Podcasts about toonces

The gang chats about romantic literature, Toonces the driving cat, red vs blue dilemma, Christian BMX & black metal, Quentin Tarantino and also celebrity bands.Listen to the Jortscenter playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ioAsKKw7AhdJ0cCrasqfH?si=6c2cef121c3a4a9aJoin our Peloton!   https://www.patreon.com/JortsCenterFacebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/342135897580300Subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/jortscenterFollow us on Twitter:@JortsCenterPod Will is @wapplehouse Josh is @otherjrobbins Ryan is @ryhanbeard Vic is @DokktorvikktorZack is @ZackVanNus

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.

(00:00-8:39) Is TMA just a promotional vehicle for Movie Boy? Tough when you send a text mean for this show to a member of GenPop. Audio of Denzel Washington with a scathing take on sports media talking heads. Was he talking directly to us?(8:47-24:11) Doug gonna get some bottle service this weekend. The 30 most popular athletes according to millennials. Wait, is this list from 2015. Toonces the Driving Cat. AI can't even sniff what I do? Prod Joe could detect odors.(24:21-32:42) E-Mail of the DaySee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Eyes, eyes— who's got eyes?! Here, I have eyes. I don't want yours. What? Why not?! Eyes, eyes, buys and trades—! The day I met Atticus catticus, I by some strange coincidence also discovered “Toonces” …and however startling it was that they looked just alike, the cat himself had other strangenesses about him that I couldn't seem to shake. The other adjustments were yet to have taken place, but the cat did seem to be armed with a certain spirit, that did indeed show me immidiately things I might have otherwise missed. Still, it was true that this weirdness might have been misinterpreted, but however shallow my aspirations remained to the theatre world, or the world at large, it seems as though there was just stil some kind of strange connection with Saturday Night Live I couldn't shake. Almost like it followed me everywhere. BIG JIMMY runs SIN CENTRE at SIN CITY, an exclusive bar and restaurant in Las Vegas. You don't know about Sin Centre at Sin City?' No. It's the premier underground boutique for all of what happens in Vegas— or, what didn't, if you know what I'm saying. I'm sure I don't z I'm sure I don't either *winks* I need magnesium; Creep level fantastic, I wreak of havoc I wreck the fanflick Fanfiction? Now i'm fired, Give up! I'm a channel Back to the hard part Look at me! I'm getting Eleven miles an hour Isn't it strange how Just this morning In the kitchen I was thinking How I just love Sarah Silverman And how The chemistry with Kimmel is – Creep level: fantastic THen, If this is episodic, I'm not the only one who feels this way about it I might be a bad guy I like the darkness I might be the bad type, I like, Flirt with darkness Jp Did you write this?! I–i think i did. You think? I have forgetfulness syndrome! Why is everybody falling in love? But i”m alone Maybe I'm not supposed to have love So i'm alone But Too many talks to tell, I can't want, But i'm alone, And still Everybody wants to have love And i'm alone I have this weird theory that to be a female And get booked on Seth Meyers Not only should you be kind of almost probably famous But definitely under 120 pounds. Lil Bitz I'm telling you! he's Slytherin! Do you watch the show? Watch the show! Every female he interviews has anorexia! Not a joke! Watch the show. He has a copy of moby dick on his desk! What's that about!? Slytherin! Slytherin! So the question is: Can i fill five minutes with this? Puh This kid. Wondering about five minutes When she really needs an hour of material And a material witness This depression is actually the worst I've been Since I escaped prison. I should have went to Princeton. I should never run for president. Amen. I told you, republican! A bold move, and the light I'm on— Tonight, I'm fowl I get a grin Tonight, I prowl I'm off again. I haven't been this incandescent Since Information on Ronald Regan Came to surface This: his Indiscretions send my regrets to lettermen I haven't had it better since. Gavel gavel gavel! And I ramble ramble ramble on The mouse that lights to gamble Likes the Kat and tattoo addicts But the fans just can't acknowledge That we're on in the apocalypse I gotta get my marks up Or a proposition predicate Or advocates on terror Where's the war you ordered Not another table Kill the waitress Heal the sparrow Right the old case in a letter Harrow, harrow Case is waiting And I've yet to make it Everything I do just makes me Faint, Like I'm exasperated and exhausted All at the same time Call out my mantras— Look, I'm a loser Out in the open Promise Provoke my promocuity once more And I'll get you all fired. Fired! Fired! Fired! You look good in a tux Good suit and tie Good at the desk, boss, Ma? She's a Hard crier I got divorces, Widowers, Window surfaces on a horcrux Hard wires, And hard times on a jarred door Oh! Yeah. It's hard coming to terms with death When your afterlife is Jay Leno on a long highway In stuck traffic And you got to think “I know that guy” But no you don't, You're far from it and still Show hosts aren't for hire In the aqueduct construction, For I? Seth Meyers, young soul! Very hard, but good to know him. Kimmel had a tough crowd, But Fear, I've bartered hard to order. Fries with that? Oh noooooooo! He stopped dying his greys He's been writing for days And he's stuck in his ways: Cheerios are too sweet honey-nutted And honey nutted my rebuttal on live broadcast I finally got comcast, I finally went all broke Ahhh, we're gonna die. I guarantee you, this is that. Tuesday— midnight. What goes on. Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?! They know everything. Don't you know by now I can't be trusted? If I try to call We'll get disconnected And this interception Has been live broadcasted– So I get the picture This is all disaster. Took a number, Run hard, I get there faster [The Festival Project ™ ] For everybody else, Life goes on But mine has not So it feels more like sickness Than just fan fiction {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright 2019 © The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] All Rights Reserved -Ū.

Eyes, eyes— who's got eyes?! Here, I have eyes. I don't want yours. What? Why not?! Eyes, eyes, buys and trades—! The day I met Atticus catticus, I by some strange coincidence also discovered “Toonces” …and however startling it was that they looked just alike, the cat himself had other strangenesses about him that I couldn't seem to shake. The other adjustments were yet to have taken place, but the cat did seem to be armed with a certain spirit, that did indeed show me immidiately things I might have otherwise missed. Still, it was true that this weirdness might have been misinterpreted, but however shallow my aspirations remained to the theatre world, or the world at large, it seems as though there was just stil some kind of strange connection with Saturday Night Live I couldn't shake. Almost like it followed me everywhere. BIG JIMMY runs SIN CENTRE at SIN CITY, an exclusive bar and restaurant in Las Vegas. You don't know about Sin Centre at Sin City?' No. It's the premier underground boutique for all of what happens in Vegas— or, what didn't, if you know what I'm saying. I'm sure I don't z I'm sure I don't either *winks* I need magnesium; Creep level fantastic, I wreak of havoc I wreck the fanflick Fanfiction? Now i'm fired, Give up! I'm a channel Back to the hard part Look at me! I'm getting Eleven miles an hour Isn't it strange how Just this morning In the kitchen I was thinking How I just love Sarah Silverman And how The chemistry with Kimmel is – Creep level: fantastic THen, If this is episodic, I'm not the only one who feels this way about it I might be a bad guy I like the darkness I might be the bad type, I like, Flirt with darkness Jp Did you write this?! I–i think i did. You think? I have forgetfulness syndrome! Why is everybody falling in love? But i”m alone Maybe I'm not supposed to have love So i'm alone But Too many talks to tell, I can't want, But i'm alone, And still Everybody wants to have love And i'm alone I have this weird theory that to be a female And get booked on Seth Meyers Not only should you be kind of almost probably famous But definitely under 120 pounds. Lil Bitz I'm telling you! he's Slytherin! Do you watch the show? Watch the show! Every female he interviews has anorexia! Not a joke! Watch the show. He has a copy of moby dick on his desk! What's that about!? Slytherin! Slytherin! So the question is: Can i fill five minutes with this? Puh This kid. Wondering about five minutes When she really needs an hour of material And a material witness This depression is actually the worst I've been Since I escaped prison. I should have went to Princeton. I should never run for president. Amen. I told you, republican! A bold move, and the light I'm on— Tonight, I'm fowl I get a grin Tonight, I prowl I'm off again. I haven't been this incandescent Since Information on Ronald Regan Came to surface This: his Indiscretions send my regrets to lettermen I haven't had it better since. Gavel gavel gavel! And I ramble ramble ramble on The mouse that lights to gamble Likes the Kat and tattoo addicts But the fans just can't acknowledge That we're on in the apocalypse I gotta get my marks up Or a proposition predicate Or advocates on terror Where's the war you ordered Not another table Kill the waitress Heal the sparrow Right the old case in a letter Harrow, harrow Case is waiting And I've yet to make it Everything I do just makes me Faint, Like I'm exasperated and exhausted All at the same time Call out my mantras— Look, I'm a loser Out in the open Promise Provoke my promocuity once more And I'll get you all fired. Fired! Fired! Fired! You look good in a tux Good suit and tie Good at the desk, boss, Ma? She's a Hard crier I got divorces, Widowers, Window surfaces on a horcrux Hard wires, And hard times on a jarred door Oh! Yeah. It's hard coming to terms with death When your afterlife is Jay Leno on a long highway In stuck traffic And you got to think “I know that guy” But no you don't, You're far from it and still Show hosts aren't for hire In the aqueduct construction, For I? Seth Meyers, young soul! Very hard, but good to know him. Kimmel had a tough crowd, But Fear, I've bartered hard to order. Fries with that? Oh noooooooo! He stopped dying his greys He's been writing for days And he's stuck in his ways: Cheerios are too sweet honey-nutted And honey nutted my rebuttal on live broadcast I finally got comcast, I finally went all broke Ahhh, we're gonna die. I guarantee you, this is that. Tuesday— midnight. What goes on. Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?! They know everything. Don't you know by now I can't be trusted? If I try to call We'll get disconnected And this interception Has been live broadcasted– So I get the picture This is all disaster. Took a number, Run hard, I get there faster [The Festival Project ™ ] For everybody else, Life goes on But mine has not So it feels more like sickness Than just fan fiction {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright 2019 © The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] All Rights Reserved -Ū.

Eyes, eyes— who's got eyes?! Here, I have eyes. I don't want yours. What? Why not?! Eyes, eyes, buys and trades—! The day I met Atticus catticus, I by some strange coincidence also discovered “Toonces” …and however startling it was that they looked just alike, the cat himself had other strangenesses about him that I couldn't seem to shake. The other adjustments were yet to have taken place, but the cat did seem to be armed with a certain spirit, that did indeed show me immidiately things I might have otherwise missed. Still, it was true that this weirdness might have been misinterpreted, but however shallow my aspirations remained to the theatre world, or the world at large, it seems as though there was just stil some kind of strange connection with Saturday Night Live I couldn't shake. Almost like it followed me everywhere. BIG JIMMY runs SIN CENTRE at SIN CITY, an exclusive bar and restaurant in Las Vegas. You don't know about Sin Centre at Sin City?' No. It's the premier underground boutique for all of what happens in Vegas— or, what didn't, if you know what I'm saying. I'm sure I don't z I'm sure I don't either *winks* I need magnesium; Creep level fantastic, I wreak of havoc I wreck the fanflick Fanfiction? Now i'm fired, Give up! I'm a channel Back to the hard part Look at me! I'm getting Eleven miles an hour Isn't it strange how Just this morning In the kitchen I was thinking How I just love Sarah Silverman And how The chemistry with Kimmel is – Creep level: fantastic THen, If this is episodic, I'm not the only one who feels this way about it I might be a bad guy I like the darkness I might be the bad type, I like, Flirt with darkness Jp Did you write this?! I–i think i did. You think? I have forgetfulness syndrome! Why is everybody falling in love? But i”m alone Maybe I'm not supposed to have love So i'm alone But Too many talks to tell, I can't want, But i'm alone, And still Everybody wants to have love And i'm alone I have this weird theory that to be a female And get booked on Seth Meyers Not only should you be kind of almost probably famous But definitely under 120 pounds. Lil Bitz I'm telling you! he's Slytherin! Do you watch the show? Watch the show! Every female he interviews has anorexia! Not a joke! Watch the show. He has a copy of moby dick on his desk! What's that about!? Slytherin! Slytherin! So the question is: Can i fill five minutes with this? Puh This kid. Wondering about five minutes When she really needs an hour of material And a material witness This depression is actually the worst I've been Since I escaped prison. I should have went to Princeton. I should never run for president. Amen. I told you, republican! A bold move, and the light I'm on— Tonight, I'm fowl I get a grin Tonight, I prowl I'm off again. I haven't been this incandescent Since Information on Ronald Regan Came to surface This: his Indiscretions send my regrets to lettermen I haven't had it better since. Gavel gavel gavel! And I ramble ramble ramble on The mouse that lights to gamble Likes the Kat and tattoo addicts But the fans just can't acknowledge That we're on in the apocalypse I gotta get my marks up Or a proposition predicate Or advocates on terror Where's the war you ordered Not another table Kill the waitress Heal the sparrow Right the old case in a letter Harrow, harrow Case is waiting And I've yet to make it Everything I do just makes me Faint, Like I'm exasperated and exhausted All at the same time Call out my mantras— Look, I'm a loser Out in the open Promise Provoke my promocuity once more And I'll get you all fired. Fired! Fired! Fired! You look good in a tux Good suit and tie Good at the desk, boss, Ma? She's a Hard crier I got divorces, Widowers, Window surfaces on a horcrux Hard wires, And hard times on a jarred door Oh! Yeah. It's hard coming to terms with death When your afterlife is Jay Leno on a long highway In stuck traffic And you got to think “I know that guy” But no you don't, You're far from it and still Show hosts aren't for hire In the aqueduct construction, For I? Seth Meyers, young soul! Very hard, but good to know him. Kimmel had a tough crowd, But Fear, I've bartered hard to order. Fries with that? Oh noooooooo! He stopped dying his greys He's been writing for days And he's stuck in his ways: Cheerios are too sweet honey-nutted And honey nutted my rebuttal on live broadcast I finally got comcast, I finally went all broke Ahhh, we're gonna die. I guarantee you, this is that. Tuesday— midnight. What goes on. Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?! They know everything. Don't you know by now I can't be trusted? If I try to call We'll get disconnected And this interception Has been live broadcasted– So I get the picture This is all disaster. Took a number, Run hard, I get there faster [The Festival Project ™ ] For everybody else, Life goes on But mine has not So it feels more like sickness Than just fan fiction {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright 2019 © The Complex Collective © [The Festival Project ™] All Rights Reserved -Ū.

This week on Page 7, Jackie gets introduced to Toonces, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car after unveiling her parody of "Baby Driver"(featuring a driving baby) to MJ and Holden, and TLC unleashes it's whiplash inducing "The Baldwins" trailer. Camila Cabello is at odds with the internet again after photos of her recent arena show looked like a ghost town, Reese Witherspoon went on the Today Show with news of how jury duty (DOODY) was, and that they made her the foreperson because of her role in Legally Blonde??? The musical "Emilia Pérez" seems like it's only negative stereotypes despite 13 noms, but no one at Page 7 has seen it yet to know if it's the TRASH it's claimed to be, and in Celebrity Conspiracy: Is Zach Bryant the reincarnation of Henry VIII!?!?!? The List - Celebrities With ABOLSUTELY WILD LOOOORE, Blindz and MOOOOORE!  Want even more Page 7? Support us on Patreon! Patreon.com/Page7Podcast  Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ on Apple Podcasts to listen to ad-free new episodes.

Johnny Mac discusses Jim Gaffigan's weight loss story, Ronnie Chieng's journey into American comedy, Adam Ray's interaction with Dr. Phil, and Anthony Jeselnik's experiences with Norm Macdonald on 'Last Comic Standing.' The episode also highlights DJ Demers' efforts to include the deaf community in his acts, a nostalgic call for SNL's Toonsis the driving cat, and comedian Eagle Wit's advice on social media's impact on comedy. Tune in for these stories and more comedic insights.00:00 Thanksgiving Weight Loss01:15 Ronnie Ching's Comedy Journey02:16 Adam Ray's Show and Dr. Phil03:28 Anthony Jeselnik on Comedy and Norm Macdonald06:24 DJ Demers and Comedy with Hearing Loss07:29 Toonces the Cat and SNL Memories Unlock an ad-free podcast experience with Caloroga Shark Media! Get all our shows on any player you love, hassle free! For Apple users, hit the banner on your Apple podcasts app. For Spotify or other players, visit caloroga.com/plus. No plug-ins needed!  You also get 20+ other shows on the network ad-free!    This podcast supports Podcasting 2.0 if you'd like to support the show via value for value and stream some sats! https://linktr.ee/dailycomedynews Contact John at john@thesharkdeck dot com  John's free substack about the media:  Media Thoughts  is mcdpod.substack.com DCN on Threads: https://www.threads.net/@dailycomedynews You can also support the show at www.buymeacoffee.com/dailycomedynews 10:03 Comedy Advice and ConclusionBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/daily-comedy-news--4522158/support.

Yes, Jack Handey is his real name. He's one of the best to ever write for Saturday Night Live: Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer, Giant Businessman, Toonces the Driving Cat, Deep Thoughts. In his post SNL career, Handey's written more for the page. There's his countless columns in the New Yorker and now, his latest novel: Escape from Hawaii: A Tropical Sequel. He talks about all that, plus we ask him (very nicely) about why he initially declined to come back on the show.

It's a Small Talk Spectacular™ featuring Bobby's (latest) move, Ann's refrigerator woes, Hillary's fair adventures, listeners' fears and so much more. Toonces no!TSHE RecommendsBeckhamConnect with the show! This is your show, too. Feel free to drop us a line, send us a voice memo, or fax us a butt to let us know what you think. Facebook group: This Show Has Everything Feedback form: throwyourphone.com Email: tsheshow@gmail.com 

Don Corleone murders Fanucci.

Dani is a catchphrase and Doug will let you take a nap. This month we ramble about what we've been doing and where we're going. The manager drives like Toonces, Wazzup?, and happy birthday to Doug's grandma! We've merch! https://teespring.com/stores/a-life-outside-podcast Find out more about us and access our stories and episodes: https://www.alifeoutsidepod.com/ Follow us: TikTok https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeApskrU/ YouTube https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC8azr4noqQqB164qOh3MAoA Twitter Twitter.com/alifeoutsidepod Instagram Instagram.com/alifeoutsidepod

Welcome back to Master Your Ash, in this video I'm touring my VinoTemp 28 Bottle Wine-A-Dor that I converted over a decade ago to a Humidor. My kitties Corvus & Toonces makes a couple of impromptu appearances. Don't forget to like, comment and subscribe - It really helps with growing the channel :) Thanks for watching! *********************************** Products I Use Camera https://amzn.to/3srjN0a Rabbit Air Minus A3 Air Filter https://amzn.to/3du0vSe NeedOne 23L Humidor with Heating & Cooling https://amzn.to/3NFebbh Xikar VX2 V-Cut https://amzn.to/3swK5Lf Xikar XK1 Single Torch Lighter https://amzn.to/3qYRdmi Xikar Soft Flame https://amzn.to/32gL36t Soft Flame/Torch Dual Lighter https://amzn.to/3iO8hq9 Turtle Ashtray https://amzn.to/3pjhtGM Antique Ashtray https://amzn.to/3hOUboT Toppin Air Purifier https://amzn.to/3u13QuC Cigar Rights of America https://www.cigarrights.org/ *********************************** Like, Subscribe for future content and support Master Your Ash: YOUTUBE: https://youtube.com/masteryourash RUMBLE: https://rumble.com/c/MasterYourAsh BITCHUTE: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/a06ws7N5WYga/ INSTAGRAM: https://instagram.com/masteryourash WEBSITE: https://masteryourash.com/ #Humidor #HumidorTour #HumidorTour2022 --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/masteryourash/support

[Explicit Language] The Elvis movie and a brief Emmys recap. Bob's bike ride with Stephanie Miller ended in disaster. Why was Trump in Sterling, VA over the weekend? Trump may have moved documents to Bedminster. Another bomb threat at Children's Hospital in Boston. Geoffrey Berman says he was pushed by Barr's DOJ to prosecute Trump's enemies. The Senate announces an investigation into Berman's allegations. Everyone gets a subpoena. FBI confirms there are still missing files. Trump considered not leaving the White House. Judge dismissing Trump's lawsuit against Hillary. With Buzz Burbank, music by Seth Adam, Keith Daniel, and more!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In May 1989, we bid farewell to Alexis Carrington and Alex P. Keaton, said hello to Toonces the Driving Cat, and crossed our fingers for the health and safety of 28 children in Connecticut who spent Mother's Day Eve wandering through Sudsy's Carnival without adult supervision.Brooke and Kaykay discuss the evolution of our cultural and personal concept of "family," with digressions on Motley Crew mirrors, helium balloon-based disasters, existential dread, and Kaykay's dreams of Ann M. Visit us at our website, and follow us on:FacebookTwitterInstagramSpotify

We're live and oustide as we discuss our favorite moments of this olympics (so far)...Hot Takes on Russell Westbrook, Jason Preston, Max Scherzer, Frank Solich and more...plus two minutes of Olympic trivia, a few show recommendations and the super-compelling audio of Maestro eating a Zagnut during the show.

Blake Shelton wedding song, Friends reunion theft, Toonces the Cat

Rough weekend. Tammy joins, then Grizelda and @TDYLN. Good one. @TDYLN song.ext warranty fu.cunt type 1.horrible democrat news. unrepresented people don’t vote.disabled cast.wife washed my gine out.deb is popular now that she went madge freemrs. g = Madge.Madge is dance mom.Vagina washing again.Old Forgetful lesbian.Bra method for lesbian.Wanda Wisdom.Crippled.Ring light hypnosis.Temp cast in bag dirty vagina.Northwestern ER.Knee scrapes.Lady Bunny said beards ok on lesbians.Lot lizzard lesbian.Little Italy.Hot pu$$y.Spandex.Bike WAP.I also can trance.Pompei restaurant.Vegan.H5 RecorderBike story.No helmet but fully valved.Bike path wet and slimy.Big tits.Trotsky’s tie.Slow motion.Madge rescue.Broken wrist.***Spit roasted at the ER.Orange pill is finally here and I’m in it! Free for all medical billing.Medical bill = gang rape biscuitOnly four pillsTammy ain’t home.Bitch ain’t home.Bad news. Dead friends. Old.Disabled hold down emoji phone. Hidden door like in young Frankensteins.The non gay rock Hudson.Whorehouse Couch.Hip Daddy No Arms.Don’t lose touch!Coffey Grinds.Lightfoot broke my wrist.Is Tik Tok over yet?Stage 4 chemo patients still have to work.Death.Guilt.The Papai Players.TAMMY CALLS.Ropey.Deaths.More deaths.Brain cancer.No obit.Chicago vs. New York pizza.Foldable slice.Clomping.Zoom secret mask meeting.Bines.Eating tofu and pussy on Zoom.Trumpy Tammy.Do what?RBGBine mask rape?Taking a stand.What did Robert Trump die of?No choice. AIDS or CovidCop car full of food.Daddy’s whole.Milk.Killing my hand.Best Mac feature.69 days for tammySign the card.Essential earls.Dry rolls.Oops.Amanda Lepore.Fuck you, Sally Hansen.Stroke update.Word placement improvement.Job for Tammys?Naked parents.Triangular Bush.Traumatic Poconos memories.Eat out?Yahoo.Girdle.Toonces.Bar Mitzvah gone wrong.You don’t get to Eat the dick.Good with tampons.TamponTammyNYC on insta.Live tricking with Tampon Tammy.Fart sounds in porn.Donations for $tampontammy.Venmo hack.GRIZELDa.pizza.White trash ruined opiates for the rest of us.SMC.Lots of junkies.Cats with junkies.Period.Fat.Vagina. I have one.Spending money.Fat.Facial laser.Fat.LifestyleGriz.Salmon tartine dr. Diss.Secret message.Yeast emergency.Big live.Madge is toxic.Gift.Grizelda’s obstructed view.Fat.Warren Buffet sold all his Goldman Sachs and half his Chase.More ass pics.Be a whore.Fat.Running vs. Junk food.Transitioning.Lick everything in sight.@TDYLN

What’s crappening in this episode: Support us on Patreon (Now with Discord)! Recording in the park, superhero masks, Toonces, Freddy vs Jason, Rick and Morty, Hamilton, Avengers, spookiest part of the body,If you’d like to play along at home click here.

Fernando and Jamie focus on Jamie’s favorite animal and share their fave cat movies, TV, music, and pop culture cats. Then, the podcasters debate if Garfield the cat is worthy of his huge success in a round of Talent or No Talent. The intriguing snack they sample is chocolate dipped li hing mui by Big Island Candies. Are your salivary glands squeezing yet?Smudge the cat meme (just one of the many)Dear Kitten (Friskies commercial video) – If you like this one, watch them all!Toonces the Driving Cat (SNL)

Listen to the full sho for #Fursday, September 19th, 2019! Today’s segments include: -The River Turntable: Pink Floyd’s “Hungry For Heaven” -What’s Your Deal: 20 Taco Bell Sauce Packs / Dana Is Meeting Jason Momoa!!! -News -Soccer Moms Rejoice: New Hard Seltzer Coming Out! -Sandy Hook Promise’s Back To School Commercial -#Fursday: Toonces -Pigskin Picks Update -Coming Up Tomorrow: Building Dana’s Confidence To Meet Jason Momoa TheDogAndJoeSho is live Monday-Friday 5:45am-10:00am on 93.7 The River in Sacramento, CA!

This week we cover the second half of our favorite and most exhausting event of the year, DragonCon! (If you noticed a shortage of geeks in your area over Labor Day weekend... they were all in Atlanta. And they were all ahead of us in the line at Starbucks.) Including: The Geek Girls Run; Classic Sci-Fi Court (good luck, 1984 Supergirl movie); stars from Doctor Who, Cobra Kai, V, and The Magicians; puppeteer Allan Trautman (from Dinosaurs and yikes, The Letter People!); Tai Chi with Silver Spoons star Erin Gray; our panels on Krypton, Doom Patrol, Pennyworth, Russian Doll, Kidd Video (!), and podcasting for authors; RetroBlasting with 1980s ninjas; a pie-fueled ESO Network gathering; the 30th anniversary of Weird Al's movie UHF; and lots more convention silliness. (Did we find people in costume as the Miser Brothers, the Price is Right yodeling guy, and Toonces the Driving Cat? Yes, yes, and yes.) Also: Ed Begley Jr.'s birthday, and the Top Ten songs this week in 1984. (Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" was at number four... and the future attendees of DragonCon were listening.)

Cats: unfairly maligned by pop culture or true villains of the animal kingdom? In this episode, we explore how our furry feline friends are represented in media and wonder why they get a bad rap. Topics include cat tropes, witches’ familiars, cat shapeshifters, cartoon kitties, cat-like aliens, and much more. Listen meow! Plus, we play a rousing game of Wed, Bed, Behead, and we wrap up with our Random Recommendations: Alias and Fever Dream by Of Monsters and Men. Our intro/outro music is "We Are Highscore" by Krackatoa. Shout-outs: Kate from Pups n PopCulture: pupsnpopculture.com Justine from The Cutaways Podcast: thecutaways.com Toonces the Driving Cat: youtu.be/5fvsItXYgzk

An entire episode about cats? Sign us up! This week, you're in for a hiss-tory lesson about some of the famous cats of the '70s and '80s. Buckle up, Toonces, we're going for a ride! Also featured: retro cat food commercials (and one dog food one), the art of saying "no", and ghost-seeing cats. Remember these? https://youtu.be/6PdD5_1sxas https://youtu.be/aBAEzOGw8s8 https://youtu.be/rnwppcD-SMc

here's a new Star Wars movie for the first time in over a decade! Surely it will be good... meanwhile Roadhouse is the superior bad movie, the dawn of Toonces, Small Wonder dies, Punch-Out has some new moves, Owen Hart dies, Glee debuts as does the worst Terminator movie until the next one! All that and more this week on Thirty Twenty Ten, your weekly look back on the week that was 30, 20, and 10 years ago.

In this episode of Mr. Curiosity, Joe Snedeker sits down with WILK's Webster. As you might expect, the conversation veers more than Toonces the Driving Cat! Joe and Webster talk radio, college graduations, alien abductions, and to not bury the lead... Webster has an exclusive announcement!

In this episode of Mr. Curiosity, Joe Snedeker sits down with WILK's Webster. As you might expect, the conversation veers more than Toonces the Driving Cat! Joe and Webster talk radio, college graduations, alien abductions, and to not bury the lead... Webster has an exclusive announcement!

It's our last Off Week of the season so we're in a boozy and celebratory mood as we cover the Toonces and Friends Prime Time special from 1992! Also within, we do some talking to the audience and even have a special announcement!

On episode ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR of The Purrrcast, Sara and Steven welcome actor/writer/director Clea DuVall to talk about her two cats, Twig and Pilot! She tells us their adoption tale, her cat adventures in Istanbul, about Toonces (the Driving Cat), how she keeps ants away from her cats' food, and more! The Purrrcast, talking to cat people because we can't talk to their cats. The Purrrcast is the cat podcast for you and your feline friends. Based in Los Angeles, hosts Sara Iyer and Steven Ray Morris chat with fellow cat enthusiasts about the furry little creatures they love. Not sure how the cats feel about it though. New episodes every Wednesday! Please rate and subscribe in iTunes: thepurrrcast.com Email us! thepurrrcast@gmail.com If you shop on Amazon be sure to click this link and we'll get a small kickback. Thanks for the support: http://www.amazon.com?_encoding=UTF8&tag=thepurr-20 Follow Clea: https://www.instagram.com/officialclead/ https://twitter.com/cleaduvall Links Of Interest: - Cat Plays With Vacuum Cleaner - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tGKbXkI13o - Siamese Cats Are Temperature-Sensitive Albinos, a.k.a. Walking Heat Maps - https://www.catster.com/lifestyle/cat-facts-genes-siamese-cats-temperature-sensitive-albino - Cat surprises 3 year old girl for Christmas! - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a91oTLx-1No - Vesper Cat Furniture - https://amazon.com - @keepitclem Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/keepitclem/ - Rawr Cat Food - https://www.eatlikealion.com/ - The Antser - https://amazon.com - Acro-Cats - http://www.circuscats.com/ - Toonces the Driving Cat (SNL) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fvsItXYgzk Follow The Purrrcast on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ThePurrrcast on Instagram: https://instagram.com/thepurrrcast/ Please like us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ThePurrrcast Follow Sara Iyer on Twitter: https://twitter.com/saraanjuliiyer Follow Sara Iyer on Instagram: https://instagram.com/saraiyer/ Check out Sara Iyer on Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/saraiyer Follow Steven Ray Morris on Twitter: https://twitter.com/StevenRayMorris Check out Steven's new podcast, See Jurassic Right: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/see-jurassic-right/id1239538917?mt=2 Theme song by Anabot (Analise Nelson) and Dax Schaffer: https://thesaxelnaiad.bandcamp.com/ Artwork by Jillian Yoffe: flatratstudio.com Part of the #HelloLionFace podcast network See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The This Ain't Right Movie Podcast-Sleepwalkers   It's Halloween time, We at the This Ain't Right Movie Podcast have decided its time for a Stephen King Party…. First up this 1992 seminal classic SleepWalkers I wouldn't necessarily classify this as a good Stephen King Adaptation…. So Many Questions… Why Cats, Why Incest, Why did the black guy not listen to clovis, why virgins…. Madchen Amuck is a great actress why put her in this? Why is Mark Hamill only in for a few scenes? Why no Toonces the Cat or Garfield cameos…… Why Sleepwalkers? Holy Shit is that Ron Perlman Why did we do this to ourselves……. James “Carrie” O'Donnell, Ashish “Pennywise the dancing” Thomas and Glen “Jack Torrence” Wolfe […] The post This Ain't Right Movie Podcast-Sleepwalkers appeared first on The Geeked Gods.

The real Debbie and Donna are New Orleans twins who won 200m in the lottery and blew it all. The fake Debbie and Donna are Jon and Chelsea from a band called Toonces which they formed in the aftermath of playing Debbie and Donna in a comedy music show where dressed as the opposite gender they fell passionately in love. So passionate was their love that they included Dana a man dressed as a woman along on their first night of sex together. Which didn t go according to what you might think would be the normal course of events. And that, believe it or not, is just the beginning of the story. The rest of it involves a hedgehog called Quilliam, yoga, tarot cards, and an imaginary religion. Grant mentions that when he walked into the bar he assumed Clyde Edward Casey aka Casey was going to be the most eccentric person at the table, an observation which, looking at Casey aka Clyde is wholly forgivable. Even though the threesome twins story is hard to top, Casey aka Clyde aka Casey does not disappoint. Casey aka Clyde has done practically everything required of the card carrying eccentric, from carving wooden figures on Bourbon Street to making harmonica bracelets but not wanting to tell you where he sells them here to getting married to the Cosmic Queen on a reality TV show in the French Quarter. In other company, owning Kitchen Witch, a bookstore in Mid City that sells "9 10,000 cookbooks," and refusing to drive a "stinkin Lincoln" literally stinkin from the animals carted around inside it and a plug to drain out water would make you the kook, but in this conversation Debbie Lindsey is almost a straight arrow. Almost. Andrew Duhon tries out a song about pickling that is unfinished and gets help putting the lid on it from Toonces. This is without doubt one of the most eccentric and unpredictable barroom conversations you have ever heard. Or your money back. Photos at Wayfare by Graham daPonte. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Episode 27: TGIF y’all! James talks about the Full House re-launch and whether it would still be good enough for ABC’s much-beloved TGIF line-up. Then it’s live, from Minneapolis, as Dana double-dips in the hat to discuss the source of life’s lessons and then our least favorite SNL alum, Victoria Jackson. We conclude the evening with an impassioned debate on Cats vs. Dogs. As always, our conversation quickly goes off-topic as we let Toonces the Cat take the wheel while we guzzle down a few cold ones in Minneapolis, MN.  Features Strong Language, Mature Themes, and things you want to confess to John Stamos. Drunk-O-Meter Rating: 2 out of 5 Subscribe and rate us on iTunes. Visit our website for more content at http://www.twodrinksinpod.com Like us on Facebook: twodrinksin Tweet us at @twodrinksinpod Make sure to use the hashtag #twodrinksinpod Hosts: D. Marie Long, Dana Severson, Erin Roberts, James Lekvin Producer: James Lekvin The Drinks: Furthermore Beer’s The Fallen Apple, Justin Winery Sauvignon Blanc, Disaronno & Diet Coke, and Leininkugel’s Summer Shandy  

It's Hemsworth's time!  Thor stops by 30 Rock for the second time this year to host Saturday Night Live!   Vince, Scott, and Doug Vader remember Toonces the Driving Cat, marvel at the Predator font in "No Time to Bleed", and wish they could be as cool as Chris Hemsworth (even though he's weird now).

Shana and Mike tackle their hardest movie yet: Weekend at Bernie's. How do they update and reimagine this so-very-80s plot? Also, the awesomeness that is Toonces, and Mike channels Tranquil Tirades by naming the real protagonist of Bernie's. Please visit our Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/forbetterorworse.

Shana and Mike tackle their hardest movie yet: Weekend at Bernie's. How do they update and reimagine this so-very-80s plot? Also, the awesomeness that is Toonces, and Mike channels Tranquil Tirades by naming the real protagonist of Bernie's. Please visit our Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/forbetterorworse.

Shana and Mike tackle their hardest movie yet: Weekend at Bernie's. How do they update and reimagine this so-very-80s plot? Also, the awesomeness that is Toonces, and Mike channels Tranquil Tirades by naming the real protagonist of Bernie's. Please visit our Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/forbetterorworse.

Shana and Mike tackle their hardest movie yet: Weekend at Bernie's. How do they update and reimagine this so-very-80s plot? Also, the awesomeness that is Toonces, and Mike channels Tranquil Tirades by naming the real protagonist of Bernie's. Please visit our Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/forbetterorworse.

It starts out like a car careening around a mountain road driven by a cat named Toonces, and it ends, many letters and calls and impersonations later, in a ditch. Just how we like it. We have now scientifically traced the lack of oxygen in the podcave to an increased level of giggling and nonsense in the Thursday installment of the podcast. Oh, The Count. How we love you. By the way, there's a chance we'll only have one, possibly even none of these aural works of art for you enjoyment next week. Question Boy (Chronicle media and political writer Joe Garofoli) has family in town and we have no idea if super sub producer Justin Beck even cares about doing another one or two. In this installment, he really has to work the bleep button thanks in large part to Todd in the 212 who wonders over and over again why the word (bleep) gets bleeped while the word (bleep) doesn't get bleeped out? Justin, who we call Jason, explains the reason and then, well, forgets to bleep one of them. Todd, our 100th TVTM Facebook fan, cautions me about appearing on "Fighting Talk" our favorite other podcast/radio show: "If you go on there Goodman, you'll get slaughtered." By the way: Latin America is in the books! We got a call from Mexico thanks Charles!

1 - VA/MD/DC In "Timeout" 2 - Pitbull Driving Car? 3 - Toonces the Cat 4 - Paul Charchian 5 - Best Childhood Toys/Games 6 - These People Ruin Concerts 7 - NCAA Eligibility 8 - Larry David Caddy Fund 9 - Look Back and Laugh