Podcasts about Torment

This week's episode features thoughts on this year's The Game Awards, MARVEL Cosmic Invasion, Halls of Torment, SOPA - Tale of the Stolen Potato, Rue Valley, Speed Factor, and Red Pippy. Anyway and as always, thank you for watching or listening, I hope you enjoy this here episode, and I hope you have a wonderful wonderful rest of your day. (And if you haven't already, or are a listener and not a watcher, please like, subscribe, hit the bell, and all that jazz; it may not seem like much, but it goes a long way in helping support the show and site in general. I would appreciate it greatly.)

Advent // Peace Our Whole Existence is Ravaged by ConflictIt's in Our World...It's in Our Nations...It's in Our Cities...It's in Our Communities...It's in Our Homes...It's in Our Hearts and Our Minds... Peace Means So Many Different Things to Different PeoplePeace May Be Ease from Conflict...Peace May Be Ease from Noise...Peace May Be Ease from Torment...Peace May Be Ease from Busyness...Peace May Be Ease from Pain... For Some People It May Be Found in A Treaty…For Some It May Be Found in a Place…For Some It May Be Found in An Embrace…For Some It Is Found in a Symbol…For Some It Is Found in Solace…For Some It Is Found in A Smile… Some Think It Is Accomplished by Negotiation...Some Think It Is Accomplished by Meditation...Some Think It Is Accomplished by Separation...Some Think It Is Accomplished by Location...Some Think It Is Accomplished by Reconciliation...Some Think It Is Accomplished by Medication... But for Most of Our World it Remains an Elusive State of Being... God Has Come, and He Has Provided a Lasting Peace for Us! Not Just a Fleeting Moment or an Elusive Dream... Romans 5:1 (NIV)“Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” God Loved Us So Much that He Sent His Son to Redeem Mankind and Restore Our Peace with Him.  Judges 6:23-24 (NIV)“But the Lord said to him, ‘Peace! Do not be afraid. You are not going to die.' So, Gideon built an altar to the Lord there and called it The Lord is Peace.” 2 Thessalonians 3:16 (NIV)“Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times and in every way. The Lord be with all of you.”

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La 22ème émission Metal (Part.2) du 24 novembre 2025 avec les 5 nouveautés suivantes:  Avdagata, Deadwood, Cacotopia, 1349, Discovery Through TormentPodcasts sur killerontheloose.com/podcastsSuivez l'émission sur Facebook : facebook.com/killeronthelooseInstagram : instagram.com/killeronthelooseofficielTwitter : x.com/lemissionmetal 

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW 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

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW 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

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW 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

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. 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.

THIS WEEK: Memories Within Miss Aggie (1974), Through The Looking Glass (1976), A Woman's Torment (1977)Does something need to be erotic to be pornographic? Do some folks just get off on misery? Maybe! Nothing says HOT AND STEAMY like isolation, grief, psychological meltdowns, art house horror, and a carrot in your butt.Welcome to the wonderful world of feel-bad films in the golden age of pornography.Donate to Palestinian Medical Aid Support Optimism Vaccine on Patreon

Xi Jinping's Exile and Family Betrayal. Joseph Turigian describes how political torment extended to Xi Zhongxun's family, forcing Xi Jinping's mother to denounce her teenage son when he fled incarceration, a difficult moral judgment made to protect the remaining siblings. During the Cultural Revolution, Xi Jinping was exiled to the countryside near Yanan, a sacred site of Chinese Communist Party history. This mass "sending down" of youth was intended to toughen them up and instill revolutionary spirit, becoming a deeply formative experience for Xi Jinping. Xi Zhongxun spent years in prison writing unanswered, plaintive letters seeking relief and reconsideration from the leadership. Guest: Joseph Turigian. 906 PEKING

Featuring: Michael "Boston" Hannon, Paul "Moonpir" Smith, and Alexander "TheNimp" Jolly Running Time: 1:31:43 Music by MusiM: Homepage | Bandcamp Livestream Archive: YouTube This week on That Video Game Podcast (TVGP) we chat about Ghost of Yotei (minor spoilers), V Rising, Halls of Torment, Dispatch. Valve announces three new pieces of hardware Become a patron of TVGP for just a few dollars a month at E1M1's Patreon Page! Get two month early access to Critical Misses, uncensored outtakes, and much more for just $5/month!

Dry aged to perfection, this week we talk about Turkey Loaf, the Wheel of Fun, Outer Worlds 2, Blood Magic, vomitorium, Bugonia, Nuremberg, Mafia: Old World, Halls of Torment, Predator Badlands, Shaken, moral panics, What's going in my mouth, Bill Burr, Pluribus, John Rambo, Hotelpocalypse, Japanese PS5, Star Wars Insider, Beast Land, Rule34dle, Senior Burger, Gremlins 3, Steam Machine, Funko Pop troubles, and DC Crime. So save that burger, it's time for a GeekShock!

Book Besties Season 9 Episode 11: Frosted TormentThis week the Besties are joined by indie author E.L. Valentine to talk about her book Frosted Torment, which is the first book in the Marked Mortals Saga. Join us as we talk about this epic first book in a dark urban romantasy with fallen angels, demons, and reluctant heroes.Things talked about in this episode:E.L. Valentine: https://erinvalentine.com/Artists mentioned: https://bit.ly/3JTejq3 & https://bit.ly/4p7fnWxStorygraph Season 9 Challenge: https://bit.ly/3VqOj7wCarpe Librium: https://beawesomereadbooks.comMeet Molly and April, they bonded over books and became Book Besties. So, what do you do when you find your book bestie? Start a podcast of course. Hang out with April and Molly as they talk about everything they love and hate about books. Follow the Book Besties on Facebook, Instagram, Tiktok, and YouTube. If you'd like to contact the Book Besties, please email us at bookbestiespod@gmail.com or visit our website bookbestiespodcast.com. This episode is sponsored by Carpe Librium: Bookish Things for Bookish People. Use the code holiday10 to save $10 off any order over $40 from now until the end of December at https://beawesomereadbooks.com.

Featuring: Michael "Boston" Hannon and John "Musim" Beauchamp Running Time: 1:02:47 Music by MusiM: Homepage | Bandcamp Livestream: YouTube This month on PUP RPG Love we chat about The Outer Worlds 2, Halls of Torment, Deep Rock Galactic: Survivor, Dispatch.

Featuring: Michael "Boston" Hannon and John "Musim" Beauchamp Running Time: 1:02:47 Music by MusiM: Homepage | Bandcamp Livestream: YouTube This month on PUP RPG Love we chat about The Outer Worlds 2, Halls of Torment, Deep Rock Galactic: Survivor, Dispatch.

O08R Odysseus Torment and Trail, Shipwrecked asmr night story

Medverkande i detta avsnitt är: Poki, Emil och Fredrik.I detta avsnitt bjuder vi på samtal om spel, film och mycket mer - allt förpackat i ett extra "sassy"-avsnitt!Spel som tas upp:Arc Raiders,Halls of Torment,Lonely Mountains: Snow Riders,PowerWash Simulator 2,Escape the Backrooms (V1.0),Choo Choo Charles,Event som tas upp:Moderskeppet 2025,Film/TV/Anime/Musik som tas upp:Askungens tre önskningar,The Wheel of Time,Zeal & Ardor, Tool & Eddie DarkMy Status as an Assassin Obviously Exceeds the Hero's,Övrigt som tas upp:Q & A för podden; Remakes på klassiska spel?Kom med i vår Discord här! - Nördliv på iTunes – Nördliv på Spotify

It's time to get official! This week we talk about a new Barry's Steamer, the Texas Renaissance Festival, Outer Worlds 2, Ball x Pit, Truth and Treason, Angel Films, the GeekShock Film Institute, The Vexing Menagerie, The Spark Devil, Halls of Torment, King Sorrow, Chairman Meow, Jungle Action comics, Marvel's Champions, Titan Comics Conan, Marvel Age of Revelation, JSA All In, Van Helsing, the Kelvin Universe ends, new Hollywood lows, Pokémon scalpers, The Mummy 4, Miss Piggy, Reading Rainbow, and Herbert West: Reanimator. So, count em down, it's time for a GeekShock!

This weeks crew: Webby, Darren, Graham We discuss plenty of games this week including: Keeper, Battlefield 6 Battle Royale, Ball X Pit, Hyper Charge Unboxed, ARC Raiders, ARMA Reforger Update 1.6, GT7, Portal 2, Simpsons Fortnite, Sonic Crossworlds, Halls of Torment, Power Wash Simulator 2, Absolum, Wreckreation and more. News this week includes Outer Worlds 2 poor sales figures, more rumours of the next gen Xbox console, New World rumoured to be getting shutdown after 2026, More Halo remakes and more. https://www.patreon.com/360gamercast https://discord.gg/CqDMSg9 https://www.facebook.com/groups/360gamercast/ https://twitter.com/Webby360G https://twitter.com/360GamerCast All Access Patrons - John Smith

Amazon reportedly "gutting" its video game division as part of 14,000 company wide job cuts, Rockstar accused of union-busting after it fires dozens of developers, Xbox Q1 hardware sales down 29% while third-party content experiences "better-than-expected performance", US government says it'll keep making video game memes, as Halo co-creator says ICE ad makes him ‘sick', and Animal Crossing: New Horizons springs back to life next year with huge updates and more. Also: ideal button layouts, host orders, game levels IRL, TV show teams, Marathon (the game) and more! GAMES DISCUSSED: Mortal Kombat Legacy Kollection, Dispatch, Absolum, RV There Yet?, Escape Simulator 2, Halls of Torment, Atari 2600+, Battlefield 6.   SUPPORT Patreon CONTACT Website Discord Bluesky Threads Instagram Facebook FOLLOW TCGS on Bluesky David on Bluesky Sean on Bluesky Mat on Bluesky James on Bluesky WATCH Twitch YouTube LISTEN Spotify Apple Podcasts Pocket Casts CREDITS Music by Nick Parton Art by Dave Chong

In this episode, Jeremiah Bratton (formerly of GaymeBar) returns. We discuss: Escape From Duckov Pokemon Z-A Space Chef Final Fantasy Tactics Halls of Torment... And more!

Featuring: Michael "Boston" Hannon, Paul "Moonpir" Smith, and Alexander "TheNimp" Jolly Running Time: 1:16:46 Music by MusiM: Homepage | Bandcamp Livestream Archive: YouTube This week on That Video Game Podcast (TVGP) we chat about Deep Rock Galactic: Survivor, Halls of Torment, Dispatch. Become a patron of TVGP for just a few dollars a month at E1M1's Patreon Page! Get two month early access to Critical Misses, uncensored outtakes, and much more for just $5/month!

Quick, get in here! Tech bros have invented the perfect way to annoy Batman. Also Jamie has found all the best science news that Reputable British Journalism has to offer. Then with all of that nonsense behind us, it's time for tonight's main event: NFTs are back again baby! Subscribe for two whole bonus episodes a month: https://www.patreon.com/praxiscast Watch streams: https://www.twitch.tv/praxiscast Buy shirts: https://praxiscast.teemill.com/ Follow us: https://bsky.app/profile/praxiscast.bsky.social Cast: Jamie - https://bsky.app/profile/wizardcubes.bsky.social David - https://bsky.app/profile/sanitarynaptime.bsky.social Rob - https://bsky.app/profile/trufflehog.bsky.social 

Download Episode 1090 – We’ve got ourselves a hearty batch of news to discuss and a whole helping of reviews, so let’s get spraying!The show kicks off with Aki & Bri Galgano on hand to chat about the news of the week including the recent IGN x ID@Xbox Showcase, the newest Monthly Games for PlayStation Plus in November, Animal Crossing getting a Version 3.0 update in January with a Switch 2 upgrade pack, and when Jacob Garner finally pops in, we talk about the least surprising news of the year when Halo was announced for PS5. Mind blowing. Plus Limited Run Games releases, New World Aeternum on life support, Movie Watch, and a big batch of reviews!0:00 - Intro/news45:20 - Full Metal Schoolgirl - YUKE’S, D3PUBLISHER (Aki)54:17 - Fast & Furious: Arcade Edition - Cradle Games, GameMill Entertainment (Jacob)1:03:50 - Powerwash Simulator 2 - FuturLab Limited (Aki/Bri/Jacob)1:17:55 - THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 2: Remake - MegaPixel Studio, Forever Entertainment (Jacob & Bri)1:25:56 - UNO Ultimate & Show'Em No Mercy! DLC - UBISOFT (Bri)1:32:49 - Ember Knights: Heroes of the Nexus Edition - Doom Turtle, Twin Sails Interactive (Bri & Jacob)1:42:44 - Dreamed Away - Nicolas Petton, Pineapple Works (Aki/Bri/Jacob)1:54:17 - Juiced Fruit Racing - Cascadia Games (Jacob)2:00:46 - Once Upon a Jester - Bonte Avond, Crunching Koalas (Bri & Jacob)2:08:51 - Arcade Archives 2 MIDNIGHT LANDING - HAMSTER Co. (Jacob)2:13:08 - Halls of Torment & Boglands DLC - Chasing Carrots (Jacob)2:18:33 - Polar Bear is Hungry - Synnergy Circle Games (Bri)2:21:26 - Journey of Johann: Cave Explorer - Apapappa Games, Xitilon (Aki/Bri/Jacob)2:26:13 - Gnomdom - Viva & Dana, Silesia Games (Jacob & Bri)2:33:00 - KIDZ KORNER: Bluey: The Videogame - Artax Games, Casual Brothers, Outright Games (Bri & Jacob)2:40:38 - KIDZ KORNER: Dora: Rainforest Rescue - Artax Games, Outright Games (Jacob)We end the show with one more Halloweenish track from The OneUps with a UNIQUE mix of Splatterhouse and…Seal?2:51:00 - The OneUps - Blood-Splattered Rose (Splatterhouse)https://www.yukes.co.jp/https://www.d3p.co.jp/https://www.cradlegames.com/https://gamemill.com/https://www.futurlab.co.uk/https://forever-entertainment.com/https://www.ubisoft.com/https://www.doomturtle.ca/https://twin-sails.com/https://dreamedaway.com/https://pineapple.works/https://www.cascadiagames.com/https://www.bonte-avond.com/https://crunchingkoalas.com/https://www.hamster.co.jp/https://www.chasing-carrots.com/https://www.synnergycirclegames.com/https://apapappa.itch.io/https://xitilonic.art/https://vividev.itch.io/https://silesiagames.com/https://www.artaxgames.com/https://casualbrothers.com/https://outrightgames.com/https://theoneups.com/https://ocremix.org/https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-sml-podcast/id826998112https://open.spotify.com/show/6KQpzHeLsoyVy6Ln2ebNwKhttps://terraplayer.com/shows/the-sml-podcasthttps://bsky.app/profile/thesmlpodcast.comhttps://www.facebook.com/theSMLpodcast/https://thesmlpodcast-shop.fourthwall.com/ALL REVIEWED GAMES HAVE BEEN PROVIDED FOR FREE FOR THE PURPOSE OF ANY COVERAGE ON THE SHOW

This week we talk about odd concert moments, Hades 2, Halls of Torment, Power Wash Simulator 2, Ball x Pit, Dungeons and Dragons, Frankenstein, Annie Hall, Now is Tomorrow, the Necronomicon, Mafia: The Old Country, King Sorrow, We Used to Live Here, the Scholastic Werewolf Book, Catan, Civilization 5, Feral History, Star Wars, Dungeon Crawler Carl, Paramount wants Warner Brothers, the Monster Mash movie, The Hunt for Ben Solo, Amazon games, Xbox makes a ridiculous demand, The Odyssey, Something is Killing the Children, Buck Rodgers, and Barry's Steamer: How to Cope with Boredom and Loneliness: A Guide for the Isolated. So do the mash, it's time for a GeekShock!

Listen to the tragic tale of abuse in the Hotel Transylvania series. Was poor Mavis really being controlled, confined and gaslighted by her racist father Dracula for 100 years, finally escape her imprisonment through marriage with a human, only to continue to be abused by her husband Jonathan? Get ready for our edgiest theory yet. Previously banned from release, we re-recorded our most infamous episode just in time for Halloween! Do you like what we do? You can support us at Patreon and get access to exclusive behind the scenes outtakes: https://www.patreon.com/thepopcornisntreal

We're back with another SEGA news roundup and this time there's something for everyone: a tabletop RPG, FMV game remasters, more Shinobi: Art of Vengeance, and Sonic truly is everyone, like in your Waze app and back in the Olympics.   Relevant links: SEGA teams up with the International Olympic Committee on a new Olympics X Sonic multi-year collab: https://www.sega.co.jp/en/release/251007_1.html?year=2025&category=1&page=1 Phantasy Star Tabletop Roleplaying available now: https://skydawngames.com/phantasystar/ Limited Run distributing HD remasters of Mega CD games: https://www.segadriven.com/2025/10/limited-run-are-making-hd-remasters-of-a-whole-bunch-of-sega-mega-cd-games/ Full lineup of SEGA villains DLC revealed for Shinobi: Art of Vengeance. Arriving in early 2026: https://x.com/sega/status/1978945287793021343?s=61 Shinobi: Art of Vengeance Tee Lopes DJ set: https://youtu.be/ZZkRj6-MCxI?si=sqEa-fTmQhv3gmQo Persona 3 Reload out now on Switch 2: https://www.sega.co.jp/en/release/251023_1.html?year=2025&category=1&page=1 Virtua Fighter 5 R.E.V.O. World Stage is available now: https://youtu.be/f8mibe385yE?si=6gFiXDjU_DZewTyO Total War: WARHAMMER III - Tides of Torment announced: https://youtu.be/BsEX51KP6U8?si=OJyF5s0qI6Uk64UB Two Point Museum out now on Switch 2: https://youtu.be/NDHW7G5HPcA?si=9f_bP4GnXyAqt_JE Two Point Museum: Zooseum arrives this Winter: https://youtu.be/QVLxHQqwuB4?si=QCbFgyz7aVmBi-mc Sonic in Waze: https://x.com/waze/status/1978491450405925210?s=61 Sonic Rumble coming November 5th: https://www.sega.co.jp/en/release/251023_2.html?year=2025&category=1&page=1 Sonic Racing: CrossWorlds sells over 1 million units worldwide: https://www.sega.co.jp/en/release/251023_3.html?year=2025&category=1&page=1   Originally aired LiVE on RadioSEGA and our Twitch and YouTube channels.   Theme song of The SEGA Lounge by OSC. You can buy it at 'name your price' by going to https://opussciencecollective.bandcamp.com/album/megane-hatsune-miku-project-diva Follow The SEGA Lounge on BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/thesegalounge.com Find our video content on YouTube (https://youtube.com/@thesegalounge) and watch our livestreams on Twitch (https://twitch.tv/thesegalounge)

Hellraiser: Quartet Of Torment 4K Arrow Video Box Set Amazon Link - https://amzn.to/42WliVKFollow Chris Higgins On Instagram -   / beardedfilmguy  Save 10% on everything at themovieroom.com - https://www.themovieroom.com/STEELBOO... (Use Discount Code STEELBOOK10 At Check Out)Here Is My Amazon Wish List - https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls...Follow Me On Letterboxd - https://boxd.it/qN3BFollow Me On TikTok - https://www.tiktok.com/@steelbookobse...Follow Me On Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/steelbookob...Here Is My LinkTree - https://linktr.ee/Steelbookobsessed?u...Malko Protector Website - https://www.malkoprotectors.com/?ref=...Intro Music is Honey Jam By Massobeats - • massobeats - honey jam (lofi aestheti...

Welcome to Day 2718 of Wisdom-Trek. Thank you for joining me. This is Guthrie Chamberlain, Your Guide to Wisdom Day 2718 – Wisdom Nuggets – Psalm 88:8-18 – Daily Wisdom Wisdom-Trek Podcast Script - Day 2718 Welcome to Wisdom-Trek with Gramps! I am Guthrie Chamberlain, and we are on Day 2718 of our Trek. The Purpose of Wisdom-Trek is to create a legacy of wisdom, to seek out discernment and insights, and to boldly grow where few have chosen to grow before. The Title of Today's Wisdom-Trek is: The Loneliest Road – Despair's Final, Unanswered Cry - Concluding Our Trek Through Psalm 88 8-18 Today, we continue our difficult, yet necessary, trek through the Darkest Psalm, Psalm 88, encompassing its final, unrelenting verses, 8 through 18, from the New Living Translation. In our last conversation, we plunged into the depths of Heman the Ezrahite's anguish. We heard his cries "day and night," his fear of imminent death, and his terrifying conviction that his suffering was caused by God's own hand. He felt consumed by "wave after wave" of God's heavy fury and was "abandoned to the depths where the darkness is complete" (Psalm 88 1-7). He had been physically and socially ostracized, counted among the dead while still living. Now, Heman continues his agonizing lament, focusing on his extreme isolation, his unanswered questions, and the ultimate, grim realization that his prayer, unlike nearly every other in the Psalter, ends in unrelieved darkness. This psalm is a profound space for acknowledging that deep despair is real, and that faith often persists even when hope is absent. So, let's listen to this desperate, final cry, recognizing the absolute honesty of a soul on the brink. Section one is about: The Torment of Social and Divine Isolation (Psalm 88 8-12) You have taken away my companions, making me repulsive to them. I am shut in and cannot escape; my eyes are blinded by my tears. I cry out to you, O Lord, every day. I lift my hands to you for help. Are your wonderful deeds appreciated in the grave? Do the dead rise up and praise you? Can anyone proclaim your unfailing love in the grave? Can anyone tell about your faithfulness in the place of destruction? Can your wonders be seen in the dark? Can your righteousness be known in the land of forgetfulness? Heman begins by detailing the social consequence of his affliction, a pain he attributes directly to God: "You have taken away my companions, making me repulsive to them." . His isolation is absolute. God has severed his social ties, causing his friends and loved ones to view him as "repulsive" (tō‘ēḇâ—abominable, a strong term often used for ritual impurity). In the ancient Israelite world, social isolation often meant a lack of care, protection, and provision, leaving him utterly defenseless. This isolation leads to profound emotional and physical paralysis: "I am shut in

The brothers come down to Egypt. Joseph identifies them. He starts a series of false accusations, incriminations and manipulations. Why did Yoseph torment and torture his brother (and his father)? Was it pure vindictiveness?

We talk Vegas Stories, Deity life, Torment builds and some fun codex challenge this week.

¡NUEVO PROGRAMA! Charlamos con Fer, que nos habla del quinto año de la revista LOOP, en pleno Verkami. También os hablamos del reciente Barcelona Game Fest y del III Congreso de Podgaming. Y además reseñamos: The Lonesome Guild, Absolum, Halls of Torment, Dreams of another, Dear me i was, Little Nightmares III, Bye sweet Carole y Spooky express. Esperamos que os mole. Verkami LOOP: https://www.verkami.com/projects/41408-loop-ano-5 Enlaces: https://linktr.ee/reservademana

Unforgivness And Torment Go Hand In HandJust as healing and forgivness are linked in God's word, unforgivness produces sickness and death.

Arif and James are back to review the loss to the Eagles.  You can become a sustaining member of the show and access exclusive content at  Arif - @Arifhasannfl James - @bigmono Please send any questions or feedback to  or tweet to @norsecodeDN. If you like our show please donate to We have merch! You can visit our shop at: Also a special thank you to DrawPlayDave for our new logo and merchandise design! You can follow him on bluesky @thedrawplay.com‬ and visit his main comic page here:

Ivan joins me this week to discuss BOB (in my first 2-part episode). We discuss the origins of BOB, the thin line with him and Leland Palmer, speculate if BOB is real and the abuse that Laura Palmer endures from him until she meets her fate.   Ivan on BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/underthefan119.bsky.social   Intro/Outro Song: "My Prayer" by Agent Ivy 

When Jesus cursed cities that had seen His miracles and not repented, He said that it would be worse for them than for Gentiles that had not known God. Most religions have some concept of hell and eternal punishment, but we can look directly to what Christ said. In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, the rich man ended up in a place of separation and torment, whereas Lazarus was taken to heaven by angels. The right starting point for the Christian is not to ask how to avoid going to hell but to begin a right relationship with God, following and trusting Christ. VF-2175 Luke 16:19-31 Watch, Listen and Learn 24x7 at PastorMelissaScott.com Pastor Melissa Scott teaches from Faith Center in Glendale. Call 1-800-338-3030 24x7 to leave a message for Pastor Scott. You may make reservations to attend a live service, leave a prayer request or make a commitment. Pastor Scott appreciates messages and reads them often during live broadcasts. Follow @Pastor_Scott on Twitter and visit her official Facebook page @Pastor.M.Scott. Download Pastor Scott's "Understand the Bible" app for iPhone, iPad and iPod at the Apple App Store and for Android devices in the Google Store. Pastor Scott can also be seen 24x7 on Roku and Amazon Fire on the "Understand the Bible?" channel. ©2025 Pastor Melissa Scott, Ph.D, All Rights Reserved

Hola! Today we are going to talk about El Silbón that is a creature of Latin American folklore. Have you ever heard of this legend of the Silbón? Some interesting facts and stories. In this crazy story you will be listening a lot of interesting facts, learning new vocabulary and interesting words in Spanish and also you will be improving your listening skills in Spanish. I hope that you will practice your Spanish by listening to the phrases and new words that you already know and also with the ones that you do not know.You can support me and my podcast if you want:Donate with PayPal:https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/spanishwithdennisYou can buy me a cup of coffee here:https://www.buymeacoffee.com/spanishwithdennisMy Youtube channel: Spanish with Dennishttps://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQVuRUMQGwtzBIp1YAImQFQMy new Discord server and chat and you can already join and write to me there:https://discord.gg/HWGrnmTmyCMy new Telegram channel and you can already join and write to me or comment there:https://t.me/SpanishwithDennisJoin my Patreon:https://www.patreon.com/spanishwithdennisDonate with Boosty:https://boosty.to/spanishwithdennis/donateDonate with Donation Alerts:https://www.donationalerts.com/r/dennisespinosaSupport me by joining my podcasts supporter club on Spreaker:https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/crazy-stories-in-spanish--5605778/supportDonate with Crypto currency:Bitcoin (BTC)1DioiGPAQ6yYbEgcxEFRxWm5hZJcfLG9V6USDT (ERC20)0xeb8f678c0b8d37b639579662bf653be762e60855USDT (TRC20)TXoQwsaiTGBpWVkyeigApLT8xC82rQwRCNEthereum (ETH)0xeb8f678c0b8d37b639579662bf653be762e60855Support me by joining my podcasts supporter club on Spreaker:https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/slow-spanish-language--5613080/supporthttps://www.spreaker.com/podcast/tprs-spanish-stories--5600864/supporthttps://www.spreaker.com/podcast/comprehensible-spanish-language--5595630/supporthttps://www.spreaker.com/podcast/crazy-stories-in-spanish--5605778/supportIf you support me, it will motivate me to create more content for all of you. If you have any other suggestions or recommendations on what other platform you can support me and my podcasts, please let me know. You can write to me on telegram.My other podcasts you can find it on different platforms and apps:1-  Comprehensible Spanish Language Podcast2 - TPRS Spanish Stories3 - Slow Spanish Language

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PWTorch editor Wade Keller is joined by PWTorch's Kurt Cadet to discuss the Sep. 29 episode of WWE Raw on Netflix including whether Seth Rollins and Cody Rhodes have succeeded and returning to the center of attention in WWE. Also, thoughts on the opening segment with Rhea Ripley and Iyo Sky leading to Sky vowing loyalty to Rhea Ripley despite being torn about her "family" with Kairi Sane and Asuka, Bayley's character, the Jimmy Uso-Jey Uso-Roman Reigns dynamic, Dominik Mysterio vs. Rusev for the IC Title, and more.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/wade-keller-pro-wrestling-post-shows--3275545/support.

Get episodes without adverts at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠EasyStoriesInEnglish.com/Support⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Your support is appreciated! Skin as white as snow and eyes as red as blood. Some would call it beautiful, but to Nicholas's parents, he is a demon child. But when Nicholas discovers that his 'mother' is not his real mother, his whole world starts to change. Today's story has themes of child abuse, cannibalism and violence. It is not appropriate for children. Go to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠EasyStoriesInEnglish.com/Juniper⁠⁠ for the full transcript. Level: Advanced. Genre: Horror Vocabulary: Juniper berry, Torment, Console, Demon, Witch, Chest (box), Padlock, Millstone. Setting: Fairytale. Word Count: 4623. Author: Ariel Goodbody. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's iFanboy 20/25 -- 20 years of podcasting and 25 years of iFanboy! This show was recorded one time and one time only. Our billionaire entreaties continue to go unnoticed, but thankfully, it was a small landslide of Pick of the Week worthy issues this week, and at least one book that was... less than. Get yourself gussied up, and settle in for another one of these things we do. Note: Time codes are estimates due to dynamic ad insertion by the distributor. Running Time: 01:24:04 Pick of the Week:00:01:30 - Good As Dead #1 Comics:00:11:38 - The Bat-Man: Second Knight, Book One00:23:46 - Batman/Superman: World's Finest #4300:27:44 - Marvel/DC: Deadpool/Batman00:36:05 - Runaways #400:41:10 - EC's Catacomb of Torment #300:46:42 - G.I. Joe #1100:53:21 - Uncle Scrooge: Earth's Mightiest Duck #2 Patron Pick:00:56:20 - No Man's Land #1 Patron Thanks:01:03:55 - Mark Bell Listener Mail:01:07:04 - Django B. asks if we've ever had to re-record shows. (We have.) Brought To You By: Shopify – This episode is sponsored by Shopify. Sign up for a one-dollar-per-month trial period and take your business to the next level. iFanboy Patrons – Become one today for as little as $3/month! Or join for a full year and get a discount! You can also make a one time donation of any amount! iFanboy T-Shirts and Merch – Show your iFanboy pride with a t-shirt or other great merchandise on Threadless! We've got TWENTY THREE designs! Music:"Burn that Bridge When We Get to It"Lagwagon Listen to Conor, Josh, and Ron discuss Blade (1998) on Cradle to the Grave. Listen to Josh discuss Fargo on Movie of the Year: 1996. Listen to Conor discuss Swingers on Movie of the Year: 1996. Watch Ron talk about pinball technology on the Daily Tech News Show. Listen to Conor, Josh, and Ron discuss The Crow (1994) on Cradle to the Grave. Listen to Josh discuss Jaws 4: The Revenge (1987) on Cradle to the Grave. Listen to Josh discuss Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) on Cradle to the Grave. Watch Josh and Conor talk about how to start a podcast on OpenWater. Listen to Conor discuss Ghostbusters on Movie of the Year: 1984. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices