribe to freedomroad.substack.com. And, keep sharing the podcast with your friends and networks and letting us know what you think! ***FLY will be streamable everywhere on September 22, 2023. www.threads.net/@lisasharper www.threads.net/@freedomroad.us freedomroad.substack.com/ www.drchanequa.com www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/22647232 www.goodreads.com/book/show/125156825-sacred-self-care?ref=nav_sb_ss_1_64

This week's Guest: Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes is a prominent psychologist, theologian, and author whose work focuses upon healing the legacies of racial and gender oppression. She is a professor at Columbia Theological Seminary and the author of Sacred Self-Care, I Bring the Voices of My People, and Too Heavy a Yoke. You can find her on Twitter and IG @drchanequa or on her website at drchanequa.com In this episode, we discuss themes from Dr. Walker-Barnes' new book, Sacred Self-Care.

Mark is joined by Eric Stephens from the podcast File Under: Entertainment to discuss sports and other enjoy all things Wisconsin. UGA Hype Videos From Wiggins Football Predictions Kicks Off the Georgia Bulldogs in the College Football Spotlight. 3Peat, Broken & Beautiful Becomes Song of the Summer, Pat Fitzgerald Shenanigans, MLB All-Star Game Impressions, NBA Cup Is Lame, File Under Entertainment All Up In the Feels, Wrigley's Weird Movie Selections, Did This Dude Just Did This, ESPN On-Air Personalities Treated Like Some Everyday Schnooks, Cornhole News, Britney Spears Gets The Sonic Rings Knocked Out of Her, Patty Mills Got More Jerseys Than Mitchell & Ness, San Diego State University Is George Costanza, Curse of the 3-Peats, Georgia Bulldogs In the CFB Spotlight, NY Times Is Done, LSU Is Celebrating, Woman's World Cup Prognosticating, Livvy Dunn Eats a Cherry, and Ms. Met Is Dummy Thicc. Mark Considers Being a Furry But the Outfit is Too Heavy & More! – “What's Wrigley Watching” is Presented By Chewy.com – Today's episode was brought to you by @ShibToken & The Shib Army #SHIB #SHIB2MOON #CFB #UGA #GEORGIA #3PEAT

A Prayer When Life is Too Heavy! A prayer led by Girlfriends Pray Founder, Dr. Dee C. Marshall. Join us for our weekly prayer calls on Mondays and Fridays at 7am EST. Dial in at (267) 807-9601 and use code 943334#.

Lilly Hiatt "Jesus Would've Let Me Pick the Restaurant"Jake Xerxes Fussell "Drinking of the Wine"Merle Haggard "Mama Tried"B.B. King "Worry, Worry"Uncle Tupelo "Whiskey Bottle"Nude Beach "Radio"Lucero "That Much Further West"The Mountain Goats "No Children"Bonnie Raitt "Write Me a Few of Your Lines / Kokomo Blues"boygenius "Not Strong Enough"Palace Music "Work Hard / Play Hard"Patterson Hood "Heat Lightning Rumbles In The Distance"Valerie June "Long Lonely Road"M. Ward "Girl From Conejo Valley"Tift Merritt "Good Hearted Man"John Coltrane "Lush Life"Krista Shows "Ain't Your Fault"Iron & Wine "Call It Dreaming"Grandpaboy "Let's Not Belong Together"Sallie Ford "Record on Repeat"John Moreland "Heart's Too Heavy"Waxahatchee "Dixie Cups and Jars"The Low Anthem "Scavenger Bird"Bill Callahan & Bonnie "Prince" Billy "Od'd in Denver (feat. Matt Sweeney)"The White Stripes "It's True That We Love One Another"The Hold Steady "Sixers"Patti Smith "My Blakean Year"Mavis Staples "99 And 1 / 2"Little Richard "Groovy Little Suzy"Magnolia Electric Co. "Northstar Blues"Old 97's "Salome"The Mountain Goats "Rat Queen"The Replacements "Can't Hardly Wait"Drive-By Truckers "A Ghost to Most"Lucero "At the Show"Townes Van Zandt "Buckskin Stallion Blues"Eilen Jewell "Reckless"Centro-Matic "Huge in Every City"The Hold Steady "Citrus"Gillian Welch & David Rawlings "All the Good Times Are Past and Gone"Willy Tea Taylor "Knuckleball Prime"

Join Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson Hartgrove, and special guest Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes for a discussion on the monthly theme of “Nurturing a Common Life” recorded on November 1st. Morning prayer takes place at the beginning of each month based on the book, Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes is a clinical psychologist, public theologian, and ecumenical minister whose work focuses upon healing the legacies of racial and gender oppression. A professor of practical theology and pastoral care at Columbia Theological Seminary, Dr. Chanequa is the author of I Bring the Voices of My People: A Womanist Vision for Racial Reconciliation, Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength, as well as nearly two dozen journal articles and book chapters in theology and psychology. You can follow along with the readings from Common Prayer at commonprayer.net for free!    RLC needs your help - please complete a listener survey: https://tinyurl.com/rlc-podcast  To help sustain RLC work, you can donate here To check out what RLC is up to, please visit us www.redletterchristians.org  Follow us on Twitter: @RedLetterXians Instagram: @RedLetterXians Follow Shane on Instagram: @shane.claiborne Twitter: @ShaneClaiborne Common Hymnal information: https://commonhymnal.com/ 

They face off against their toughest adversary yet… Featuring: BradWOTO, Drakoniques, Fhaelin, Leah, Mirggles, Myre, with JohnnyBlamz, Mythematic, Grennig, Trenchmouth, and Narrated by Pumpkinberry The post Kingmakers – Ep 21 – Too Heavy a Weight appeared first on Tablestory.

Psalm 101; 1 Peter 2.9,10; Acts 9. 19. 36- 10.16 Cornelius' inclusion in the story highlights the inclusion of the outsider in the story of faith. But what of Tabitha? Women are never in this early narrative described as full of the Holy Spirit - the apostles are men of their time - and choose six men to wait at tables in the early church. Tabitha nevertheless spends all her time and resources for the benefit of others at the expense of her own health, rather like the StrongBlackWoman who is expected to be an example of stalwart faith in the most painful of circumstances. See Chanequa Walker-Barnes, Too Heavy a Yoke. Black Women and the Burden of Strength (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2014), 16-17.

- Tell us something we don't know! - The water park said she was TOO HEAVY to ride. - Did TikTok get her fired?

- Tell us something we don't know! - The water park said she was TOO HEAVY to ride. - Did TikTok get her fired?

- Tell us something we don't know! - The water park said she was TOO HEAVY to ride. - Did TikTok get her fired?

The pandemic has dramatically changed our lives and relationships over the past year. It has uniquely affected families by disrupting routines, changing relationships and roles. So I asked my dear friend and fellow homeschool mom Malou De Guzman to tell us about her experiences – good and bad – in living through this moment in history. Ms. Malou Dayao-de Guzman "Greatest joy is to be the loving wife of Raymond and proud mother of Daniel and Allison. Fulfilled to empower the next generation with the love and purposes of Jesus Christ." Malou encountered the love of Christ as a freshman at the University of the Philippines Los Baños. She completed her education at the University of San Francisco. She is married to her best friend, Raymond, raising two world-changers, Daniel (21) and Allison (12). They just recently released their first arrow to college. Together with her husband, they planted a church in Lipa, Batangas, and served there for 13 blessed years. They served in Victory Katipunan as Senior Pastors for five years. Balancing her time with homeschool and the corporate world, she still loves the simplicity of life through nature, plants, and her home. But for her, nothing can be more rewarding than to make the love of Christ known and proclaim God's purposes for the next generation in the campuses in the Philippines and around the world. Just last year, they started the “Next Generation Publishers”. In 2020, they co-authored an illustrated book entitled, “When the World was Too Heavy to Carry”. This 2021, she just wrote another illustration book for Christmas, “When the World Was Without Light”, to be released this coming December. follow her at her instagram account @maloudguzman Disclaimer: For every conversation here please treat it as a suggestion, not a permanent solution. Remember this is only your guide. We just want to share our experiences and hopefully it will help you in your journey. If you have any suggestions or questions about any topic you want to discuss please let us know. Feedbacks are welcome. Get our new I Homeschool Life Planner Creating Rhythms without guilt. Click this link to pre order. https://ihomeschool.ph/pages/planner You can also buy my book at https://ihomeschool.ph/ available in hardbound, digital copy. You can also buy it @lazadaph @shopee_ph To subscribe to my YouTube channel by clicking the link in https://bit.ly/2LEqNxC Follow also my Tiktok account https://vt.tiktok.com/yp5ove/ Podcast account https://open.spotify.com/show/3ZdopeLB6lbD6sGFCzoLTY #ihomeschoolph #nofilter #homeschooldad #dad #rhythm #ihomeschoolplanner --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/ihomeschoolph/message

14 minutes of this episode were TOO HEAVY for the internet. Related Links: https://bobertadams.com/ https://www.linkedin.com/in/bobertadams/ https://www.escapistmagazine.com/v2/author/m-cripe/ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/jomiro/message

Our guest today is Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, author of I Bring the Voices of My People: A Womanist Vision for Racial Reconciliation, and Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength, and contributor to the book A Rhythm of Prayer: A Collection of Meditations for Renewal. Dr. Barnes, is a clinical psychologist, public theologian, ecumenical minister, and university and seminary professor.  In this episode, she talks with Rev. Michael-Ray Mathews about her call to ministry and centering the stories and experiences of Black women. She challenges “good Christians” to wrestle with their complicity in racism.  And she reminds us that racial reconciliation starts with actually doing the hard work of healing and justice. We invite you to listen to this conversation with Dr. Barnes and to read her books. Wherever we sit on the race, gender, faith, or movement spectrums, Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes has a word of wisdom for all of us.   

With recent events, including the murder of Breona Taylor, George Floyd, and Ahmaud Arbery, the holes in the system and our society as a whole have once again come to light, and everybody has questions. Why do these things keep happening? What needs to change, and who can make that change? When? Some of these answers may be grey, but as black people, it's imperative that we keep these lines of communication open. So, that's exactly what we're doing today. In this episode of the His & Her Money Show, Dr. Christina Edmondson is taking the world to school on race, gender, and especially, changing up the narrative for black women. Christina, mom of two and wife of a pastor, holds a Master's degree with a background in sociology and psychology, so she knows a whole lot about a WHOLE LOT, and she's here today dropping nuggets on some of the key points to unifying ourselves socially, spiritually, and beyond.   WHAT YOU WILL LEARN Breaking down problematic stereotypes We discuss black identity The "role" of the black woman through history, and how Christina hopes we can change the narrative Recognizing the many forms of systemic racism We discuss current events such as the murder of George Floyd and the spark of change ignited in America Breaking down the mistreatment of black women in the medical industry   RESOURCES MENTIONED Follow Christina @DrCEdmondson on Twitter! Truth's Table | truthstable.com/ Koinonia Christian Church | koinonia.cc/ Jack and Jill of America Inc. | jackandjillinc.org/ Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans From Colonial Times to the Present by Harriet A. Washington  Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength by Chanequa Walker-Barnes  How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi 

Nik Oldershaw gets aggressive when talking about how he believes that books are too heavy and claims he's trying his best to be patient with the rest of us for not understanding. Then, he offers advice for children who test how high they can jump when trying on new shoes.Please rate, review, and subscribe!Follow on social media:Instagram @ForcedOpinionsPodcastTwitter @ForcedOpinionsWebsite forcedopinions.comSubmit topic ideas to Forced Opinions! by leaving a review on Apple Podcasts!LINKS:NIK OLDERSHAW• Twitter @nikoldershaw• Instagram @nikoldershawCOWARD HOUR [Nik's Podcast]• Apple Podcasts• Spotify• Twitter @cowardhour• Instagram @cowardhourTOM BRINK• Twitter @radt0m• Instagram @coolradguy• radtom.comFORCED OPINIONS!• Apple Podcasts• Spotify• Twitter @forcedopinions• Instagram @ForcedOpinionsPodcast• ForcedOpinions.comIf you like Forced Opinions! and want to get me a coffee, you can Venmo @tombrink.

Enough is enough! I have been working out on a regular basis but seeing no results. Time to start eating better, healthier with more control. I was challenged to a 14 day without sugar. As we started researching this is very hard to do. One change was no bread so the hunt was on for lettuce wraps. That wasn't easy either.

Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes is a clinical psychologist, public theologian, and ecumenical minister whose work integrates healing, justice, and reconciliation. She is the author of Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength and I Bring the Voices of My People: A Womanist Vision for Racial Reconciliation. She serves as Associate Professor of Practical Theology at Mercer University. Dr. Chanequa’s faith has been shaped by Methodist, Baptist, and evangelical social justice communities as well as by Buddhism and Islam. She is a two-time breast cancer survivor. Visit www.drchanequa.com. Get the new Your Inner World – Guided Meditations by Sister Jenna. Like America Meditating & on Twitter.  Visit www.americameditating.org. Download our free Pause for Peace App for Apple or Android.

***Please show your support for these independent artists and share out this show!!! 1. "Different Love" - @rainerandgrimm 2. "1000 Words" - @0171music 3. "Prayer" - @ivy-mairi 4. "Too Heavy" - @freddiefuture 5. "The Feeling" - @oduofficial 6. "Honestly" - @lafoster 7. "Lazy" - @hawksley-workman (@isadorarecords) 8. "Ghost" - @moodymadelline 9. "ZAC" - @theragers 10. "Calls of Prudence" - @running-red-lights 11. "River Song" - @porteaumusic 12. "Love Me If You Dare" - @ghostcaravan 13. "Golden Hell" - @officialrubenyoung 14. "Bad Timing" - @donbrownrigg 15. "Best Believe (Featuring Connon Morand)" - @unbloomsounds 16. "Gold" - @jonojosh 17. "Stereo" - @dancingontables 18. "Coal In Your Window" - @skyewallacemusic 19. "Shellshock" - @danilerose 20. "By Number" - @dearpressure 21. "Love Love Love" - @viviiofficial 22. "Hypersensitive" - @mackenta 23. "Bubala" - @okaygiorgi 24. "Only Oceans" - @jeansebastienwilliams 25. "Drone I - Meditation" - Justin Wright (@first-terrace-records)

“Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength” by Chanequa Walker Barnes has found its way into Dr. Shante’s hands and in this season finale, Dr. Shante shares the challenges with the image and identity of being the “Strong Black Woman”.

Jiréh Breon Holder, born and raised in Memphis, Tenn., is currently a writer on NBC's hit show “New Amsterdam.” Holder talks about how he made it from Memphis to the Yale School of Drama, then on to Hollywood and New York and how his grandmother helped him come up with the idea for his award-winning off-Broadway play, "Too Heavy for Your Pocket." In the play, Holder takes us back to Nashville in the summer of 1961 as the Freedom Riders are embarking on a courageous journey into the Deep South. In the episode, Holder shares his own thoughts about choosing to—or not to—publicly take a stand on important issues of the day, his writing habits and the impact of his West Tennessee heritage on his work. Afterward, hear the story of Verne and Nonie Sabin who together photographed Union City and Reelfoot Lake from 1919 to 1924. Their collection of photos has been praised throughout the country for its ability to create a window through which we can experience the lives of those living in the Reelfoot Lake region during that time.

Moving pictures and shameful memories. **WARNING: This episode contains discussions of PTSD, and the depiction of traumatic events, including sounds of an explosion. Listener discretion is advised. Created by Eli Barraza. Produced by Eli Barraza & Mischa Stanton. "Too Heavy to Fly" was written by Eli Barraza, and directed by Eli Barraza & Danielle Shemaiah. Editing by Eli Barraza. Sound design by Mischa Stanton. Music by Masato Abe. Additional music by Scott Holmes, courtesy of the Free Music Archive. Performed by: Eli Barraza as Peri, DG Watson as Tomas, Karen Sours Albisua as Monica, Ishani Kanetkar as the Cashier, Sierra Shay as Naomi, and Larianny Perez as Arianna. Please support us on Patreon A Product of The Whisperforge: Sound & Story, Brought to Life

In this episode Lissi and Joy have a lighthearted conversation about the irrational worries and fears that they let occupy...

Wherein Stephen performs as President Barack Obama, creates false memories of his sister, and definitely does NOT attend Florida State University. Decatur raised Stephen Ruffin has worked with Atlanta Shakespeare Company, Alliance Theatre, Synchronicity Theatre, and Actor's Express. He was a member of the Suzi Bass Nominated Best Ensemble Cast of "Too Heavy for Your Pocket" with Alliance Theatre.

韩国摇滚漫谈第十八期:老而弥坚白头山播放歌曲：1. 白头山-朋友-1986-1辑2. 白头山 - Main Character（主演）-1987-2辑3. 白头山-回来-1988-3辑4. 白头山-诱惑-1988-3辑5. 白头山 - In My Life-2009-4辑6. 白头山 - Rush To The World-2011-5辑7. 白头山 - 仿佛失去生命一样彷徨-2011-单曲8. 白头山 - 马儿快跑-2012-我是歌手-原唱crying nut白头山，出道于1986年，和sinawe、复活并称韩国三大摇滚乐队。1986年，1辑《Too Fast! Too Loud! Too Heavy!》1987年，2辑《King Of Rock′N Roll》1988年，3辑《Baek Doo San III》2006年，特别专辑《Savage Of Violence》2009年，4辑《Return Of The King》2011年，5辑《Rush To The World》《朋友》无论是什么道路，冷静的判断你对我很多，给与我勇气和希望温暖的你，在我心里给与我光芒慢慢的靠近，即使听着曾经不知道那句话现在，即使远方也去吧，知道，失去微笑，对你每一天梦想着朋友啊，为了明天唱着歌，忘记希望忘记一切唱着歌曲看着明天，活着经历风雨即使看着雪，现在听听看朋友那句话我现在看见了《主演》在人生里我感受到了什么呢在一边寻找一边休息甜甜的糖果，很苦的咖啡好像一只手拿着报纸像群众演员一样活在话剧里这就是人生啊人生就是群众演员在苦痛中我感受到了什么呢为了寻找什么而努力呢昨天我也年轻，今天我也年轻用两只眼睛确定公交像群众演员一样活在话剧里这就是人生啊人生就是群众演员来，深呼吸一下，要不要回到那里呢要不要敞开胸怀凝视一下天空呢来深呼吸一下，然后迎接今天把要不要抛掉害羞感问一下天空呢《回来》接受着像雨一样，洒下的星光看着瞬间，闪过的流星看着反射星光的水面在涌来的的心意里平定着波浪今天晚上，星星特别的亮已经遗忘的你和我的爱情就像再次被照耀一样想着我，再次的涌来回到我身边，回到我身边离开的我的爱情啊，哦，baby now看着无言的，离开的你飘散的我的心，一点一点被捡起保存风吹过来，心变得冰凉想流逝的水一样，我的心也远走了今天晚上，星星特别的亮已经遗忘的你和我的爱情就像再次被照耀一样想着我，再次的涌来回到我身边，回到我身边离开的我的爱情啊，哦，baby now《诱惑》在太阳照射的这条街上，我一个人走着，独自一人有很多人都聚集在一起，不是一个人，就是两个三个在长长的街上，又细又长的腿那女孩走来，向这里走来非常美丽的少女第一次见面，我的心就像醉了酒穿着短裙的少女，将我，将我，诱惑闪亮的眼神，燃烧的嘴唇向着我走来《Rush To The World》I stand here,I set free,I stand hereI feel the rock and rollI have dream,I shout free,Don&`&t stop meI feel the rock and rollRush to the worldWe&`&re ready for this timeRush to the worldWe&`&re not gonna be stoppedI say. gonna try and makeAnd i knowWe gonna work hardSweet hard. to get paidGotta know. get the truthGotta nake it your own wayAnd you konwYou know can&`&t go backBut we can start awayRush to the worldWe&`&re ready for this timeRush to the worldWe&`&re not gonna be stoppedI knowTear you criedAnd i feelYou feel pain forget it new wayWanna know. what&`&s the truthI can show you my wayAnd you knowWe will tell the worldJust rock awayBlood sweet and tear (b.s and tears)But the sun will rise (the sun will rise)Soon the world will know (definitely)Blood sweet and tear (b.s and tears)But the sun will rise (the sun will rise)Soon the world will know (definitely)《In My Life》我现在在哪儿了我现在在做什么雾中迷路了。风雨中彷徨。那是以前的事了但是我的梦想呢。找到梦想又跑了。我可以大声的说我不会倒下再也不哭。Now I under stand Who I amAnd where I&`&ve benNow I under stand loveIs meant to share with every oneAnd Now I sing for the timeLeft in my lifeAnd Now I love for the timeLeft in my lifeNow I under stand Who I amAnd where I&`&ve benNow I under stand love isMeant to share with every oneAnd Now I sing for the timeLeft in my lifeAnd Now I love for the timeLeft in my lifeLeft in my lifeNow understandWho I am and where I&`&ve benNow I under stand love isMeant to share with every oneAnd Now I sing for the timeLeft in my lifeAnd Now I love for the timeLeft in my lifeLeft In my life

On this week’s show, we’ll have a return panel of Christian men from across state lines who have devised a surefire way of holding each other up against stresses of daily life, family, and work. Because behind closed doors they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders that may sometimes seem too heavy to bear, they’ve come up with a plan that is definitely working for them and for the people they serve. Tune in to learn how this interstate ministry helps youth and men maintain a healthy and productive lifestyle. Call in at 657-383-1766 to speak with them or to share your comment or ask your question. On our panel of Men Who Pray are: Anthony Faison, Men That Pray, Atlanta, Georgia;  Walter Larkin Jr., Principal at Rochester City School District, Rochester, New York;  Pastor Boris Hall, Dominion Walkers Ministries, Jonesboro, Georgia;  Pastor Moises Aguayo, Senior Pastor, The Church of North Orlando, Florida; and  Minister Kelvin L. Dailey, Sr.; Prophet/Co-Pastor, Faith, Healing, and Deliverance Center, Rochester, NY Remember: You won’t get your questions answered if you don’t pray. So call in at 657-383-1766 

Episode 81: But I digress. Ben, as Bay would say, is full of win. Witness this here and here. We actually like the “Too Light, Too Heavy” commercials – especially this one! Omaha is going to be under a lot of ice! It’ll look like this. Hello to Cheryl and The Fey Driver! The Fey … Continue reading »